#my child bride💕 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muiitoloko · 4 months ago

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Hi I hope you are doing well? 😊 I was wondering if I could request a Judge Turpin x shy 21 one year old reader who is his wife. Perhaps a smut fic with Richard making love to the reader for the first time and putting her at ease? Maybe she is nervous. I hope that makes sense if not I completely understand! I love your writing SO much!!! 💕

Title: To Have and To Hold

Summary: Judge Turpin is a man of absolute control, but his new bride’s untouched innocence threatens to unravel the beast within.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Loss of virginity.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your request! I don't think I did exactly what you asked, but I hope you like it 🫶

Also read on Ao3

The grand chamber was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting elongated shadows across the richly adorned walls. Judge Richard Turpin sat impatiently at the edge of his grand, mahogany bed, clad in his nightshirt, his fingers tapping against his thigh as he waited. He had spent the entire day enduring the tiresome spectacle of his own wedding, tolerating the prying eyes and hushed whispers of the guests, all while longing for this moment—the moment when he would finally claim you as his.

And yet, you were taking an eternity.

He clenched his jaw, his hazel eyes dark with expectation as he listened to the sounds from the adjoining room—the rustling of fabric, the soft murmurs of the housemaids as they stripped you of your wedding dress, unpinned your hair, and readied you for him. He had chosen the nightgown himself—a delicate white thing, thin as mist, made to drape over your form in a way that left little to the imagination. You were his wife now, and he would have you look the part.

At last, the door creaked open.

You stood in the threshold, hesitant, your head bowed, hands clenched together in front of you as though to shield yourself from his gaze. You looked every bit the shy, trembling virgin he had married just hours ago, your innocence practically radiating from you. His gaze swept over you, dark with satisfaction.

“Come here, little dove,” he murmured, his baritone voice commanding, filled with quiet hunger.

You hesitated for only a moment before obeying, stepping forward with slow, careful steps until you stood before him. You refused to meet his gaze, staring at the floor like a frightened child, your breath unsteady.

Turpin would have none of it.

With a firm grasp, he took your hand and pulled you between his legs, forcing you closer, close enough that he could feel the heat of your body beneath the sheer fabric of your nightgown. He tilted his head, his hooked nose mere inches from your cheek as he studied you, his lips curling at the sight of your trembling form.

“There’s no need for this foolish shyness,” he murmured, his fingers trailing up your arm, feeling the way your skin prickled under his touch. “You are my wife now. You belong to me.”

You shivered but nodded, though your eyes remained averted. He exhaled sharply, displeased.

“Look at me.”

Your breath hitched, but slowly, you lifted your gaze, your wide, innocent eyes meeting his. Turpin’s grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, his lips twitching in approval.

“There’s a good girl,” he praised, his voice deep, rich, smooth as velvet. “Now… remove this.” His fingers ghosted over the delicate fabric of your nightgown.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the ties, hesitating, fumbling with the knot. Turpin watched, his patience thinning with every passing second, before he finally reached up and did it himself, pulling at the strings and letting the garment slip from your shoulders.

You gasped, instinctively crossing your arms over your chest, but he tutted in disapproval, gripping your wrists and lowering them.

“Do not hide from me,” he chastised, his voice thick with authority. “I will have every inch of you.”

Heat burned through your cheeks as you stood bare before him, exposed, vulnerable. His eyes darkened as they roamed your body, drinking in every soft curve, every untouched part of you.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your sides, over the swell of your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. “So pure. So perfect.”

Turpin's grip was firm, unyielding, as he pulled you forward, guiding you to straddle his lap. A soft gasp escaped you as you felt the unmistakable press of his arousal beneath his nightshirt, thick and unrelenting, nestled between your trembling thighs.

“Ah, there’s a good girl,” he murmured, his baritone voice smooth as sin, one hand resting heavy on your waist, the other sliding up your bare back. His fingers trailed up your spine, eliciting a shudder from you, before gripping the nape of your neck possessively. His hazel eyes darkened, his hooked nose nearly brushing yours as he studied you.

His free hand moved between your thighs, his fingers pressing against the untouched heat of you, testing, teasing. You let out a soft whimper, shifting instinctively, but there was nowhere to go—he held you firm against him, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.

“So skittish,” he mused, his fingers caressing your inner thighs, deliberate and slow. “Tell me, little dove… what do you know of this? Of what is to happen between a husband and his wife?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to his chest, unable to meet his eyes. “I…” Your fingers curled against his shoulders, your body stiff with apprehension. “I was told… that the first time will hurt. But in time, it will become easier.”

Turpin made a noise in his throat, somewhere between amusement and satisfaction. His fingers tightened against your flesh, his palm now fully cupping the heat between your legs, pressing against you with cruel intent.

“And?” he pressed, his voice like silk-wrapped steel.

Your breath hitched, your face burning. “And that… sex is for my husband's fun. His pleasure.”

Turpin chuckled, low and dark, his grip on your nape tightening just slightly, forcing you to stay where you were. “Is that so?” he mused, his other hand moving to your breast, pinching your nipple between his fingers. A gasp slipped from your lips, your back arching instinctively at the sharp sensation.

He tugged again, this time rougher, making you whimper. His hazel eyes remained fixed on your body, his expression unreadable. “Your husband's fun, indeed,” he murmured, his thumb swiping lazily over the hardened bud. “And what of your pleasure, little one?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. No one had ever spoken of that.

Turpin huffed, shaking his head as if the notion was foolish. “No matter,” he said dismissively, his fingers trailing down your stomach, pausing just above where you ached, teasing, tormenting. “It is your first time, after all. A rare occasion. So I will be… generous.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as he shifted, his hands gripping your thighs, urging you off his lap and onto the bed. The flickering candlelight cast dark shadows across his face as he knelt before you, spreading your legs apart with a commanding touch. Your breath caught in your throat, panic and anticipation warring inside you.

He leaned in, his hooked nose trailing along the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, his warm breath ghosting over your untouched core. “Do not get used to this, little dove,” he murmured against your skin, his baritone voice thick with warning. “I am not in the habit of lowering myself for a woman’s pleasure.”

And yet, as his tongue flicked against you, tasting you for the first time, he let out a deep, guttural groan of satisfaction. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you open as he savored you, his cruel mouth working you with an expertise that made your body quake.

Your fingers fisted in the sheets, your whimpers turning into gasping moans as he feasted on you, as if he had every intention of devouring you whole. The sensation was overwhelming—wicked and sinful, pleasure unlike anything you had ever known.

He was methodical, precise, dragging you higher and higher until your body was trembling, until your breath came in ragged little pants.

The sensation was too much. Overwhelming. Wicked.

Your body tensed and trembled beneath his mouth, your thighs twitching with every precise, merciless flick of his tongue. You had never felt such a thing before—this growing heat, this unbearable pleasure building and building until you thought you might shatter. It frightened you.

Whimpering, you tried to move away, sliding weakly across the bed, but Judge Turpin would not allow it. His large hands clamped down on your thighs, dragging you back to him with ease.

“Where do you think you are going, little dove?” he murmured against your sensitive flesh, the vibrations of his deep, baritone voice sending another jolt of pleasure through you. “I am not finished with you.”

Your breath hitched, and you gasped as he resumed his torment, his hooked nose brushing against you as his wicked mouth continued its sinful work.

You couldn’t fight it.

Your back arched, your fingers tangling in his thick hair as your body betrayed you, pushing you closer, keeping his mouth exactly where you needed it. You were lost—helpless to the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

And Turpin… he let you.

The cruel judge watched you, his hazel eyes dark with hunger as he studied your every reaction, the sight of your face contorted in bliss only fueling his ego. He had chosen well. You were everything he wanted—pure, untouched, and now, utterly ruined by his mouth.

A deep, guttural groan escaped him as you shattered, your body seizing as your first orgasm tore through you like lightning. You cried out, gripping his hair tighter, grinding against his tongue as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

It was intoxicating.

And Turpin relished in every second.

Only when you fell back against the bed, gasping for air, did he finally relent, pulling away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips curling in satisfaction. He gave you a moment, watching as your chest rose and fell in erratic breaths, your skin glowing with the aftershocks of pleasure.

But he was not done.

Not even close.

Catching the edge of his nightshirt between his teeth, he tugged it up, revealing himself to you for the first time.

Your breath caught in your throat.

His thick cock stood rigid in his grasp, his large hand spreading the slick pre-cum along his length with slow, deliberate strokes.

Your face burned as you watched, unable to look away, enraptured by the rhythmic motion of his hand.

Turpin didn’t notice your hesitation at first, his focus entirely on himself. His mouth remained full of the fabric of his nightshirt, holding it up as he palmed his thick cock, his hazel eyes watching his own motions with a detached sort of interest. He was in no rush, stroking himself with slow, deliberate movements, lost in the sensation.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning. You had never seen a man like this before—naked, aroused, powerful. If it were up to Turpin, he would be the only man you ever saw like this. The thought sent a shudder through you.

Then, suddenly, he looked up. His sharp gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time, he registered the way you were shrinking away, inching backward on the bed, your fingers clutching the sheets as if they could protect you.

His jaw clenched.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His baritone voice was smooth, but laced with warning.

You swallowed, shifting further back, your heart pounding. “I—I don’t want to feel pain,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

For a moment, Turpin was silent, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he studied you, his dark gaze searching your face. Then, with an irritated huff, he spat out the fabric of his night, letting it fall back down to cover his length as he reached for you.

You yelped softly as his large hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you back toward him with ease. His grip was firm, unyielding, but there was no cruelty in it—only determination. He did not drag you roughly, did not yank you into place as he might a criminal before his bench. No, this was different. His hold was possessive, but not brutal.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Foolish girl,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something that almost sounded like… reassurance. “Yes, there will be pain. That is inevitable.” His fingers tightened slightly around your ankle before sliding up your calf, then your thigh. “But it will pass. It will not stay.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned closer, his hooked nose nearly brushing your cheek, his lips hovering just above your ear. “And after the pain,” he continued, his voice dropping to a dark whisper, “there will be pleasure.”

Your fingers twitched against the sheets, your body stiff. “How—how do you know?”

Turpin exhaled, his lips curling slightly. “Because, little dove,” he murmured, “I know a great many things. I have had women before.” His hand slid further up your thigh, pausing just at the apex, his fingers splayed possessively against your bare skin. “But you…” His voice darkened, thick with something deeper, more primal. “You will be different.”

You shivered. “Why?”

His hazel eyes burned as they met yours. “Because you are mine.”

The weight of those words sent a shudder through you, one you could not suppress. You bit your lip, still hesitant, still afraid.

Turpin saw it.

For once, he did not scoff at your innocence, did not chide you for your trembling. Instead, he reached for your hand, guiding it slowly—deliberately—to his covered cock. Your fingers twitched as they met the hard, heated length beneath the fabric of his nightshirt.

He groaned softly at the contact, his grip tightening over your hand. “There,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Feel it. Explore.”

You hesitated, your fingers trembling slightly as you let them trace the outline of him. He was… big. Thick. Hard in a way that made your stomach tighten with something foreign, something frightening.

Turpin let out a slow breath, watching you through lidded eyes, his patience—rare as it was—surprisingly intact. “Do not be afraid,” he muttered, pressing your palm more firmly against him. “This is what will fill you soon. What will make you mine in every sense of the word.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding.

“You fear pain,” he continued, his tone softer now, coaxing. “That is natural.” His hand moved over yours, guiding your fingers along the ridge of his arousal, letting you feel him fully. “But I will not be cruel to you. Not in this.”

You glanced up at him, unsure. “You—you promise?”

For a long moment, he said nothing. His hazel eyes searched yours, as if weighing his own words, as if considering whether he could make such a promise at all.

Then, finally, he nodded.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I promise.”

And, against all logic, you believed him.

Your fingers still trembled, but they were no longer frozen in fear. Slowly, tentatively, you let them wander, your palm smoothing over the hard length beneath his night, feeling the heat of him even through the fabric.

Turpin did not speak. He merely watched, his hazel eyes dark and intense as he observed your every movement, his breath measured but not unaffected. You could feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way his body tensed beneath your touch, but he did not command you this time. He let you explore.

Growing bolder, your fingers curled around him properly, feeling the firm weight of him in your palm. He was thick, intimidatingly so, the sensation foreign to you yet strangely captivating. Your thumb traced the ridge of his length, following the shape, marveling at how something so rigid could still feel so warm, so alive.

A deep, shuddering breath escaped him, but he remained still.

Then, hesitantly, you let your hand slip beneath the hem of his nightshirt.

The moment your fingers made contact with bare skin, Turpin inhaled sharply. You felt the heat of him, the smooth skin stretched over solid muscle, pulsing beneath your touch. Your fingers traced along the underside, mapping him, memorizing. He twitched in your grasp, and a quiet, approving grunt rumbled from his throat.

Encouraged, you explored further.

Your fingers drifted lower, cupping him fully now, letting your palm press against the soft, heavy weight of his balls. The texture was different—more delicate than you had expected, yet undeniably firm. When you squeezed, testing, a strange, guttural noise tore from his throat.

You stilled immediately, your breath catching. Had you hurt him?

Turpin's fingers wrapped around your wrist, not in anger, but in reassurance. He let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose, his hooked nose flaring slightly before his lips curled into something between amusement and satisfaction.

“No,” he murmured, his baritone voice thick with something almost… indulgent. “You did not hurt me.”

You frowned, still unsure, but he leaned in, his hand tightening ever so slightly around yours, keeping it where it was.

“Quite the opposite, little dove,” he admitted, voice dropping lower. “I liked it.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, but you did not withdraw this time. Instead, you watched as Turpin's expression darkened with something raw, something primal.

And then, without warning, he reached for the collar of his nightshirt and tore it open.

The fabric gave way under his grip, the loose ties snapping as he yanked the garment from his shoulders and tossed it aside.

Your breath caught in your throat.

For the first time, you saw all of him.

He was… broad. Thick in every way a man could be—strong arms, solid chest dusted with dark hair, a soft belly that only made him look more imposing, more powerful. His thighs were thick, sturdy, built for dominance, for claiming. And between them, standing proud and rigid, was the source of your apprehension and fascination alike.

Your eyes widened, a strange mix of fear and intrigue washing over you as you stared at his bare, naked form.

Turpin smirked at your expression, the corner of his mouth twitching with cruel amusement. “See something you like, little dove?” he mused, voice dark and teasing.

He loomed over you, his broad form nearly engulfing yours as he shifted on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. It should have been suffocating, should have left you breathless with fear, but instead, it filled you with something else entirely—something wicked and thrilling. His body was warm against yours, solid and imposing, his presence an inescapable force that left you trembling beneath him.

His hazel eyes were dark with hunger as he braced himself on his forearms, his hooked nose mere inches from your face. You could feel his breath, warm and steady, ghosting over your lips as he studied you, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell in erratic little gasps.

“Such a delicate little thing,” he murmured, his baritone voice thick with satisfaction. “Soft… untouched… and all mine.”

His lips found yours before you could respond, claiming them in a slow, deliberate kiss. His mouth was firm, coaxing rather than demanding, as if savoring the taste of you, learning every trembling breath, every hesitant sigh. You whimpered against him, shy but eager, your fingers curling against his shoulders as you melted beneath his touch.

Turpin hummed in approval, deep and rumbling, as he pressed closer, his body aligning with yours in a way that made your skin burn. You felt him—thick and heavy, nestled between your thighs, not yet inside you but teasing, tormenting. He rolled his hips slowly, dragging the rigid length of his cock against your folds, coating himself in your wetness, making you gasp as the friction sent little jolts of pleasure through you.

“Ah,” he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with amusement, “there’s a good girl.”

You moaned softly as he did it again, slow and deliberate, the head of his cock gliding along your slick heat, pressing against your entrance but never pushing in. His restraint was maddening, the teasing friction making your body arch beneath him, your hips lifting instinctively as if pleading for more.

Turpin chuckled, dark and low, his hooked nose brushing along your cheek as he whispered, “So eager, little dove… and yet, I have not even taken you.”

You whimpered, your body betraying you as you tried to push against him, seeking more of the delicious friction he so cruelly withheld. But he held you firm, one hand gripping your hip possessively as he continued his slow, torturous movements.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice laced with wicked amusement. “I made you a promise, did I not?”

You barely heard him, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of his cock sliding against you, teasing that aching, untouched place that yearned for him. Your breath hitched as he pressed against your entrance once more, stretching you just slightly before pulling back, denying you again.

A whimper escaped you, desperate and needy, and Turpin groaned at the sound. His grip on you tightened, his control slipping just a fraction. “You feel it, don’t you?” he rasped, his voice rougher now, his restraint growing thinner. “How perfectly you fit around me, even like this… your body begging me to take what is mine.”

You moaned, your thighs trembling as his words sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He was right—you did feel it. Even with just this teasing, this agonizing torment, you could feel how right it was, how you were made to take him.

Turpin groaned as he rolled his hips again, rubbing against your swollen, aching clit, making you gasp. “Christ,” he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours. “You’re so wet for me, little one.”

Your face burned at his words, but you could not deny them. You could feel it—the slick heat coating his cock, the way your body opened for him, preparing for him.

Turpin smirked at your silence, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then down to the delicate skin of your throat. “Are you afraid?” he asked, his voice softer now, a whisper of something almost… tender.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening against his shoulders. “A little,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled, his breath hot against your skin. “Good,” he murmured. “You should be.”

And yet, his next kiss was gentle, almost soothing, as his free hand caressed your side, tracing slow, reassuring circles along your hip.

“Do you trust me?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower now, the weight of the question settling between you.

You swallowed, your heart hammering. You should not. He was cruel, wicked, powerful. And yet…

“Yes,” you whispered.

Turpin let out a slow breath, his hazel eyes burning as they met yours. He pressed a deep, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to speak.

“Then let me ruin you, little dove.”

And with that, he pushed forward—just an inch, just enough to make you gasp as he stretched you, filling you with the first taste of what was to come.

The pain was sharp at first—exactly as you had feared. Your fingers dug into Turpin’s broad shoulders as he slowly sank into you, stretching you beyond what you thought possible. Your breath hitched, your thighs trembling as he sheathed himself deeper, inch by slow inch, his thick cock forcing your untouched body to accommodate him.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you gasped, clinging to him, your nails biting into the flesh of his shoulders. “You promised,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with pain and apprehension. “You promised.”

Turpin exhaled sharply, his breath hot against your ear as he stilled inside you, his hooked nose grazing along your cheek. “I did,” he murmured, his voice low, soothing despite the wickedness that always laced his tone. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his baritone voice dripping into your skin like honey. “And I keep my promises, little dove.”

His large hands caressed your sides, moving with a slow, deliberate patience that you had not expected from him. He drew back, easing his thick length out of you, only to press forward again, gentle but unyielding. The pain was still there, a dull ache that throbbed through your core, but his slow, careful movements allowed you to adjust, to breathe through it.

He kissed your temple, his lips surprisingly warm against your sweat-dampened skin. “The pain will pass,” he whispered, his voice a steady rhythm against your ear. “Your body will learn.”

You whimpered, clenching around him instinctively as he pushed deeper, filling you in a way that felt impossibly overwhelming. He groaned at the feeling, his breath hitching slightly as he fought to maintain his control.

“It’s too much,” you gasped, shifting beneath him, unsure if you wanted to pull away or press closer.

Turpin chuckled darkly, one large hand smoothing over your trembling thigh. “No, little one,” he murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction. “It’s just enough.”

And then, something changed.

The pain remained, but beneath it, another sensation began to bloom—foreign, strange, but not unwelcome. The friction of his thick cock dragging inside you sent a new kind of shiver through you, not of fear or pain, but of something deeper, something dangerous.

Your breath stuttered as he rolled his hips, his pace unhurried, almost lazy, as if savoring the way your body slowly accepted him. The brush of his chest against yours sent an unexpected jolt through you—his coarse chest hair grazing against your sensitive nipples, igniting something sharp and startling in your belly.

You gasped, your fingers twitching against his shoulders.

Turpin smirked against your ear, his hooked nose trailing along your flushed cheek. “Ah,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “You feel it now, don’t you?”

You bit your lip, unwilling to speak it aloud, but your body betrayed you. Your hips shifted slightly, just enough to push him deeper, just enough to feel the full weight of him pressing against something inside you that made your toes curl.

Turpin groaned, his control slipping as he tightened his grip on your waist. “So eager for a girl who was just whimpering for mercy,” he teased, his voice a rough whisper against your ear. His lips found your throat, his teeth grazing the delicate skin there before he kissed his way down to your collarbone. “Are you learning, little dove?”

You moaned softly, your breath uneven as your body adjusted, as the sharp edges of pain dulled into something more bearable—something strangely intoxicating. His thick member stretched you, filled you in a way that sent tingling heat through your limbs.

Turpin chuckled, his hips rolling in slow, deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in, ensuring you felt every inch of him. “You were made for this,” he murmured against your skin. “Made to take me.”

Your fingers trailed hesitantly down his back, your nails grazing his skin as your body instinctively clenched around him. The movement made him groan, his hips stuttering for just a moment before he resumed his slow, controlled thrusts.

“God, you feel perfect,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, less composed. “So tight, so warm… you take me like you were meant for this.”

The burn had faded now, replaced by something deeper, something deliciously sinful. The press of his body against yours, the way his chest hair rasped against your peaked nipples, the way his cock found that aching spot inside you with every thrust—it was all too much.

A soft moan escaped you, your back arching as your fingers clutched at his shoulders, no longer in fear, but in need.

The candlelight flickered against the grand chamber’s stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows that swayed in rhythm with Turpin’s slow, deliberate thrusts. He was holding back—barely. Every muscle in his broad frame was taut with restraint, his fingers gripping your hips with bruising intensity as he forced himself to keep his promise.

But, dear God, you made it difficult.

Your untouched, tight little cunt wrapped around him like a silken vice, warm and slick, gripping his cock so perfectly it made him dizzy. He had slept with women before—many, from the most seasoned courtesans to trembling, inexperienced virgins—but none of them, none of them, had ever felt like this.

This was what men killed for.

This was what he had read about in those lurid, scandalous books from his office—the kind that detailed the type of woman who could ruin a man, who could make a man lose his reason, his empire, his very soul. A cunt so perfect that it turned even the most ruthless of men into possessive, obsessed beasts, desperate to claim, to own, to keep.

And God help him, he was beginning to understand.

Turpin exhaled sharply through his hooked nose, his hazel eyes dark, nearly black, as he watched himself disappear into you, inch by slow inch. His lips were raw from biting down on them, suppressing the guttural, animalistic groans that threatened to escape. He had promised you patience, had sworn not to hurt you, but Christ, it was taking every ounce of his control not to lose himself in you entirely.

His fingers flexed against your thighs as he bottomed out, sinking as deep as your untouched body would allow, his thick cock stretching you impossibly wide. Your breath hitched, a soft, helpless whimper spilling from your lips as you trembled beneath him.

His control wavered.

His hands snapped up to your wrists, pinning them above your head against the plush bedding, his grip firm but not cruel. His breath was ragged as he loomed over you, his broad frame casting you in shadow.

"Christ, little dove," he rasped, his baritone voice thick with barely restrained hunger. "You feel… you feel fucking perfect." He rarely cursed, but the words tore from his throat before he could stop them.

You gasped, your body tensing around him at his unexpected vulgarity, and that only made him groan, his fingers tightening around your wrists.

"So tight," he murmured, his hooked nose brushing along your jawline as he rolled his hips, just once, testing, savoring. "So warm." His lips curled into something dark, something dangerous. "Like you were made for this." He thrust forward—slow, torturous—his breath stuttering as he felt your walls flutter around him.

He bit his lip again, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple as he fought the urge to ruin you in a single, merciless stroke. God above, he wanted to. He wanted to wreck you, to push you down and take you like an animal, to claim you so completely that no man—no man—would ever dare look at you again.

And he could. You were his wife now, bound to him in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of God. You belonged to him, body and soul, to do with as he pleased.

But still… he had promised.

He groaned, shifting his grip, letting one of his hands slide down, down, until his fingers found the place where your bodies joined. His touch was firm as he pressed against the swollen bud at the apex of your folds, rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

Your gasp was sharp, your thighs twitching as a new kind of pleasure tore through you.

"Shh," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath hot against your lips. "There now, little dove. You feel that?" Another slow, precise stroke against your clit, and you shuddered, your fingers clenching into the bedding. "That is what will make the pain fade."

He dragged his cock almost entirely out of you, only to slide back in with agonizing slowness, watching with rapt fascination as your expression flickered between pain and something else—something warmer, something deeper.

"Yes," he groaned as your hips shifted, as you hesitantly began to move with him. "That's it. Take what I give you." He dropped his head to your neck, his lips ghosting over your pulse as he growled, "Take all of me."

Your breathing grew erratic, your body struggling to accommodate the thick intrusion still stretching you beyond your limits. But the pain was dulling now, melting into something unfamiliar, something… intoxicating.

Turpin felt it. He felt the moment your body accepted him fully, the moment pleasure began to override pain.

And that was it.

His restraint snapped.

A guttural moan tore from his throat as he finally let himself move, slow but forceful, his thick length sliding in and out of you in deep, claiming strokes. His fingers pressed harder against your clit, determined to coax you into bliss, to ensure your body knew—remembered—who had made it feel this way.

"God damn you," he rasped, his jaw clenched as he lost himself in the feel of you, in the way you squeezed around him, in the heat, the wetness, the absolute perfection of it. His hooked nose trailed along your throat, inhaling the scent of your sweat, your innocence, your surrender. "Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?"

You whimpered, your body writhing beneath his, your breath stuttering as his thrusts grew more urgent, more demanding.

"I should never have touched you," he ground out, his lips brushing against your ear as his pace increased. "I should have let you stay innocent. But now…" His hips snapped forward, sharp and deliberate, tearing a moan from your lips. "Now you belong to me. And no man—no man—will ever take you from me."

His grip on your wrists tightened as his thrusts grew rougher, deeper, his need overtaking him entirely. "You feel that?" he groaned, his voice breaking as he slammed into you, his cock hitting just the right spot inside you. "That is what men kill for."

You cried out, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper as pleasure overtook you, your body shaking as you came undone beneath him.

Turpin let out a deep, guttural moan as he followed, his body tensing, his cock twitching as he spilled himself inside you, marking you, claiming you in the most primal way imaginable.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then, with a shaky breath, Turpin pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, his voice rough, possessive, final as he murmured:

"You are mine, little dove. Mine. Now and forever."

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #judge turpin x reader #judge turpin

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peggyao3 · 7 months ago

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Relic - Pt. 17 "Equinox"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 5k

A/N: Wow, we're really, really getting there now and I feel so conflicted about it 😭 I don't want it to end, but I'll also be so happy to wrap up their story ❤️ Thank you for every motivating comment along the way, you're the reason why I kept going ❤️

Reposted from my Ao3💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Day 140

Lurid clouds are chased across the roiling skies, stripped apart by the fierce winds of the high troposphere. Through the cracks in the clouds, the guests and bridal pair witness a macabre glory in the firmament.

God's inverted eye is glaring down on the altar and everyone in its frayed shadow becomes dancing motes at the center of the universe.

Today marks not only the spring equinox and the wedding of Feyd-Rautha and his alien bride, it is also a solar eclipse and Giedi Prime's white moon creeps in front of the black sun like a wandering pupil.

Past the smog-polluted urban canyons of Barony and even past the endless trenches of mines and factories of Gyed are the tasu aurinkosesti — the planes of the ever-sun, closer to the equatorial belt than any Harkonnen-built settlement. While not safe enough for permanent residents, the majestic landscape is just safe enough for festivities overlooked by the full glory of Giedi Prime's volcanos who crane their tapered maws proudly to the black sun.

Here is where nature breaks through the cracks of bleached Earth, dry, short grasses and creeping inkvines. The active volcanoes are gentler masters than the human settlers.

Today, delicate, black garlands flutter from the temporarily erected poles, seats and slender archways which mark two aisles down a semi-circle of hand-picked guests, one thousand of them — Harkonnens only for this special festivity. Stirred by the hot winds from the south, the garlands look not unlike human entrails strung up for a carnival.

The aisles meet at a slightly elevated pedestal, on it a massive, roughly cuboid slab of obsidian. An ancient altar dented in the middle by the thousands of brides who had laid on it, or been forced to, and spilled their maiden blood onto the stone with the sun as their witness.

Feyd-Rautha's bride won't have to spread her legs on the ancient ceremonial site today. She is an off-worldler and her delicate flesh would be burnt to crisps and become a cornucopia of tumors if she spent but a minute unprotected in the open air. The radiation is strongest near the equator and only her wedding gown keeps her sheltered from it.

Panels of scintillating material shift heavily around her legs, hard but bendy, each layer painted with lead to isolate her flesh from the lurid sun's gamma rays. The gown tapers in at the waist and breasts and crawls over her shoulders, arms, and hands, covering her wholly. Her head is crowned by a veil of the same iridescent panels, protecting hair and face, only the face-panel is see-through. From afar, her shape is entirely otherworldly.

She will be an alien to the populace first, in her looks and in her ways, and then share her humanity. But first, she wants to enjoy the company of her husband and not think about anything for a while, no world-changing battles, no masses in arms.

Her gaze trails along the twisted, black archway that connects both sides of the elevated pedestal, Crowns of Thorns around it twining, Giedi Prime's only native flower. Skywards, God's inverted eye stands directly over the altar, filling her heart with horror and beauty, a feeling she can appreciate because it's not malicious, unlike the many human workings she has encountered in this universe.

Her eyes' appreciative journey ends at the man who will soon be her husband. On the other side of the pedestal, three meters away, stands Feyd-Rautha, the counter-image of her. His bare skin is as white as the chalky terrain and the glaring skies, only his loins are covered by a cloth that is wrapped in ceremonial manner, leaving the sides of his hips and strong thighs exposed. His hands are bare, ringless, and his hip weaponless.

On his exposed belly and chest, she will later be painting the markings of fertility and eternity, a winding symbol like a serpent devouring its own tail.

Feyd-Rautha bares his ink-black teeth, smiling when he sees his woman doing the same beneath her veil, white teeth between her painted lips. While she looks a hundredfold more pompous in her scintillating gown, to her, Feyd-Rautha is the most glorious sight in the world; the way he presents himself to the universe freely now and with no fear.

The drums begin to play and deep-throated chanting soars from the crowd who have risen from their seats, each of them clutching a hand over their hearts. They too have come in ceremonial robes, heavy fabric that reaches down to the knees and a strap of fabric that stretches diagonally across the chest and over one shoulder, leaving one side of the chest exposed — men and women alike.

Feyd and his bride turn to the crowd whose feet raise and stomp down in unison and whose hands mimic the drum beats over their hearts. The ceremonial chanting claps across the planes like thunder from a thousand throats. In the front row are Mikhail Kyelug and Lilia Bauer, the groomsman and bridesmaid by old Earth tradition.

On Mikhail's other side is a man who Feyd-Rautha would have stabbed on sight a week ago. Glossu Rabban looks up to his little brother by the altar, and the Count of Lankiveil is smiling.

Six days prior

"Can't believe you're tired already — hick! — na-Baron!"

It's Baron by now, but Feyd doesn't bother correcting Mikhail as they slouch through the array of corridors which will eventually lead them to the concubines' wing where Feyd has moved in with his wife-to-be, his old quarters burned down together with the Baron's. That is unless they get lost, liquor-blurred eyes blinking into predawn darkness.

"Not tired," Feyd-Rautha protests, shoving his comrade into the nearest wall. The guard bounces right back, sending Feyd staggering.

"So, lovesick?"

"I can go a night without my woman."

"Yeeaah, but you don't wanna."

There is not a single club in Barony that doesn't have poles for strippers and slaves of every shape, size and age at their disposal, yet neither of the two men have indulged in anything other than alcohol and the occasional pill or pipe tonighr. The physiology of anything living on Giedi Prime is much harder to poison. Common alcohol is barely a challenge for Harkonnen livers, hence why booze from Giedi Prime's distilleries can kill an off-wordler after just a glass.

"It's Bull's Night, so 'course I want my prize at the end of the night."

"Point is you should take some other prize, ya know? Spread out your seed, eh?" Mikhail gesticulates with one hand, drawing complicated circles in the air.

"Did'you spread out your seed before you married Lilia?"

"Nah," Mikhail laughs and Feyd scoffs, grinning to himself. The night has been long and his cheeks are hurting.

The sudden echo of a shoe around the next corner snaps both men out of their drunken banter. These aren't guards' boots. Feyd-Rautha's blade hisses from its sheath and he barges forward, coming to an abrupt halt behind the corner. It is Mikhail who speaks first.

"Beast — hick! — Rabba-ban!"

The stocky frame of Feyd's older brother fills out the hallway. He wears dark brown, a cushioned pad on one shoulder and a sword belt around his hip. A comfortable uniform as it is worn on Lankiveil. He's gotten fatter, Feyd notices through the shock of finding his brother, whom he hasn't seen in over five years, in his palace, let alone while he is drunk and blabbering.

The sight has burned him sober.

Under his arm, the intruder carries a gift box, beige with a crinkled but shiny, golden ribbon tied around it in sloppy loops.

"What are you doing here?" Rabban rumbles, mouth standing open in bewilderment.

"It's early morning. What are you doing here?" Feyd snaps back sharply, muscled shoulder angled towards his brother who is still several feet away.

"I was on my way to your room."

"My room isn't that way anymore."

Rabban can't find it in him to close his mouth, but he does plod into Feyd-Rautha's personal space, uncaring of the way his younger brother twitches and how his long limbs tense themselves to lunge. Despite his drunkenness, Mikhail's fist is screwed tight around the handle of his half-unsheathed blade and the smaller man is poised like a guard dog behind his Baron and friend.

After a moment, Feyd exhales a slow lungful of air. "Go now," he orders and gives the tense guard a firm slap on the shoulder and a little squeeze.

"Are ya sure, my Lord?" Mikhail hesitates until Feyd-Rautha squeezes his shoulder again.

"Go and mount your woman. She must have been waiting for you all night. And tell mine not to come here!"

Mikhail sheathes his blade with a noisy hiss and trails around Rabban in a curious half circle before wandering off into the hallway, a sway to his footsteps as he keeps muttering that he needs to tell Lilia about Beast - hick - Rabban.

Looking past Feyd's raised, wicked blade, Glossu's dark brown eyes find his brother's icy blue ones and Feyd is enraged when Rabban's cheeks fill up with laughter out of all things.

"How did you get in here? You're not invited." Feyd rumbles, tilting the blade’s tip towards Rabban’s neck. “You should kiss your Baron's feet and beg him for forgiveness for trespassing.”

Still, the older brother disregards his sibling’s threat and merely tightens his grip on the curious box. He doesn’t even bother to draw his sword. Feyd is seething.

"I'm still a Harkonnen by blood. I don't need to be invited to attend my little brother's wedding."

Feyd-Rautha snarls at that. Being a few inches taller and considering himself considerably smarter than Glossu in every regard, he sees himself as anything but the little brother.

"You're not a Harkonnen, you're a Rabban and you're dressed like one too."

"You're a Rabban as much as I am! You would look good in a uniform like mine."

Feyd's brows knit together in bewilderment. "I look nothing like a Rabban."

"You look just like our mother," Glossu barks and Feyd hisses through bared teeth, pupils shrunken to deadly pinpricks.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to attend my little brother's wedding."

"I'm not your little brother, you dumb boar."

"You'll always be my little brother!"

"And you've taken the title of big brother literally as of late? You look fat. Have you been drinking?"

"A little," his brother admits. Now being way past fifty, Glossu 'Beast' Rabban looks old and bloated and Feyd finds it hard to believe that he could have ever looked up to his older sibling.

"Say what you want in my palace or feel my blade in your neck."

"I've only been truthful to you," Rabban insists. "I came to celebrate and to… talk. I'm happy for you."

"Are you now?" Feyd tilts his head in cold mockery.

"I hope I get to meet your woman one day. I've heard plenty of rumors, ranging from heartwarming to mind boggling."

Feyd would rather keep his brother a thousand miles away from his wife to be. The last time they had seen each other, they had clashed with blades and teeth. Rabban, spraying spittle, had yelled that he would shatter everything his spoiled prince of a brother calls his own to pieces, and Feyd had made a gashing cut along Rabban's ribs, snarling with honeyed voice that even a pig had higher chances at success.

There was no love lost between the brothers.

"What's in there?" Feyd's gaze darts to the beige box under Glossu's arm and flits back up with resharpened coldness. But no icy glare can hide the fact that he's taken the bait, like a boy who can't resist a candy bar dangled in front of his face.

"It's for you," Glossu beams and offers the box all too freely. Feyd can't remember a time when his brother had ever willingly shared, let alone given.

Opening a mystery present from Rabban might as well be his last foolish mistake, but Feyd too may be a bit drunk, a bit drugged, and his curiosity kindled a bit too much by this irritating encounter.

"Open it," Feyd demands, holding the blade unwavering at Rabban's neck. His brother complies, pulling on the bow so it flutters to the ground, then wrapping one thick hand around the lid to lift it.

Feyd had expected many things, but not that.

From inside, a soft thing meets his incredulous stare and Feyd-Rautha's free hand lifts slowly, sliding into the box to pick up the item with pointy fingers. He holds it at arm's length, as if its soft fur might bite, and rotates it by the flipper. A stitched face with a little snout regards him, black marbles for eyes, handmade. It's a seal, its plush made of brown whale fur. Some spots are lovingly worn and matted by young, playful hands.

"Why don't you just go over there and say that you want it?" A man's droning baritone. "Because I don't want it!" Icy wind whistles around the fur hood of Feyd's coat, along with the scent of pines, roasted almonds and smoked meat. "So you tugged on my sleeve because you don't want it? You're a big boy now, you can go over there. Are you scared?" "Let's go! You're stupid!" Feyd yowls and the faceless man laughs as the little boy fruitlessly pushes against his thick leg to get him to move away from the market stall. Blades clatter when he throws himself against the man's hip. "No, no, no! I hate you!" A pair of muscled arms sweep up his body like he's only a doll and throw him over a broad, fur-clad shoulder. Feyd finds himself thrashing against the coat that covers the man's back with his tiny fists.

“You remember it?” Rabban laughs and Feyd hates the way a web of crow’s feet spreads around his brother's eyes. It makes him look aged.

“No,” he snarls like a dog.

“But I do." Rabban points at the stuffed seal. "I got it for you.”

"You?!" The muscles of Feyd's hairless brows tic upwards in perplexity. The man from that wicked memory was not his father then? But he had looked so tall and big and grown-up. The idea that his bull-headed brother had been kind to him once and did something as mundane as take him to the market and buy him a toy is one that Feyd viciously rejects. It stands out jarringly against the brutal colors that paint his concept of family.

“You acted like you didn’t want to have it. Thought I wouldn't see the way you looked at it, big eyes and all. You thought it was embarrassing to have a— a plushy thing.” Rabban’s voice falters, like there is more hidden there. Old anguish that hurts so freshly when he sees his grown-up baby brother with an old toy in hand. Baron now. “You really don’t remember?”

“I remember that you threw me over your shoulder like a big brute. So, you’ve always been a boar, even then.” Feyd’s eyes glint like his blade as the pale dawn that creeps over the horizon, shedding light through the arched windows between bulging pillars.

“Yeah, I did that!” Rabban dares to fill the quiet morning air with guffawing laughter once more. "You were so small and light. You were on my knees a lot, brother. Used to sit there and watch me whet my blades. You still whet them like I showed you back then, do you know that?"

"I was never on your fat knees, brother, and if I was, it must have been by force."

Feyd's left forearm ricochets into Rabban's chest, pinning him to the wall. The blade pokes into the side of the bulkier man's neck, sharp and glinting like a snake tooth and Feyd’s features are screwed into deadly violence.

Rabban grunts in a way that Feyd finds downright pathetic when the back of his head hits the solid tiles, barely fighting against his baby brother's assault. His eyes are squeezed into crinkled lines. From up close, one can see the blotchiness of Rabban's puffy face. Feyd sneers.

"You'll die younger than our uncle if you go on like this," he comments on his brother's tumid appearance and scratches the blade tip against his cheek. “You embarrass your Baron.”

Rabban shrugs his shoulders and releases a puff of air from trembling lips. It bewilders him that even though he’s afraid, he wouldn’t mind if his little brother slit his neck right here. At the very least, he would die at the hand of the last person he had ever loved. “You’re no Baron to me, you’re just my baby brother.”

Glossu Rabban prepares himself for metal to sink into his neck in quick, searing pain, like he had seen Feyd do so often, a boy sharpened into violent psychosis by a violent man. But his brother's presence only grows deadly silent until Rabban opens his eyes. Feyd has never liked capable prey who doesn’t fight back. His younger brother’s expression is hard to read, shielded always by a wall of either fire or ice. Does that woman who he is to marry ever see him without? Glossu is almost jealous.

“Do you remember any of your childhood?” Rabban finds his own voice meek and brittle, thoughts drifting to a warm, cozy nursery, a round carpet on the floor, an arm chair and a toy chest on the floor, an ever-blue sky and icy hills covered in lush pines which seem to tickle the ivy firmament. The room is still unchanged in the Lankiveil fortress, a capsule of the past, waiting for the little boy who still lives somewhere in Feyd-Rautha.. "Our home?"

"I don't. Giedi Prime is my home," Feyd bites and his seething lips nearly brush against his brother’s. It is a home now that his uncle is gone.

"It is not!" Rabban suddenly bristles and shoves Feyd-Rautha’s blade aside, cutting his sleeve on it. "You know what's a good home?! Caladan. Or Kaitain. Or Lankiveil."

"You're not even a Harkonnen anymore, brother. You disgust me."

"And neither are you! We're half Harkonnen! I took after our father…" Rabban rubs over his ever-hairless skull and the many old battle scars there. "But you had blonde hair once, did you know that? And there would be snow on it when you came inside from playing."

"I wasn't playing!"

"Yes, you were!" Spit sprays over Feyd's chest, narrowly missing the stuffie which he has come to cradle unwittingly against his chest, and Feyd's eyes flash with offense. "You were a little boy, of course you were playing! You were three when I—" Rabban halts and anguish twists his aged features. He is fifty-five now and suddenly it shows. Suddenly, Feyd can only see his brother as what he is, an old veteran fallen from grace, drinking the rest of his brain away on Lankiveil. Rabban adds with a thick voice: “I always tried to be there.”

“Where?”

“With you! Everyone knew that our mother didn't want you. But I tried to be there.”

The vicious fire in Feyd's stomach dies to frozen ashes and his teeth are screwed into his bottom lip. The extended blade quivers and his fingers dig into soft fur. “What are you talking about?”

Rabban shrugs again and looks down at the stuffed seal like he hopes the magma channels will open up beneath the palace and swallow him whole. “Our parents had you under the premise that you would be given to our uncle as an heir. It was father’s and uncle's idea. A good deal. You don’t deny House Harkonnen when it offers wealth and reputation in exchange for something so…” So little.

So that’s what he had been all his life. A good deal and nothing more. Feyd wants to sink his blade into his own crunching bones.

Rabban’s face snaps back up with sudden vehemence. “Our mother could never look you in the eyes and it hurt me to see it! When you were born, I thought I would hate you. Who wants a sibling when they’re already past twenty?! But I couldn’t hate you. You were so little…”

Feyd can’t speak, his jaws clenched into a painful vise, so Rabban goes on. “You always tried to get her attention, but she never relented. She wouldn't even hold you to her own breasts for milk."

"Shut up."

"That woman you're going to marry, what is she like?"

“I said shut up!"

Only Emmi Rabban knew the real reason why she couldn’t hold little Feyd-Rautha Rabban. It was not her husband's and her brother in law's idea, even though she let them think it was. It was the Bene Gesserit who needed her little Feyd for their breeding program, who needed him honed and sharpened the Harkonnen way because she, Emmi, had failed to raise Glossu as a respectable son. Too wild, too dumb they said. She hated herself so much for birthing Feyd-Rautha under this pretense, that she couldn't love her little boy, for she knew she couldn't bring herself to give him away if she ever started loving him.

“Sorry.” Glossu's voice quivers and it’s pathetic, so pathetic, Feyd thinks. His own breath does something quite similar.

"So, you're telling me you were the good guy all along? The good big brother?"

"Not all along, no," Rabban draws a hard breath. “You always wanted to be like me. That's why you became like this.” He spits it out like it’s a bad thing. “When I killed our father, I killed our mother and my baby brother too, I just didn't know it yet.” Fat tears roll down Glossu’s cheeks and he doesn’t even care to wipe them away.

Feyd suddenly remembers why he had felt such satisfaction when his mother looked at him with fright when he sunk the blade into her neck at night, when she was tucked into bed, helpless. He had always envied the way their mother looked fearfully at Glossu, because at least she looked at him.

“I killed our father because he deserved it for the plan he made with our uncle. And mother… She suddenly said that you are her only son. It was worth it for me. But the deal hadn’t died with our father and then someday uncle showed up and I think you… You wanted to punish her. You wanted to be like me, so you killed her, and uncle was so impressed.” Glossu exhales shakily. “I would have killed him too, but… I visited you on Giedi Prime after your first months there, you know? I saw what he did to you. You were covered in bruises and I… did nothing. And you grew mean. And you had every right to. But with no one else left to hate, I started hating you, for many years. It’s all my fault.”

Glossu Rabban cries into his fist’s and Feyd-Rautha traps his sobs within his throat, which hurts like a blade was stuck in it. But no matter how tightly he seals his throat, it doesn’t keep his eyes from going blurry and the hot, salty wetness from spilling down his cheeks.

Present Day

Rabban smiles encouragingly, fist beating down on his thick chest to the mighty echo of the drums. Feyd tilts his head, smiling too, shoulders squared and chin held high, even as his heart plummets into his stomach.

The rhythm changes, becomes uncharacteristically softer and gentler. Quick, almost like cats' paws chasing over the plains. The ring bearer is released into the aisle, holding one ring in each quivering face-hand. Big, pearlescent eyes seek out the man and woman at the end of the aisle who both hold out their hands encouragingly, but they are so far away and so many strangers sit and gawk all around.

Glugo shivers, cowering.

Until the two other faces it has grown to love leap up from their seats in the front row and hurry all the way to the back, offering one hand each. Glugo is lucky to have more than enough hand-feet to hold each offered hand in two of its own and strut down the aisle with newfound confidence. The distance shrinks rapidly and it clambers up on top of the pedestal all on its own. Its half-human heart is terribly proud as it holds up the rings as high as it can reach, looking from Feyd to the bride and back. Glugo doesn't like her gown. One hand-foot fingers the splayed, lead-coated plastic panels which are anything but soft. She should have worn a blanket or a fur cloak, it thinks.

"Well done," she praises softly, stroking over the top of Glugo's head with one gloved hand.

"Thank you, my friend" Feyd rasps and the drums fade away entirely when the bride and groom pick up the rings, him holding hers and her holding his.

The wedding bands are blacker than the universe itself, held up against the lurid sky. Forged out of obsidian from Giedi Prime's volcanic mines, they have been chemically reinforced to withstand the eons.

Glugo climbs bravely back down and joins Lilia and Mikhail in a comfortable basket at their feet, loafing and watching attentively.

As Glugo leaves, the master of ceremonies steps onto the raised platform from behind the altar. The tattoos that cover his torso in thick, blocky stripes make him appear almost fully dressed, even though he is clad in only a toga, with black panels of fabric twining loosely around his arms. Nodding towards the Baron and his Lady, the man readies his throat to speak, but a timid servant who comes scurrying from the side beats him to it.

"Eruption imminent, my Lord," the scrawny man murmurs and points to Feyd-Rautha's side where a jagged vent has begun spewing black, billowing smoke into the firmament. A thousand heads turn to the mountain ridge, each towering giant an active volcano. The earth growls and moans beneath their feet.

"Should we evacuate?" The bride's worried voice comes muffled from beneath the layers of scintillating plastic.

"No, we will proceed," Feyd-Rautha decides, turning back to her, leaving the volcanoes at his back in plain sight for her. "Let my bride see the glory and beauty of our world."

She inhales shakily, squaring her shoulders when Feyd grins, blinking in cat-like manner.

"Very well!" The announcer speaks, his recognizable voice as loud as a war horn. When he raises his arms above his head, a fierce breeze picks up the panels fluttering from his pale arms. The wind carries notes of ash. "Let us commence the holy union of our beloved leader, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and his chosen bride! The planet itself celebrates with us!"

Drums begin to boom like thunder, punching a rhythm that pumps red and black blood alike through their veins in a rapid chase. At every fifth beat, the crowd throws their hands up high, chanting. At every tenth beat, the next gust of smoke billows over the crater edge. The man who can make his voice heard across an entire arena has no trouble outdoing the drums.

"The rumors are true, dear people, dear Harkonnens. Our bride is a woman of lost, ancient kingdoms, a relic, the first astronaut! Imagine the ancient secrets she will share with our new Lord, with us!" The announcer punches his fists wildly in the air, black teeth bared in a gashing crescent. "This spring equinox marks the dawn of a new age for our glorious House!"

The planet's crust screams in agreement and gives birth to sparkling rivulets of black, hot lava with an earth-shattering roar. Like ghastly fireworks, they splash against the storm-battered, frosted sky.

The announcer laughs, clutching the bride and groom by the arms. "Foretold by dreams, their union is now written in the flesh!"

Feyd-Rautha curls his palm around her covered cheek and she does the same to him, gloved hand cool against his skin. She is gawking in awe at the terrible spectacle at his back, but a soft tilt of Feyd's head is enough to snare her attention back to him. His uncanny beauty outshines even the brutal convulsions of Giedi Prime.

"Speak after me," the announcer hollers. "I swear by the blood and the flesh that my heart belongs to my Manducor, in life and in death. The honor to devour it after my passing goes to my Manducor and my Manducor alone. The glorious, black sun is my witness."

Manducor means heart eater. Days prior, when Feyd came home drunk and weepy after his Bull's Night, he had confessed to her that he had always been afraid of dying, because he knew his uncle would eat his heart in a final, cruel violation. But not anymore, he had whispered with such fondness that she now finds it easy to repeat the words and mean them.

Her voice is amplified by a device offered by the announcer and her words roll like a tidal wave across the semi circle of guests. Feyd-Rautha's features twitch in euphoria, eyes gleaming like the lava that rolls in hot rivers down the mountain flank. Like an animal ready to pounce, his voice quivers when he repeats the sacred words.

The drums' chasing rhythm crests and the screams that rise from a thousand mouths are guttural and primal. The volcano hisses above, the earth howls below and Feyd-Rautha claims his bride to the grandest cacophony of man and nature.

Lilia cries and presses Glugo's head to her knee. A beaming Glossu Rabban shakes Mikhail's hand.

The relic's palms meet Feyd's belly when he crosses the distance in one powerful stride, sliding over the twitching hills of his muscles when he parts her veil up to the nose, baring her painted lips to the scalding air.

"My woman, I love you," her husband snarls before his lips find hers in needy violence, taking her breath while her fingers curl around his back and dig into his flesh.

With one radioactive kiss, their bond is sealed, hearts, flesh and souls bound for all beautiful, horrifying eternity.

The Garden releases its last radiance, not as something failed, but as its full reason for being: to give continually, to its last bit of energetic being. Its giving is its beauty. It is a smile, it is the heart of love. Even the smell of decay, drifting from the deer, dead by the side of the road, says: “This is what I am and no other. I do not pretend to be. Even in death I speak without deceit, even unto my flesh, my very bones.

- Equinox by Richard Wehrman

A/N: See you in the, starts sobbing , last chapter ��🥺🥺

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socialfakes · 1 year ago

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crossing enemy lines -connor bedard-

part 7: surprises

nhl players x platonic hughes sister

connor bedard x hughes sister

series masterlist

Liked by jackhughes, _connorbedard, elblue6 and 483,217 others

y/nhughes | baby boy bedard coming soon!!! sorry i've been MIA for a few months. had to figure out how to tell you guys the news 🥳 i know we're young but i'm really excited for this next chapter in our lives ❤ tagged: _connorbedard

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_connorbedard still can't believe the way you told me you were pregnant. it was too perfect 😂 | jackhughes how did she tell you? | y/nhughes i gave him the onesie and then left the room 😊

elblue6 im so excited. can't believe my 3rd child is the one who's having a kid first but im finally gonna have a grandkid to spoil 🥰 | y/nhughes it's still so surreal. should definitely be quinn right? | _quinnhughes i had my money on jack 😂 | jackhughes luke's the ladies man. should be expecting one from him soon | lhughes_06 no not yet

user7 oh so excited. congratulations you guys

jamie.drysdale that onesie is so cute. oh my goodness 😭❤

jackhughes going to be the best uncle | lhughes_06 that's actually gonna be me 😂

_quinnhughes he's going to be so spoiled

trevorzegras kid's gonna be the best looking kid ever obviously | y/nhughes 😊

user12 please tell me you're gonna sign him up for hockey when hes old enough | _connorbedard that's the plan | y/nhughes but we won't be upset if chooses something else | _connorbedard of course

bboeser not a blood uncle but i'll love that kid so much

user4 this is so cute. oh my

tdemko30 aweeeeeeeeeee congrats

mackinnon29 kid's gonna have everything he ever wants

user6 my two favorite people are having a baby!!! my year just got better

user13 the cutest kid. congratulations

calemakar_ not blood but going to be the absolute best uncle ❤ | y/nhughes not a doubt in my mind 🥰 | jackhughes offended | lhughes_06 well that's not very nice, y/n | y/nhughes i said what i said 🤷🏻‍♀️

Liked by trevorzegras, colecaufield, jackhughes and 409,214 others

y/nhughes | it's been a few months but this happened & i am so excited for the next chapter of our lives ❤😘💋 tagged: _connorbedard

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elblue6 congratulations sweetie ❤

trevorzegras love this so much. so happy for you guys

_quinnhughes congrats little sis.

jackhughes dibs on being best man | lhughes_06 you can't just call dibs on that | lhughes_06 besides, it'll probably be me | y/nhughes we talked and came to a decision. it's neither of you 😂

lhughes_06 can't believe my sister is getting married. going to be the most beautiful bride ever | y/nhughes awe lukey i love you 😭🥰

_connorbedard reaching the decision on spending the rest of my life with you was so easy because i knew from the moment i met you that i wanted it to happen ❤

nhlblackhawks congratulations connor & y/n. going to be a beautiful ceremony

calemakar_ really happy for you, bug ❤ | y/nhughes i love you 💕

mackinnon29 going to be a gorgeous bride 😊🌸 | y/nhughes i love you nathan 😊

bboeser so excited and happy for you

user6 the ring is gorgeous 😱😍 | _connorbedard only the best for the most gorgeous girl ❤

rutgermcgroarty okay cool. this makes me happy 😊

Liked by nhlblackhawks, _connorbedard, lhughes_06 and 521,648 others

y/nhughes | hi everyone. i know i've been gone for a few months again but i have a good reason. connor and i would like for you guys to meet anthony lucas bedard!!! ❤🥰 tagged: _connorbedard

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lhughes_06 i love him so much 😭❤

elblue6 he's the cutest human alive. no offence to my sweet children of course ❤

_connorbedard i can't get over how much he looks like you 😍 | y/nhughes wdym? he looks like you 😘

_quinnhughes why is he in the penalty box? | _connorbedard taking after uncle jack of course | _quinnhughes of course 😂

jackhughes he's so precious. gonna teach him his first word 😈 | y/nhughes don't you dare teach him what i think you're planning | jackhughes oops 🙊 | _connorbedard jack!

calemakar_ uncle cale loves him so much 😍 | y/nhughes he loves his uncle cale so much. you're definitely his favorite 😊

rutgermcgroarty cutest kid ever. hands down

mackinnon29 one day you should dress him in an avalanche jersey just to see what connor says 😂 | _connorbedard dude what the hell

taglist: @worldlxvlys @fearfam69691

#connor bedard #chicago blackhawks #quinn hughes #luke hughes #jack hughes #new jersey devils #fake social media #instagram au #hockey player social media #nhl #hughes brothers

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eoieopda · 4 months ago

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GET TO KNOW ME 🧍🏻‍♀️

i was tagged by my shrimpie @sailorsoons

WHAT'S THE ORIGIN OF YOUR BLOG TITLE?

it’s the romanization of one of my favorite korean words (esp. of those that don’t directly translate to english)! i think it fits — i experience a lot of things that are almost too absurd to believe.

FAVORITE FANDOMS?

at this point, i exist solely in the k-pop sphere. if i have to get specific, i’ll say that i have the most fun (and witness the least drama) in svt/caratblr.

MORE UNDER THE CUT

OTP(s)/SHIPNAME?

i’m not a shipper shipper, but my fave dynamics are soonhoon (svt), yoonjin (bts), and topaz (ateez).

FAVORITE COLOR?

i’m mostly a monochromatic bitch, so my primary/basic answer is black. i do fuck heavily with teal and really earthy colors, though.

FAVORITE GAME?

fallout 4, skyrim, cyberpunk 2077, and any pokemon game are all tied for first. honorable mention: spiritfarer.

SONG STUCK IN YOUR HEAD?

it’s not a song, but the audio that is truly LOOPING in my head is sabres’ goalie, ukko-pekka luukkonen, saying his own name, lmao. beyond that, it’s nausea by jeff rosenstock.

WEIRDEST HABIT/TRAIT?

i’m not sure which is my “weirdest”, but i often do this thing where i subconsciously make extremely old/niche pop culture references while drunk — when the thing i’m quoting/referencing isn’t something i’ve seen, heard, or thought about in 10+ years. (it’s a metaphor, @jihopesjoint)

HOBBIES?

writing, gaming, watching hockey + soccer, playing bass, yearning, watching gose, knitting, and running (when it’s not snowy/shitty, which is rare where i live).

IF YOU WORK, WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION?

i’m an attorney. specifically, i prosecute (exclusively) cases of child abuse and neglect.

IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WISH, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

i’d choose my current job in any timeline, but if i couldn’t, i’d want to be a mortician + funeral director. i think i’m incapable of doing things that aren’t morbid and heavy (??). alternatively, i want to travel around in a van and seek out ghosts, scooby-doo style.

SOMETHING YOU'RE GOOD AT?

if we’re talking “practical” skills, crafting/delivering/winning arguments, lol. i’m otherwise really good at figuring out plot points/twists really early and ruining the fun/suspense for myself (ask @jihopesjoint and @sailorsoons 💀)

SOMETHING YOU'RE BAD AT?

is “having a body” a sufficient answer? executive function in general, maintaining any semblance of a work/life balance, avoiding burnout, and commitment 😌

SOMETHING YOU LOVE?

my cats, the gays in my phone, and kwon hoshi 💕

SOMETHING YOU COULD TALK ABOUT FOR HOURS OFF THE CUFF?

^ anything up there

SOMETHING YOU HATE?

if i keep this really simple: birds. they scare the shit out of me.

SOMETHING YOU COLLECT?

this is embarrassing, but whenever i finish a legal pad, i keep the lil cardboard husk. i have a giant stack of them on the bookshelf in my office. it reminds me of how much i’ve accomplished, even when it doesn’t feel like i have.

SOMETHING YOU FORGET?

everything, all the time. my short- and long-term memory are both hazy as fuck because of my adhd, fibro fog, insomnia, and c-ptsd. absolutely nothing sticks for long in this swiss cheese brain of mine, lmao.

WHAT'S YOUR LOVE LANGUAGE?

physical touch and acts of service.

FAVORITE MOVIE/SHOW?

movie: the princess bride but also maybe inglorious basterds show: the devil judge

FAVORITE FOOD?

i feel like i’ll let several people down if i don’t say crab rangoon 💀 tbh, i don’t super care about food, but i do super care about diet dr. pepper.

FAVORITE ANIMAL?

raccoons!

ARE YOU MUSICAL?

yep! both of my parents are musicians/vocalists/music teachers, so it’s a “thing” in my family that you play multiple instruments, etc.

WHAT WERE YOU LIKE AS A CHILD?

honestly….. just the less-evolved version of my current self. i’ve always been extroverted, outgoing, chaotically friendly, etc.

FAVORITE SUBJECT AT SCHOOL?

sociology, history, and languages!

LEAST FAVORITE SUBJECT?

math. i’ve never been good at it, and it’s always made me feel stupid.

WHAT'S YOUR BEST CHARACTER TRAIT?

my capacity to care about many, many things very, very deeply.

WHAT'S YOUR WORST CHARACTER TRAIT?

that ^; my self-worth is handcuffed to my (own perception of my) productivity + very fucked-up/unattainable self-imposed standard of what is “good enough; and i have a habit of intellectualizing my feelings instead of actually allowing myself to feel them.

IF YOU COULD CHANGE ANY DETAIL OF YOUR DAY RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

i would make myself be adequately hydrated. could i still change that? yes. will i? ehhhhhhhh….

IF YOU COULD TRAVEL IN TIME, WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO MEET?

maybe my birth mom? idk.

REC YOUR FAVE FANFICS (SPREAD THE LOVE):

the iron ring by @sailoryooons, a word from our sponsors by @100vern, a series not yet finished/posted by @daechwitatamic, don’t sweat it by @miraclewoozi (i miss u) + anything else tagged here.

TAG OTHERS TO COMPLETE (NO PRESSURE): @miniseokminnies @seungkw1 @cherrrywon + anyone who wants to do this and hasn’t yet!

#jadecore #tag games

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sailorjojogames · 1 year ago

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🌸🌸Barbie Month 🌸🌸

The Sims 4 | Barbie Magic CAS Styler | Christie 💐Video OUT NOW

This look was inspired by 1992 Romantic Bride Barbie

Barbie | Teresa | Kira

Many Thanks to all the talented cc creators 💕 @beocreations @melonsloth @ice-creamforbreakfast @Huien @five5cats-blog @arethabee @crypticsim @thepeachyfaerie @ms-marysims @remussirion @miikocc @pinkishwrld

CC LIST

Veil/Hair/Earrings/Necklace/Dress/Bouquets

Makeup - Eyeshadow/Eyeliner #9/Lashes/Blush/Lipstick/ Lipliner

Pink Plumbob with bow Loading Screen

Everything else made by moi 💅🏾

I am very proud that I was able to recreate this iconic game - Barbie Magic Hair Styler , a game that I was not able to play as a child as my parent did not allow me too. 😫 They instead got me educational games like Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing and Spellbound!

#ts4 #thesims4 #the sims 4 #showusyoursims #sailorjojocas #blacksimblr #barbiemonth #the sims 4 barbie #vintage barbie #mattel #christie #romantic barbie #barbie doll #barbie 90's games #barbie PC games #barbie games #barbie wedding

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mythalism · 1 month ago

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U for the ask game you just posted ☺️💕

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

EEEEEEP THANK U THIS IS A GOOD ONE.... im going to ignore solas for this one because im sick of his ass and i talk about him too much.

so #1 is our beloved roy mustang.... i dont even know if i could concisely explain why i love him so much and why he had such an impact on me because any attempt would cause me to dissolve into hysterics. i think he is genuinely one of the most interesting and well written characters of all time. his party boy womanizer persona being used to mask his political and tactical brilliance makes me feel insane. his guilt and rage make me foam at the mouth. the way he conceives of his purpose and duty to the people he cares about and the world makes me bark like a dog. i think he was made in a lab specifically for me and he's rare because hes a character who i feel is brilliantly written on a technical level but also is someone i would love if they were real. he is my honey bunch sugar plum pumpyumpyumpkin. i have to stop now or ill descend into madness

next lets give it to miss alicent hightower from house of the dragon........ *crowd boos*. THE SHOW!!!!!! specifically. idk anything about fire & blood. i have owned it for years and never opened it. anyway she is probably my favorite woman character of all time. which is crazy bc shes only been around for a few years and like she really doesnt even do anything crazy. but something about her is like lightning in a bottle to me. i think she is a really interesting and well written exploration of how women are incentivized and manipulated into buying into patriarchal hierarchy and gender roles for their own self-preservation, and i think that is a really important character to exist right now even if like 98% of people dont understand her at all and just write her off as an evil bitch. well shes MY EVIL BITCH and also she was A CHILD BRIDE!?!?!?! anyway. i love her daddy issues. i love her toxic yuri jealousy. i love her self-soothing religious fervor. i love how she both loves but mostly hates her children. i love her indigence. i love her big sad pathetic brown eyes. I LOVE "WHAT HAVE I DONE BUT WHAT WAS EXPECTED OF ME? FOREVER UPLOADING THE KINGDOM, THE FAMILY, THE LAW!? WHILE YOU FLOUNT ALONG AND DO AS YOU PLEASE!? WHERE IS DUTY!? WHERE IS SACRIFICE!? IT IS TRAMPLED UNDER YOUR PRETTY FOOT AGAIN!!!!!!"

ok and #3.... trying to talk about characters i dont often talk about here so lets give this one to vax'ildan from critical role bc i just resumed my rewatch. i feel like i dont even have to elaborate on this he's just so lovable and liam's performance of him is chillingly visceral. i love tragic doomed elves!!!!! also i know that as of CR3 hes back but i dont know how that process happened so i get to catch up on whatever nonsense matt put him through since and thats exciting. not sure how i will feel about it because i think his sacrifice was so meaningful but hopefully it doesnt get squandered for fan service....

#asks

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foryoufics · 6 months ago

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Fake Flowers ch7

Authors Note: Thanks for the love 💕

Taglist: @livingformintyoongi

Warnings: angst, drama, incomplete confessions, again I am so sorry this is fictional and hurts me death, accident

"Gguk......wait"

"What do you mean?" The microwave beeps and he serves you then sits with his own bowl, "Well uh....."

"Hm?" He glances up to you as he sits with his bowl

".....may I keep the video?"

He sighs but nods, "ofcourse....I'm not cruel.....just only listen when you miss him really bad, okay?" He takes your hand and rubs his thumb over your fingers, "Now YN please, what I was trying to say is kind of important...."

"Yeah.....yeah....I'm sorry.....please, go on"

"There was more to it than you know about......," he clears his throat, "......it is true, her mother stopped it, but,......she stopped us and didn't approve because.....she said my heart wasn't wholely with her daughter...."

"Gguk, that is ridiculous. You loved her so much and you were so happy-," you have to scoff

"YN, shut up. This isn't easy for me....I am really struggling....."

You simply nod and let him continue, "She was right....I did love her, I was head over heels Jack Fell Down and Broke His Crown, all of that.....but she wasn't wrong.....and I can't put full blame on her, I would still be going through with it if it weren't for someone else telling me I shouldn't .....telling me it wouldn't be fair to me, or her, or the other person"

You wanted to ask what he meant, who he was talking about? Who stopped him? Who else could have his heart, you had never seen anyone more in love, other than you and Yoongi; the thought makes you frown at your lap and sense you promised Jungguk if there was ever a time he needed to talk and you needed to just hush and listen you would, and this was it. You obviously believe him because it was impossible that anyone would disapprove of the man sitting in front of you marrying their daughter; he was literally perfect for the role. If you and Yoongi did have a child, you would want your son or daughter to grow up and find someone exactly like Jungguk or his brothers. You would feel safe knowing they were in the best hands. There was also the fact that he was still on good terms with her and her mother. So what does he mean someone told him not to do it else? What was happening? You had a internal conversation with yourself as you waited for him to keep talking

"......so yeah.....we called it all off because we both realized that....I wasn't all in it. I had priorities elsewhere. ...."

"Is it okay for me to speak yet?" He shakes his head, "please not yet, I'm not done....," you nod and watch him eat and see the gears in his head turning, he's clearly thinking about it

-----two months ago-----

Jungkook was running into the hospital to find the family out in a hallway, Namjoon just looks at him and shakes his head as he looks at him

"B-B-Both?" "She's going to be alright," his brother tries to smile but it's a very horrible attempt as one could expect and he wraps his arms around Jungkook's head for a moment when the younger runs to his chest

"Gguk...-," Seokjin tries to say something besides him but he interrupts

"H-How....how bad is she? Where is she?" Jungkook pulls away, wiping his face covered in tears and snot; he felt horrible, his brother was gone but as s selfish as he thought it was, he was relieved he didn't lose you both and didn't care that he had ran here in his half tailored tux because he was in the middle of getting fitted for his suit

"Honestly, she barely got hurt, I guess he sort made sure somehow....," Namjoon answers him and wipes his face

"Where is she?"

"Gguk," he points to his bride to be who had come to support him but he can't bring himself to care

"Where is she?"

"She's in a room nearby resting, her Eomma is here"

"Her Eomma? Like the real one?"

"I don't think her biological one, I called her, I hope that's alright"

"Perfect, thankyou"

"You're shaking baby," she stands to rub his arms

"I'm fine ....I'm fine...thankyou," he politely rejects the gesture, "they took him a bit ago, but she's resting," Namjoon tells him and he nods

"Room number," he demands

"Wait, sit for a minute, process," his brothers plead and try to force him to sit down with his fiance and he shakes his head, "No! No no I'm I'm processing fine, what's her room number?" He fights their hands gripping his shoulders and stands

"Gguk...."

"WHAT'S HER FUCKING ROOM NUMBER?!"

"I'll take you...," Namjoon rubs his back and walks him up; all that and he didn't register his soon to be mother in law amongst the family, watching carefully

"Annyeonghaseyo," Jungkook bows to the woman sitting beside you that he had spoken to on the phone only until this point once and she smiles and bows to him as well, holding your hand

"She's going to be okay," she assures him, "he made sure she was shielded. He was protective of her when they were children too, just little babies, I think it was his instinct.....I'm sorry...."

"Yeah....Yoo was like that....it's nice to meet you"

"Thankyou all for taking care of her....," she eyes what he's wearing, "Your better half came to support you...."

"Yeah, my girlfriend's great," he smiles, not registering what he was saying the way she did, "I need to be here"

"I'll give you a mom-"

"We need to speak," Jungkook hears his soon to be mother in law at the door and starts to go over to her

"Her," she stops him, your mom rubs his arm and goes to her like they had used telepathy or something but he can't hear the conversation, doesn't want to or care; he scans you, his brother really did make sure all the glass misses you. He smiles at the thought and holds your hand, kissing it, "Thankyou," he looks up at the ceiling, "We've got her....," he sends a kiss up

"Gguk....," he hears her voice and his bride to be sits beside him and takes his other hand, slipping his ring into it as she leans over and kisses his head

"W-Wha-," his eyes brim over with tears as he finally looks at her, she smiles, "Eomma says she won't let me do this...."

"I don't un-," he can't speak, but his point gets across

"She knows we love each other, but don't you see? I see it, she sees, even YN's Eomma sees....Gguk, we can't do this.....you look at her and suddenly I evaporate from any room I'm in, I know you love me, I do. I love you too, but I understand. I would love if we could still be close though?" He nods and she wraps her arms around him

"I love you," he chokes in a weak attempt to try and change things

"I know," she rubs his back and gives him a soft peck

"You don't think we should-?" He tries to ask the two women behind him, they both shake their heads and your Eomma comes over

"We see you love her, but earl-may I speak with him honey?" His girlfriend kisses him again and leaves after her mom kisses his head as well, they leave together

"Earlier I asked you, I said your better half was here for you and you said yes, my girlfriend.... understand?" She strokes his hair, "You love them both, no one can deny that, but you said it yourself you needed to be here..... understand? Take it from a old woman, don't make the mistakes I did because my morals were too strong...," she smiles and chuckles, wiping his face

He thinks for a moment, ".......her dad?" She simply says, "mhm," and nods, still wiping his face and moving his hair from his face. "You not being with YN wouldn't be fair to yourself, or that young woman out in the hall, or the one in the bed, not even your brother...."

"Yes....y-yes ma'am, thankyou.....," he actually smiles

"Do you want me to get your brother to come hold you?" She asks just looking at him and knowing all he wanted right now was someone to hold him but he shakes his head and leans over onto her shoulder, and she holds him

"Jungguk, don't tell her until after the divorce, yeah?" He nods his head

----------now------

"Jungguk, Ggukie....," he realizes you're moving your hand in front of his face, "Welcome back," you smile

"You didn't finish telling me ...."

"I can't yet...I will....I need to sleep....," you nod and tuck him in

#bts #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts jin #jimin x reader #jin x reader #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader

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starmocha · 2 months ago

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hey, I'm the anon who sent the homer and bart ask, i'm so sorry it took me this long to answer, my cold got really bad lol but it's fine now

you can bet your answer also made the comfort hcs list, it was so perfect 🥹🥹

raf just taking coral, not even asking, because that's his fishie and he's going to show the ocean to his fishie 😭😭 I love coral's reaction when he fully wakes up, delighted. i can see raf's reaction so perfectly, bet he's got the biggest smile on his face, heart beating a little faster 'cause after 800 years he's got his beloved bride and their beloved little treasure right there with him. I love how clingy raf is with coral and how everyone around him just sees how in love with the little guy he is.

lmao mc getting her child kidnapped by his own dad at random times of the day 😂😂😂

listen, caleb and his little co-pilot, they're the cutest thing ever. i love how caleb just wants to include his baby in everything. he had absolutely no role model of his own, he's known pain and strict rules all his life and yet he's soft and patient and kind with his boy and of course he wants to get snacks at 2am with him while mom is out on a mission, like, duh

baby being a certified yapper 🥹💕💕 mc innocently asking if he had fun with daddy while mommy was gone and he's just spilling the beans right away 😂😂

OMG LITTLE BIRDIE WAITS FOR HER DADDY AND FALLS ASLEEP LIKE THAT????? 😭😭😭😭🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

i can't imagine how moved and touched he must be, that's his little girl and she misses him so so so much 💕💕 it's so cute she's his number 1 fan and that extends to his singing. she genuinely enjoys it 😍😍 she really is his greatest gift and she has no idea. 🥹

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 starlight waking up from a deep slumber only to go steal her father's chicken and then fall asleep again ♥️♥️🤭🤭 his reaction is so cute too, i bet he cherishes it more than anything. i can imagine mc waking up to go see what's happening and after a brief scolding she eventually joins them too cause xavmc are unhinged in the cutest way possible like that lol

and I saved my most favorite one for last because 😭😭😭😭😭

the idea of zayne coming back home from a bad day at his job and being so restless he can't even sleep

and then snowdrop waking up and catching him just before he left and then running to grab his little jacket and shoes because, wdym his daddy's going on a walk without him? 🤔 that's just crazy thinking!

and zayne wanting him to tag along because that's his baby and his baby's the best stress relief he could possibly get 🥹🥹🥹🥹 ♥️♥️♥️♥️

thank you for this! picturing them all with their little kiddos in that specific scenario was so much fun. 💕💕💕

ANON, I'M GLAD YOU'RE FEELING BETTER NOW <33333

I had so much fun with these, too. It really makes me want to expand on them into actual fics. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

#x — 💌#anonymous #lads bbs.txt #coral.txt #pilot.txt #birdie.txt #starlight.txt #snowdrop.txt

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clumsy-jiminie · 1 year ago

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ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

❝ ʙɪɢ ꜰᴀɴ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 3.8k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, public displays of affection

↣ notes :: welcome to the first chapter! 💕 I hope you guys already for the rollercoaster between these two.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"you see my thick thighs, lost when you look into my brown eyes, see my little waist can make you switch sides. you've never seen the devil in disguise."

- be honest, jorja smith-

ｗｉｎｔｅｒ

A low hum of people chatting over the Lo-Fi beats filled the area. Glasses clinking, some munching, all sounds that Kiara Smith grew familiar with. Though the crowd was more significant than the last exhibition she attended, it was starting to become all the same.

She could remember the very first exhibit she went to and all the nerves it brought. She was a bumbling mess—sweaty palms constantly being wiped on her dress that she may have also used as her prom dress while her stomach frequently threatened to release her breakfast all over the floor—as she watched the few people who also attended like hawks. So insecure about the words those people chose not to share. So insecure about their lips pressed into taught smiles. Were they being genuine or just keeping up appearances? Was her art worth anything, or was she going to flop and end up having to get a shitty job just to make ends meet? Those same nerves would never fade, holding onto her like some clingy child desperately needing attention. But they became less apparent whenever her boyfriend was around. The heaven-sent angel would always know the right thing to say and make the world melt away. Though he would never miss an event, it was very seldom that he was on time. She never stressed his whereabouts, knowing he'd arrive eventually.

The 24-year-old continued to walk around, partially eavesdropping as she passed couples and groups of people. Occasionally, she would take a sip of the bubbly gold in her glass to appease that child named Nerves tugging on her leg. She slowed to a stop once a particular piece caught her eye. It was two separate canvases placed at equal heights. One canvas had a bright figure colored in hues of pink and blue, while the other was dark. Shades of black and grey bled from one canvas to the other as if it was trying to overcome the figure itself. The darkness had enough space on their canvas, though, at least a third remaining untouched, but it wanted the colors. It wanted to possess them, spread its darkness to them.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" blurted a voice near her. Despite the voice being calm and inviting, it startled her. She quickly turned to the side, not realizing a man joined her. His side profile was magnificent — features that were immaculately sculpted from his eyebrows, down his straight nose bridge leading to a button tip, to where his rose-shaded lips took center stage, frozen in a pout. His light blonde hair with dark roots made his olive skin stand out. It looked natural on him. The man was attractive, and Kiara couldn't deny that. His aura alone was almost as intoxicating as the drink in her hand. It pulled her in and wrapped around her like a warm embrace. She nodded, humming in agreement with his question. She faced ahead again.

The man stole another glance at her, eyes slowly glazing over her features. "It's so rare nowadays to find someone who could capture so much without saying a word. It's almost godly."

The more he talked, the nicer his voice sounded. It had an excellent depth, low and appealing even in his hushed tone. Kiara was into what he was saying, continuing to nod until the last comment. She had to sip her drink to subdue the urge to giggle.

"But you know what you and this painting have in common?"

She turned to look at the man, their eyes meeting for the first time tonight. And boy, how he could get lost in those pools of amber. She raised an eyebrow curiously, her glass still resting on her lips as she silently urged him to continue.

"You both were crafted with the same care, holding a beauty one could only dream of containing."

Kiara almost spat out her drink, startling the man before her. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, holding back the remainder of the liquid behind her taut lips. The man's eyebrows drew together and his lips pursed slightly. His expression then dropped to a neutral state once he realized she was chuckling at what he said.

Once she swallowed the liquid, she turned to face him completely. She took a moment to graze over his appearance fully. He was well dressed, wearing a black blazer, white crew neck underneath, and dark-wash skinny jeans. Silver earrings dangled from his earlobes to match the silver chain around his neck and the wristwatch.

"Damn," she commented, a grin growing on her full glossed lips, "you're really laying it on thick for someone you don't know." Her voice was nothing he expected. She seemed like one of those Hamptons girls, playing in New York City with daddy's money. Her voice was light and smooth like silk fabric, but her accent was hard like a concrete wall. She was either from Queens or Brooklyn, syllables being dropped or stretched at a whim. Something about the way her words blended was incredibly sexy.

The man quirked a brow, intrigued as the corner of his lips pulled into a half smile. "You tryna say I'm out of practice?"

"Precisely." She answered quickly and confidently as she gazed up at him. "I expect that kind of line from someone twice your age."

"Well, ouch." He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as his eyes glanced downward at the girl. "My job requires me to be blunt, so I call it like I see it."

"And you're saying I'm as beautiful as this painting?"

He grabbed a glass off the tray of a passing waiter. "Your beauty surpasses it." It was true. She was absolutely breathtaking. Her golden honey skin practically glowed under the cool white fluorescent lights. Her hair was dark brown and long, pulled back into a sleek high ponytail with two strands framing her face. Her black satin dress hugged every curve in her body with grace, and there were plenty of them. The material looked soft to the touch, gently reflecting the light. He'd be lying if he said her looks weren't the reason why he approached. And on top of all the looks, she smelled phenomenal—warm and sweet, like a freshly baked sugar cookie with a dash of cinnamon on top, making him want to relive through the holiday season that just passed.

Kiara let out a soft scoff. "Thank you, but that's not as much of a compliment as you may think." She suddenly spun on her stiletto heels, turning her back to the man as she walked away.

He quickly followed, catching up in a few steps to join her by her side. "Do explain."

"Beauty has, and always will be, skin deep." She circled the champagne in her glass while looking out into the crowd. "Looks fade over time. Trends come and go faster than the seasons. So if you really wanna wow a girl…." She stopped at another painting that grabbed her attention before looking at him. "Compliment the things you can't see." The two stopped to gaze at the artwork in front of them. The man thought over her words while admiring the piece. The canvas before them had various hues of green splashed about, but shades of purple peeked through upon closer inspection. It mimicked little flowers blooming through a field of wild grass. She managed to lead him to the only painting that mirrored their conversation.

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "You're completely right. And to think I almost missed out on how intelligent you are."

She smiled, soft and genuine. "Thank you."

The man stayed by her side as Kiara floated, offering his opinions on whichever piece they stopped in front of. She really appreciated being able to receive unbiased feedback on her work. He didn't know he was chatting with the artist. No one in the room knew. The name signed at the bottom of each canvas was Luna, a faceless painter. It's been that way since the beginning, and she intended it to stay that way. Only her close friends, family, and people she hired knew of her secret.

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to lunch tomorrow." The man asked at their fourth or so painting.

"I see you don't waste any time."

"Correct. Time is limited, after all."

She looked up at him, his perfect lips pulled into a soft smile. Maybe in another lifetime, she thought as she caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Flattered, but I can't."

His brows furrowed. He thought that the conversation they were having was great, so what was with the rejection? "May I ask why?"

"I have a boyfriend," she said with a wide smile.

He suddenly scoffed, causing her to tilt her head to the side slightly. "I haven't seen anyone on your arm the whole night." The first thing the man hated the most was being lied to.

Her brows then lowered while her eyes narrowed. "He's just late."

The second thing was excuses.

"Tsk," he shook his head before downing his drink. "Committed to a man with no time management? Red flag."

"And somehow that's better than a man who can't take rejection?" She shot back as she quickly matched his energy. They had a peaceful conversation only moments before, and now the energy between them had grown negative.

"Oh, I can take rejection," he stated with a chuckle as he put his glass down. "But only when I'm being told the truth."

"It is—"

"Hey, darling." And finally, the deep and butter-smooth voice appeared, melting away the anger that was bubbling inside Kiara. As he approached her side, he placed his large hand on the small of her back and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry I'm late."

The blonde in front of them eyed the man from his tan skin and wavy ebony hair to his solid-colored turtle neck and long coat. Something about the dark-haired man seemed familiar to the blonde. Then it hit him like a freight train. "Well, isn't it Mr. Kim Taehyung?" He smiled widely, glancing up at the slightly taller man.

Taehyung's brows furrowed momentarily before grinning. "Holy shit, Park Jimin!" He stepped forward, leaving Kiara's side to wrap his arms around the blonde. "What are you doing here?" He asked as he pulled away from the man. "I never would've thought that you'd be into art."

He chuckled softly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's just a little appreciation I picked up from Spain." He shrugged casually.

Taehyung's jaw clenched briefly, his smile slipping for a moment. For as long as he's known Jimin, he always had to slip in a way to brag about his accomplishments. It was sad that he still hasn't grown out of that trait yet. "Ah yeah," he responded, playing cool, "I forgot you traveled there. How was it?"

Jimin shrugged again. "It was Spain," he said, glazing over the topic. "But me and—shit, I'm sorry." His attention shifted from Taehyung to the woman. "I never asked for your name."

"I'm Kiara," she said softly. Her arms folded over her chest as she watched the two men converse. She didn't mind a bit since Taehyung was the most extroverted of the two.

"Kiara," Jimin repeated to himself, his eyes trailing down her appearance briefly. He tried to pin the name to the face, especially if she was Taehyung's. His eyes finally returned to the other man. "Kiara and I were discussing some of the pieces earlier. I've been a huge fan of Luna for years now." He tried to be calm about the subject of Luna, but it made excitement course through his veins. He was among the first few to learn about the mysterious artist who abruptly appeared on the scene. Everyone wanted one of their pieces overnight, and Jimin was obviously at the very top of that list. Every brushstroke left was a paragraph, speaking a language only artists could understand.

"I don't even wanna talk about how hard it was to get in here," he chuckled, a faint flush spreading over his cheeks. A Luna Eclipse had a longer wait list than some Michelin-star restaurants. Luckily for him, he was able to pull a few strings. A few phone calls here, some embarrassing promises there, and he was in.

Kiara couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she eyed the man. The smirk on Taehyung's lips was full of pride, almost conceited, as he tilted his head slightly to the side. "Oh, you don't say?" For once in the pair's life, it felt like Taehyung had a one-up on Jimin. "How does it feel to—"

"My love," Kiara interjected, voice just as sweet, yet bitter, like honey as she placed her hand on Taehyung's chest. She looked up at him, and Jimin could see her pupils dilated, swirling with love. He chewed on his lower lip gently. He barely knew this woman, but why did he want her to look at him like that? "I have to talk to you about something."

Taehyung stared at his partner with furrowed brows before looking at Jimin. "Um, alright. I'll catch up with you later then."

She looked at Jimin, and that love dissipated instantly. Such a look was only reserved for Taehyung, making a heaviness grow in his abdomen. "If you would excuse us."

The blonde couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from Kiara. "Of course," he finally said, grinning at the man. "Don't be a stranger!"

The two waved at each other before Kiara led him away. Her arm wrapped around his, holding him close to her. She glanced back at Jimin one last time before pulling Taehyung to a quiet section of the event. He leaned against the pillar while Kiara stood before him, gazing up at him.

"Why did you cut me off?" Taehyung asked, keeping his voice calm.

"Because you almost name-dropped me," she said, her arms folding over her chest.

The 26-year-old's lips turned into a small o shape before forming a sheepish smile. "You're right. I'm sorry. I completely forgot for a second. It's just so hard not to brag about you when you always look so good." He reached out and touched her waist, pulling her into him.

She couldn't stop her lips from forming a smile as he buried his face into her neck. She giggled quietly, her hands placed on his chest. "Stop it," she whined, not wanting him to do such a thing.

Taehyung inhaled deeply, the notes of her sweet perfume entering his nostrils. "Mm, and you're wearing my favorite perfume too?" He mumbled against her skin, placing gentle kisses randomly. "You just wanted me to be on you."

The girl laughed before gasping when she felt his large hand fully palm her ass. She pulled away from him just enough to slap him in the chest playfully. "We're in public!"

His eyes locked with hers, with a smirk playing on his lips. "So?" He questioned as he pulled her close again, resuming to litter her neck with kisses. "No one's looking anyway. They're too distracted by your beautiful art."

He continued until he reached her favorite spot, a moan parting from her smiling lips. His hands couldn't get enough of her, feeling her up as if it was the first time. Kiara's eyes fluttered shut, biting back moans that wanted to escape her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Taehyung," she whined again, partially out of want. It started to feel so good that the world began to melt away. "Someone will see."

Someone cleared their throat. "That's true."

Kiara's eyes shot open, quickly pushing the man in the midst of giving her a hickey off of her. He groaned as his back hit the pillar wall while she turned around. Her cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassment promptly replacing the arousal. She saw familiar ice-blue eyes playfully glaring at her. The petite woman pushed her long, ginger hair off her shoulders as she cocked an eyebrow at the two—disapproval flooding her features.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "Hello, Aimee," he said, greeting the woman for both of them.

Aimee huffed, glancing at the man. "Taehyung."

He stood up from the wall, kissing Kiara's temple. "Lemme get us something to drink." He shot one last glare to Aimee before walking off.

Aimee shook her head. "I don't know how you put up with him and all the PDA." She grumbled, her heavy New Jersey accent ringing through Kiara's ears while she glared a hole into the back of Taehyung's head.

Kiara straightened out the smooth material of her dress. "You get used to it," she smiled softly to herself. "Plus, I kinda like it."

"Ugh," Aimee rolled her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest. "Seems like he'd fuck ya right there with an audience." The girl pointed her index finger to her open mouth, making a gagging sound while Kiara laughed.

"You're so dramatic," Kiara smiled while shaking her head. "But what's up? Is everything going OK?" Aimee was at every event Kiara held. She was her art dealer, providing guests with the information needed to purchase a piece. She would only come up to the artist if something were awry.

"Oh! Everything is fucking fantastic, honestly." Her eyes lit up with excitement as she bounced on the balls of her heels. "I think this might be your best collection yet."

Kiara sighed in relief, placing her hand on her chest as it fell. "Thank you. If we can get everything sold tonight, I'll be set." Aimee looked at the girl, her brows furrowing momentarily before releasing. "Taehyung and I have been looking for a bigger place."

Aimee's lips turned down into a slight frown. "A bigger house? Has he even talked about getting a ring yet?"

Kiara's shoulders dropped, her hand pinching and rubbing at her fingers. She sounded just like her best friends and every other friend in Kiara's life. "I know," she sighed. She glanced down at her left hand, where her ring finger was aching to be adorned with something. "It's so backward, but a one-bedroom isn't enough. He needs an office space for work. So, I'm hoping the ring will come soon after once we settle into a new place."

She looked at the girl, a sad smile replacing her frown. "Well, it's only been four years, right?"

Only. That word ran circles in Kiara's head.

It's only been for years.

You've only just moved in with each other.

You've only just started dating.

The word was growing tiresome, especially in the conversations about Taehyung. Everyone had an opinion about her and her relationship, but no one dared to say anything straightforward about it. She was sick of only.

Kiara nodded slowly, which only caused Aimee to sigh. "He'll come around, doll, don't stress it." She assured with a soft smile, gently patting the woman's shoulder. "Lemme get back to my job so you can get that house." After Kiara gave Aimee a small smile, she walked off. She almost bumped into Taehyung on the way out, the two quietly cursing at each other before continuing their path.

He returned to Kiara with a smile, handing her a glass of champagne. "All good news?"

She grinned at the man, feeling warm despite not sipping her drink yet. "Amazing news."

As the night continued, the two walked around together. They always had a hand on each other somehow, whether it was Taehyung's on the small of her back or Kiara's hand being swallowed by his. She adored this. It made her feel safe—feel wanted. He had to let everyone know she was off the market and was his. As if a shiny diamond ring resting upon her left finger wouldn't have done the same. Taehyung struck up conversations with random people, small-talking them like the extrovert he was. During each conversation, she would glance around, finding something to fill her attention while they spoke of things that didn't matter. Every time, her gaze would meet the blonde.

Their eyes lingered for longer than what was appropriate. Why was he looking at me? She thought while she fidgeted with her fingers. Or was he staring at Taehyung?

"Love," she said as she turned her gaze to Taehyung. He has just finished up a conversation with an elderly couple. "How long have you known Jimin?"

"We grew up together, and were best friends."

The girl's eyes went wide. Despite four years together, Taehyung rarely talked about anything before his college years. It was optional to dwell on past things, even though Kiara would've loved to know everything, from how he scraped his knees while learning to ride a bike to his first love.

"We even went to college together, out here," he continued. "But our crowds were completely different. He got along with the nepo babies since he basically is one, and I got along with the art kids. I remember us bumping heads quite a bit." He let out an amused chuckle.

"Oh," she frowned slightly.

"Like he didn't have to brag about going to Spain," he blurted out. "Not all of us can drop our responsibilities and take off on vacation for a year."

"A year?!" She repeated as her jaw dropped.

"Mhm, basically had his parents pay for the whole trip." There was a fire behind his words. He's been tight-lipped about his friendship with Jimin, and finally, it felt amazing to let it out. "I'm surprised he's not rotting from the inside out."

Kiara pouted a bit, never hearing Taehyung speak so harshly about another. "Well, maybe it was a birthday gift?" The blonde couldn't be that bad, even if she got a taste of that quick-witted mouth earlier. He could've just been having a bad day after all.

"He left in March, babe, and his birthday is in October."

Her mouth formed a small o before she chewed on her lower lip gently. "So you're not gonna catch up with him?"

He looked ahead before glancing down at the girl. "I am," he said with a shrug, "I would rather hang out with a nepo baby than my coworkers." Kiara let out a half-hearted snicker as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "It would be a good opportunity to get out of the house since someone says I need to make friends."

"You do!" She looked at him, brows furrowed and nose slightly scrunched. "I feel bad leaving you home every girls' night. I want to know you're having fun and not rewatching the same three movies."

"They're good movies!" He argued with a smile as the girl shot him a glare. "But I hear you," she stretched out the last syllable as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "So I will try for you, OK?"

The girl smiled, leaning up to touch their lips together briefly. "Thank you." She hoped they could work past their differences and become friends. She knew the man wanted to go out and experience things, but he longed for a set group to do that with. Sometimes, rekindling a relationship was more manageable than starting a new one.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

#bts fanfic #bts fic #fic: inevitably yours #park jimin fanfic #park jimin fic #bts smut #jimin x oc #park jimin x oc #park jimin smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut

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oya-oya-okay · 1 year ago

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How abouts the guys reaction? Imagine a child already has a fiance which shock everyone.

YES DEAR NOW I'M THINKING ABOUT IT!!

So, let's imagine! Sebastian will also be at this event. He says that Ciel can't participate in this because Ciel is married, all the other guys: EEEEEEEEHHHHHH?!? IS HE MARRIED?!

Sebastian and Ciel talk about Elizabeth Midford. And maybe Ace would have said "WHAT?! It can't be! What kind of world do you live in?! Being married at 13 is so terrible!". BECAUSE Ace himself was disappointed in the relationship he had. He doesn't want a romantic relationship anytime soon, so when he finds out that THEIR BROTHER LITTLE CIEL IS MARRIED, HE'S SHOCKED-

All the characters would be in complete shock too, ofc. Maybe some felt quite humiliated. I think Riddle would have accepted this fact and would not have allowed Ciel to participate in this event and maybe offer the role of Sebastian just in case

But I think Ciel would also have to participate to at least help the guys who got slapped a little (Riddle would be angry). Perhaps something will go wrong and Eliza will also give him a slap in the face like "You are a groom who does not remain faithful to his bride!!"...

And all hope will be on... SEBASTIAN!!!

Anyway, it's just my thoughts right now. Thanks for asking and paying attention to me hehe!!🥰💕💕💕

#ask #kuroXtwst #Kuro #Twst

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stellari-s · 2 years ago

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Hi! Hope you’re doing well :)

Ithaqua x fem! S/o

I feel like it probably takes him a lot to be willing to take his mask off, so it takes him a while but he eventually takes it off when he’s with his s/o alone. Definitely fluffy 🤭💕

🩵

hi, anon! good lord, i'm really sorry for taking so long on this. i know it's very belated, but they say better late than never 🥹 also, i normally do gn readers... if you wanna interpret them as fem then go ahead though!

request; yes yes, by anon! requests are closed for now (inbox is open to chat with me). i got to catch up on my backlog...

wc; 821.

tags; gn! reader, default! ithaqua, ithaqua x reader, fluff, comfort, established relationship.

summary; seldom do you see ithaqua with his mask off: you know he's not shy, but something deeper - you only wish for him to feel comfortable around you.

out in the garden, the flowers that swayed to the breeze’s whims provided color within the dark night solely illuminated by the crescent moon above and the stars that flickered in its faint glory. there were two people sitting next to each other on the swing, close enough so their hands touched on the seat, as they both kicked their feet in the air gently to move the swing in a lackadaisical, rhythmic motion.

“did you know?” you said, breaking the silence, “in some cultures, when a couple gets married, the bride hides her face until she is alone with the groom.”

“really?” the other replied.

while his tone could be perceived as curt to others, you knew this was the way he sometimes sounded when he was getting a bit tired or didn’t want to actively engage in the conversation, instead opting to listen passively.

“mhm,” you replied, “i mean, i dunno, doesn’t that sound romantic, itha?”

itha stifled a laugh. “yeah, sure, except you sound like you’re trying to target me with that?”

you shook your head.

“no,” you replied, “i just...”

before you could continue, itha leaned in closer to you: “do you... want to see my face?”

he sounded like a lost child trying to find his way back home. though you couldn’t see his expression, the small waver in his voice shot through your heart with a pang that refused to ebb.

how could you respond?

“...only if you feel comfortable.”

despite itha being your partner for a good amount of time - perhaps a few months, though time grew to be a more foreign concept the more of it you spent here in the manor - you really never could recall a time with him where he took off his mask. even the times he would kiss you, he only took off the lower half of his mask, where you could catch a glimpse of his somewhat pale skin.

you also didn’t know much about him before he came to the manor: his past seemed to be a sensitive subject for him, so he never talked about it, nor have you brought it up.

you’ve just come to know he wasn’t shy about his own face - he simply disliked it.

“only if...” you paused for a moment before continuing: “only if you take my words for the truth. only if you trust me.”

itha laughed. “okay, okay, i get it.”

his tone was slightly teasing; you couldn’t stop your cheeks from warming up. it seemed ever since you two made it official, you seemed to notice a lot more little things about him.

“sorry, i really didn’t mean to force you.”

“when did i say that?” he tilted his head. “if i was uncomfortable, i would have said it a long time ago.”

that’s true...

“it's not that i really mind,” itha started, “but... i guess i feel like there’s really nothing special about my face? i’m not really sure why anyone would like it.”

you shook your head. “it’s not about how special your face is. but i want to share our moments together with you to the fullest... i want to share our happiness together.”

itha seemed to think about it for a moment before he slowly lifted his hand. his fingers weren’t trembling, but his motions were slow and deliberate nonetheless. he held his mask and removed it, revealing slightly pale skin that reminded you of the moon, light blue eyes like waters in a painting, and the soft lips you always enjoyed giving kisses to.

his expression seemed nervous, seemingly wanting to avert his eyes, and his cheeks appeared a bit rosy too.

“are you uncomfortable?” you asked, placing your hand on the other’s shoulder.

“no, just not used to it.” itha played with a lock of his hair, twirling it between his index finger: a small habit of his, you noticed, when nervous. “but if it’s with you, i figured it would be fine...”

you chuckled before adjusting your position so one hand was over itha's and the other cupped his cheek.

“i love you for everything, itha,” you said, “if you don’t like your own face, i will love it enough for the both of us... until you grow to love yourself more, you can lean on me. take my words for the truth: i think you are very beautiful - your face, your heart, your soul. everything.”

sharing your oath of love once more, you sealed it with a kiss.

when you two parted, itha gave you a boyish smile before putting on his mask again.

“in light of what you said before, since we're together,” he said, his index finger over where his lips were beneath his mask, “what my face looks like will be a secret between the two of us.”

you nodded in response.

“yes, one just for the two of us.”

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willowisapillow · 2 years ago

Text

🍭🍬 Candy Collecting 🍬 🍭

🎃 Hope you guys had a great Halloween! 🎃

How did your Halloween go? For me, it was honestly a whole lotta fun. Yeah, it did get kinda boring after a while once 9 o’clock rolled around, because a lot of people either went home or to a different part of my neighborhood.

I had a blast, though, I was the one passing out candy, and if you didn’t see my previous post on here, I dressed up as Tiffany AKA, the Bride of Chucky, and I had my talking Chucky doll on my lap while I was passing out candy. A lot of people really loved my Chucky doll and costume, I even met someone who was also dressed up as Chucky, and we both just started fangirling 😭

Though there were some little kids who were absolutely terrified of my Chucky doll that they didn’t even want to get the candy, so I just passed it off to their parents instead, so they could give it to their kids. Honestly, I don’t blame those kids at all whatsoever, if I was their age, I would have been scared too 💀

Speaking of costumes, I saw a lot of really cool horror costumes, I saw some Wednesdays, Moritias, Chuckys, Jasons, and a lot of Freddy Kruegers and Michael Myers. Though funnily enough, I didn’t see any Ghostfaces or Megans. I also saw a lot of cool non-horror costumes, I saw some Disney Princesses, Marios, and Sonics, and I even saw a few dressed people dressed up as Glamrock Freddy, Huggy Wuggy, Patrick, and motherfreaking Barney, so uh yeah that was a thing lol

And there was this one family that was all dressed up as Demon Slayer characters, and it was pretty wholesome 💕

As for my art, this is a follow-up of my silly little AU that I posted a while ago, and if you haven’t seen it, here’s the TL;DR version of it; it’s an AU that takes place in the very first Child’s Play movie, Chucky is not a serial killer (but he’s still a major douchebag), and still lives with the Barclays (Andy and his mom, Karen).

This picture was also made as a (belated) birthday gift to one of my closest online friends, RobTheAlien on Amino, Deviantart, and Twitter. I made her a Chucky-related gift for her last year, so why not make another one for her, we both really love the series <3

For the context of the art, Halloween started rolling around, and both Andy and Chucky were super hyped to dress up and get some candy, mostly Chucky because he had a little plan up his sleeve. Basically, since Chucky is well, y’know… a doll, he looked to be around the average height of a toddler.

So, his plan was that while they were trick-or-treating, he could get Andy to tell the neighbors that he was bringing along his, “baby brother, Tommy”, and that it was his first time going trick-or-treating. The neighbors would give the both of them candy, thinking that Chucky was his, “brother”, and thus, they would get double the candy (and double the diabetes as well 😋).

At first, Andy was against the idea, since it didn’t feel right to trick the neighbors in a selfish way to get some sweets, but Chucky managed to convince him that they could have the biggest candy collection in the entire neighborhood, with all of the candy a kid his age could ever want and eventually gave in to the idea. He also decided to dress Chucky up as a ghost to make the whole thing look more convincing.

Oh Chuck, such a good role model and influence on little Andy/j

At first, I wanted to draw Andy alongside Chucky but didn’t feel like it because A. I wanted to make the art less time-consuming, and B. I ain’t very good at drawing little kid characters. But I will say that he did dress up as a vampire, complete with fake fangs and everything, and maybe I might make fanart with the both of them together in their costumes in the future.

As for the art itself, I really loved how it turned out. I was farting around with the filters on IbisPaint X, and I eventually chose the exclusion filter, and I felt like it was perfect for this art, ‘cause I wanted to go for an indie kidcore-type vibe for it. And as for the candies I chose for the picture, I basically just googled, “What types of candy were popular in the 80s?”, and I eventually went with the three candies you’re currently seeing in the picture.

Honestly, the only candy I really like out of the three are Skittles, I don’t think I’ve ever tried a Charleston Chew or Baby Ruth before. But what’s your guys' favorite candy? 👀

🍭 🍬 👻

#chucky #childs play #childs play fanart #childs play franchise #chucky movies #chucky the killer doll #chucky fanart #au #alternative universe #alternate universe #slasher movie #slasher fanart #horror villain #horror fanart #happy halloween #halloween 2023 #ghost costume #trick or treating #spooktober

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peggyao3 · 9 months ago

Text

Relic - Pt. 10 "Fettered Flesh"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧

A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism❗, Murder, Female rage, Teaching the Universe about Feminism, Angst with a Happy Ending

WORD COUNT: 5k

A/N: HELLO PRECIOUS PEOPLE 💕 Shit hits the Giedi Prime fan, so get out your umbrellas!! I feel like with every chapter I'm getting more excited 🥹 And everyone who has left a comment is to blame 😭 I appreciate it so greatly 😭 I've recently started an internship thingy (in a manner of baby's first real job experience lmao), so I have a bit less time to write, but chapter 11 and 12 are finished already, so I do have a bit of food in stock 💪

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

Day 5

Jealousy is a beast, but loneliness is a monster.

Jealousy ignites with fiery tendrils but loneliness drowns you slowly until you're staring up from the bottom of the pitch black sea, yearning for the light.

All day she's been mulling over the three woman-creatures, Feyd's "pets". What is it that infuriates her the most? The physical violence? The fear of what they might have done to her - Death, torture or worse? Their derogatory status? Their beastliness grafted into female bodies, paired with the fact that Feyd has been bedding them at some point?

Without thinking about it, and perhaps it is tactless, she has been pouring her heart out to Lilia while the attentive handmaid is treating her scabbed injuries from last night. Now it is evident that wound management is a well-needed skill around the Harkonnen palace. The sarcophagus is safely folded up and her new weapon is tucked into one of the compartments.

"Am I overreacting?!" She asks, even though - hell no - she knows she isn't, but a part of her soul yearns for human connection, affirmation, camaraderie, friendship. It feels so good to be talking to someone who is not the man she thought she knew or the belittling Bene Gesserit sisters.

"Hmm," Lilia begins tentatively and the glowglobe light brings out the unusual color of her eyes as she tilts her head, so amber that they almost appear golden. "While I'll say it's never been common for the na-Baron to practice monogamy… I'll also say that I'd be quite furious at my husband if he had three women on the side." Her voice quivers upon women, as if it repels her to describe the three beings as such. The spider in the Baron's throne room may be the most harmless monster to roam these halls.

The engineer's questions chip away and it becomes perfectly clear that it's the jealousy that cuts the deepest, even with her superficial wounds cared for, a blade is wedged inside her guts that will keep on cutting.

"And do these 'pets' have handmaids too?" A self-destructive question to determine where her own status truly lies. What's a bride but another pet to him?

"They used to have handmaids…" Lilia hesitates. "But they always ended up eating them. I'm glad to be assigned to you, my Lady."

Great. There she has another horror to add to the menagerie.

Lilia continues: "If it calms you, I doubt there will be any further incidences with them. The na-Baron has been in an, uhm, unstable mood since last night." The maid's posture turns rigid. She shouldn't be speaking about the na-Baron like that, but the Earth woman's emotions are contagious. Lilia will get herself killed if she's not careful. She's been telling that to herself since she was a little girl.

"Unstable, uh-huh, well so am I."

The Harkonnen woman nods and decides it is best not to elaborate on what it means when Feyd-Rautha is having the worst day of his life.

Vladimir Harkonnen chuckles with delight at his nephew's distress and the infantile killing spree that has been painting the halls black since last night.

It took even less time than he expected, for the new woman to be disgusted by his poor nephew and he cannot hold it against her. Feyd-Rautha is a raging child in an unfortunately manly body.

The Baron is well-entertained by the hollow screams that blare down the hallways. First the three harpies. A shame, they had helped keep Feyd settled so nicely and they hadn't been cheap either. It's also a shame that the Bene Tleilax don't offer bulk discount, considering the number of Gholas the Baron saw himself forced to commission for the little game his nephew and he have been playing.

Next on Feyd's blade was the guard at his little witch's door, then anyone who crossed his path in the night, all the while Feyd was chafing with desire to be cut and hurt. But no one outside of the ring is allowed to raise their blades against the Baron's heir apparent, unless instructed by the Harkonnen sovereign himself.

Some fire has returned to his nephew since the woman's arrival and he appreciates that, yes, he does, but he will keep a sharp eye on the two of them. He has no doubt that she's a Bene Gesserit agent who has implanted phantasms in Feyd-Rautha's mind, but Vladimir is willing to play the sisterhood's game, for his nephew's sake, even though he had sworn to never let a witch enter his fortress again.

Not since Lady Margot Fenring had tried to steal his lovely boy's precious seed. Luckily, Feyd's blade had worked quicker than the thief's vocal chords.

But Valdimir is willing to adapt. The boy had been boring him to death for the past two years and he used to be so entertaining and feisty!

In the evening hours after a night and day of bloodshed, Feyd still has stamina (a trait the Baron cherishes so dearly about his nephew) and comes barging into the guarded dining room, bringing with him the cloying scent of blood that sticks to the tacky soles of his boots. He wears the clothes of yesterday and blood lust in his eyes.

Careful now.

Vladimir gives no sign to the guards, chews without haste and takes a noisy gulp of wine, making sure a bead rolls down the folds of his massive neck. The muscle at his nephew's jaw twitches and his fingers strangulate the blood-slick handle of his blade.

The eight arm-legged arachnid creature shivers in its basket under the table, eager to get to Feyd, partly because his boots smell yummy, but it doesn't dare move away from the Baron's feed. Smart thing.

"Don't look at me like that. It's not my fault that she doesn't like you, boy."

Feyd halts as if struck by one of the bolts of infrared lightning that cook the atmosphere during the summer months. Tension strains his neck, a bull ready to charge at his Matador and for a second the Baron thinks he'll have to switch on his shield ring. But his nephew turns and barges off with bouncing, stomping steps, draining his stamina and wetting his knives on everything that breathes, when the only one he really wants to kill sits fat and mighty on his throne.

It's almost cute, Vladimir thinks. The boy could kill him so easily now, if he really put his cunning, little mind to it. He's strong enough, smart enough, but his spirit - that's the crux. Feyd's spirit is broken and riddled with fear of the punishments. The last time he tried was at 17 and then never again.

Ah-h-h, yes, the Baron has conditioned him well and he considers it his retirement plan. Age hasn't left the Harkonnen sovereign unscathed and while his mind may still be sharp (or else how would he have come up with such a genius plan!), his morbidly obese body fully relies on the protection of his shield ring, guards, lung machine and poison snoopers. But as long as the boy still fears him, the deadliest threat within these halls remains on a pretty, silver leash.

The fire of jealousy has dwindled down and now all she does is miss him, sitting lonely in her room, lonely on this planet, lonely in the universe with only inanimate objects and the virtual messages and images of dead people to keep her company. None of this can ever compare to the warm hands of her beloved and his smile, the roundness of his cheeks and his painted teeth. She misses the way his eyes used to crinkle just for her. He had made her believe that only she could make him smile and offer a sliver of peace to his soul.

It's been two years since their last dream. Why wouldn't he have taken other women?

He said he "hasn't touched them". Since when? Since he learned she's alive? Since their first dreams? Ever?

She regrets now that she denied him when he knocked on her door an hour ago. The bitter guilt of disgracing oneself crawls over her when she slowly moves towards the door, but her self-respect has cauterized and become cinders along with her fury. Feeling sick to her stomach, she places her hand on the panel and the heavy door slides open.

Finding herself face to back with a guard in bulky plate armor, she halts. She wouldn't know where exactly to find Feyd's room anyway. The man turns on his heels and salutes briskly before returning his hand to the hilt of his saber.

"Good evening. Ah, wait, are you… New?" She blurts out, not meaning to seem disrespectful. The Harkonnens often do look quite alike to her, but she could have sworn the old guard was a little shorter.

"Yes, my Lady." The man looks right above the crown of her head, avoiding her eyes.

"What happened to the other guard?"

"He was replaced, my Lady."

That does make sense and she's almost a little relieved. She wouldn't want anyone who'd let these bloodthirsty creatures inside to guard her and her most valuable possession. However, she still hopes this incident won't ruin his chances of employment indefinitely.

"I see." She glances cautiously down the austere corridor. Past the windows, there is only blackness and the occasional faraway rumble from the factories. "Do you have to stand here all night? Your feet must be hurting. What about a chair?"

"I'm not allowed such luxuries."

"Says who? You can't excel at your job while being overworked and your feet are aching in those boots."

The man wonders if the na-Baron's Lady wishes to insult or test him. "I am at full capacity, my Lady!" He salutes again. "I have no complaints about my boots."

"Fine, alright. Could you please point me the way to Feyd's room then? I want to see him. No need to accompany me, I'm sure I'll find it, just make sure no one enters my room, please?"

"Sorry!" The man extends his arm to the side, stopping her advance around him without laying a finger on the Lady. "The na-Baron has ordered this door to be sealed unless he or your handmaid demand entrance."

"Well I don't demand entrance, I want to exit. I want to see Feyd."

The guard grows queasy. That scenario was not included in his instructions. To be fair, the briefing for his new position can be considered rudimental at best but he didn't complain. Up here has been the safest spot in the palace tonight. "The na-Baron doesn't welcome visitors in his private quarters."

"But I'm his…" She swallows uncomfortably. "Betrothed, or am I not?"

"You are, my Lady."

"So, couldn't you perhaps call him?"

The poor guard's expression says 'I'd rather not'. The na-Baron has only just settled, finally, and even the dumbest desert rat knows not to wake a sleeping tiger. All evening long he's been wondering how many of his comrades will be dead come the morning and he doesn't want to be the next one to become fodder for the slaves' food rations. "I'm sorry, my Lady. It is against the protocol to disturb the na-Baron at night unless there is an emergency. Is there an emergency?"

"No…" The woman's expression twists into defeat and she pads backwards with slackened shoulders and somber eyes. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

The door slides shut and she is too sad to even be angry about her gentle imprisonment. There's nothing out there for her anyway, except for Feyd, and if he doesn't want to see her…

Self-destructive thoughts sprout from the cinders in her chest and grow into the wildest phantasms. The guard was too kind to tell her Feyd has visitors in his room. Perhaps he explicitly decreed that she is not to join him.

To prevent herself from hurtling into a bottomless spiral, she must find a distraction. Nearly choking on bitter tears, she opens up the virtual app drawer that she's most familiar with and selects the 3d-modeling tool. A nice, little task to keep her thoughts from straying is exactly what she needs, and so she settles down on the bed and begins to design a practical, foldable, printable chair for her guard, thoughtfully optimizing stability and the required resources.

The engineer doesn't notice when her tears dry, but they do.

Day 6

She sleeps awfully that night, despite the chip's helpful sleeping program consisting of gentle rain and soothing frequencies. It can't have been much longer than two hours when she is awoken by a knock on the door, followed by another, more insistent one a moment later.

The 3d-modeling interface still overlays reality when her eyes snap open and her sluggish brain activity requires a moment to shut it down. She was almost finished with the printable chair parts last night, but she must have dozed off eventually.

The knocking persists and she calls: "Lilia?"

A pause. "It's me." An unmistakable, deep and raspy voice comes muffled from the other side. Feyd-Rautha, freshly showered and dressed in a clean, casual suit, leans his forehead against the cool, thick plastic, breathing hard and fast so that his respiration condenses on the door. Waiting, he pleads silently for mercy. He cannot do this anymore, doesn't want to kill anymore just to feel something other than fear.

She freezes, legs half swung off the mattress as anxiety twists her belly. All of her jealousy comes crashing back and a little demon whispers poison in her ear: Go back to your hyenas and toy around with them, not me!

When silence is the answer to Feyd's timid greeting, his stomach drops as if filled with lead. Blood pounds in his ears like the war drums on his birthdays and his breath becomes shallow, so that he no longer even hears the guard's antsy shuffling. What will he do if she never forgives him?

A harrowing need for violence flashes through him cold and dark and his twitching hand jerks for the blade at his hip but the door rushes open before he can brandish it and his woman faces him with crossed arms, her face puffy from sleep but her eyes are wide and vulnerable.

She beckons him to enter and he follows, eyes racing to the crowns of thorns in the vase, the sarcophagus, the ruffled bed, everything the way it was. How does she deal with pain?!

"Hello," Feyd mumbles, voice reduced to a tiny, grated whisper.

"Hello."

"Can we… talk?"

The relic nods and waits, clammy fingers clutching her sleeves. But then Feyd says… nothing. His eyes are focused on an imaginary point somewhere behind her navel and his jaws strain as if chewing a brick.

So, she begins: "I'm sorry, but I was very upset." She paces, shoulders drawn up. "I know that customs are different around here, I mean, they obviously are," she guffaws quietly and shakes her head. "But where I'm from, it requires consent to have more than one partner and I never gave you that consent. I've never given my consent to anything that's happened to me since I woke up! And then I found out you're alive and I can be with you and I really believed everything would finally be better, but you-" Her voice hiccups. "I'm very upset, okay?" Her lips twist and she lifts a hand to her mouth, sobbing quietly into her palm. "You're so different in real life."

Feyd's frozen limbs regain their agility and he jumps to her side as she tries to turn away, a swift predator despite his anguish. He clutches her by the arms. "Wait! Remind me. H-How was I in our dreams?"

"I- I don't know, you looked happy." Her arms burn where he's holding onto her with his broad palms and long fingers. "And you were kind."

"Have I not been kind to you?"

"To me, yes. But being kind only to me is not enough." She shakes her head bitterly.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Be honest with me. Who are these three?! They said you don't play with them anymore like you used to, and they hurt me, Feyd!" She writhes out of his clenched fists and he lets her because when her fingers skim his wrists, all his muscles go weak. She yanks up her shirt, showing off the healing gash on her waist.

Feyd wants to kill his darlings all over again and his sinful mouth twists into anger. "They used to be my pets. Pleasure slaves, if you will. Just some meaningless toys, nothing more, I swear it to you."

"Pleasure slaves!" She blurts out, shaking her head. At least he's being honest but - what the fuck?! "You-" Stumbling over her own words, she backs away from him with disgust. "Who are you? Who the fuck are you?"

More violence waits on her tongue. Does he respect anyone other than himself?

"You know me! You know who I am, where are you going?!" Doesn't she know she knows more about him than anyone else?

"I don't know shit about you!" She yells. "Where were you last night?"

"What?" All color is drained from his face. How could she know?

"Were you with them because I couldn't perform the way you wanted the other day?"

"What are you talking about?!" Feyd tries to grasp her by the arms once more but she twists away. If anything, he is at blame for being unable to make his woman comfortable enough to reach her release. What a pitiful good-for-nothing he is, pathetic down to the last, rotting cell. "I haven't touched my pets since I met you and that's the truth!"

"Oh, yeah? Then why was I not allowed to see you at night?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I tried to come to you last night, but the guard at my door said I'm supposed to stay in this room! So, were you with them?!"

Feyd stops his advance and an incredulous shimmer glazes over his blinking eyes. He could have held her last night, against his hurting heart. A dizzying lightness befalls his chest and sorrow becomes anger and anger wings his footsteps when he turns to the door, grinning, then giggling. Feyd slams his veined hand against the panel so hard, the screen cracks and inky blood slips down the valleys of his palm.

"Feyd? Feyd! What are you-"

The baffled guard faces the snickering na-Baron behind the opening door, last night's tiger resurrected like a Ghola for one last kill. A stammered 'my Lord' on diddering lips. Feyd-Rautha looks as bestial as his hyenas with prowling steps and rolling shoulders, searing eyes locked on his unmoving prey.

"You told my woman she couldn't see me last night? S'that right?" A slip of pink peeks out of the ghastly frame of black, gnashing teeth.

"My Lord, I beg your mercy, I didn't wish to distur-"

Metal flashes. The relic screams as the length of Feyd-Rautha's blade carves into the guard's pallid neck, Adam's apple bulging and sitting on the knife like a popped, black cherry. Blood sputters around Feyd's clenched fingers and laughter has faded from his lungs at once. He digs deeper as the guard draws in gurgling breaths, bubbles of air swimming in the blood around the metal.

The relic freezes like a mouse, glued to the spot as if she might turn invisible to the cold eyes of the beast who wears her lover's clothes. He looks nothing like Feyd-Rautha now, his features empty and alien with eyes that don't feel and hands unfazed by the death that stains them in thick, inky streams that roll down his victim's neck.

This is how the universe sees him.

Feyd's blade slashes sideways, spraying a half moon of blood across the corridor and when the guard stumbles, he falls back into the na-Baron's knife, adding a vertical gash to the horizontal one, tip sinking into the flesh under his jaws, and with a jerk - up into his tongue.

The man grunts, still clinging to his life by a thread, and lurches forwards without drawing his sword. His head falls on Feyd-Rautha's shoulder. Feet shuffle in a grotesque waltz and Feyd's bloody fingers slip around the taller man's neck, holding him there while his blade plunges into his belly between armor plates so deftly, he could find all the weak spots blindfolded. The body slackens, weighing down on Feyd-Rautha whose ichor dripping fingers aren't ready to let go.

Shuk! Shuk!

Is the sound of his blade sinking into soft flesh and viscera, whipping back out with a spray of blood and entrails.

The Bene Gesserit may have proclaimed her human, but the adrenaline that sets her nerves ablaze is a gift from her ancestors, animals, because that's what humans are at the end or the day when facing a bigger predator.

Fwump.

Feyd looks her way, the dead body dropped, and blood covers his hand like a shiny glove of ink, dripping down the blade tip in a drizzling stream. The light catches on the sharp edges of his alabaster skull and all she sees is a new, terrifying breed of human, birthed by a world of poison and decay. There are millennia between them. They may share the same DNA but that doesn't mean he is not an alien to her.

In the end, the man from her dreams is not the man of her dreams.

Out the door? - Blocked! Death!

Off the balcony?! - Death!

To the Sarcophagus then. To her gun.

She turns and sprints, feet skidding over the shards of her rose-colored glasses, but Feyd pounces, a beast hungry for carnage, and catches her around the waist, hurling her backwards with the strength of three men. His blade clatters to the ground.

"No, wait. No. NO! NO! You can't go," he howls. "You cannot leave me!"

Wailing, she thrashes in his grasp and slams her elbow into his guts, her foot against his shin, then his crotch and the soft flesh there is squashed by her heel. When his hold slackens, she twists away and bolts, bare toes slipping across icy marble, but blood-smeared fingers find her shoulder, tearing on the fabric. She throws herself away from him so hard, the seam starts coming apart, so his other hand flies to her throat, steel-hard fingers curling around clammy flesh, yanking her around and against the wall.

She can't be looking at him like that, like he's the devil. Like he looks at his uncle.

Desperately, his lips search for hers but she jerks her head to the side, bites, scratches, nails burrowing into his throat. No is the word that Feyd-Rautha raps out between violent kisses that seek her pulse point with his tongue and teeth, no, she can't ever leave him, no, not ever, even if she hates him like everyone else. Her fear poisons the sweat on her neck and her nails don't egg him on, they hurt. He takes a knee to the guts and his lungs pop open for a harrowed cry.

Pain used to be pleasure but everything hurts, she doesn't love him anymore. One more meek and quiet final 'no' as he abandons the assault on her neck and his slackened arms wrap around her middle, hiding his face from rejection in her shoulder's soft flesh. Tears drip hotly, finally. All day and all night he's been waiting for the cathartic downpour, but not even the most pitiful plea could rouse a sliver of empathy in the hollow of his chest. Now he bawls like a baby forgotten in its crib and his blood-soaked hands seek purchase at the back of her shirt.

The woman grows still, nails still wedged inside the bloody crescent indents in his neck. Her lungs ache when she draws a trembling breath and Feyd-Rautha's hard, heavy chest moves with her, no more fight left in him. Quietly, she cries with him and curls her arms around his round shoulders, holding him there as he clings to her like an abandoned child and sheds tears for all the hurt and all the fear.

The man of her dreams is still there, somewhere, under the alien shell, vulnerable, weeping.

"You hate me, don't you?" A broken sob.

Looking over his head, the dead guard's viscera glitters darkly on the hallway and she is surprised to realize that even now, she doesn't hate him.

Feyd continues: "This is why I never wanted you to know who I am. I am awful."

"You're not awful," she whispers, fingers slipping around the back of his head, nails rimmed darkly by Feyd's blood.

"I have to be awful. I was born to be awful."

"That's not true…" He was groomed to be awful.

But Feyd isn't finished. In a fashion of now or never, confessions spill out of him like poison rain. "I killed my mother when I was four. I don't remember why. I killed my pets. I kill men for sport. I kill people for fun. I kill because it's the only thing I can do. Yesterday, I-" His voice breaks. "I killed anyone I could find and no one fought back. I lo-o-ost count."

A full glass can't get any fuller when pouring more water, so shock and disgust are lost to the acceptance that has smoothed over the crescendo. They're just information to be added into a folder in her head. Feyd killed his mother. Feyd kills people for fun. Still, she holds him, fingers sliding up and down the back of his head as his shaky sobbing turns breathless and ugly.

"Okay," she whispers and rests her cheek on his head, exhaling softly so her warm breath fans his scalp. "For fun?"

"Ye-e-es."

"So, you had fun last night when you-" She swallows. "Killed?"

"No."

She lets out a thoughtful hum and Feyd's grip on the small of her back tightens. Still, he doesn't dare look at her and tears and snot have soaked her shirt. With her emotions currently defective, her ability for logic is still sharp, and so she concludes, it does all make sense.

Her poor Feyd, a current had pulled him under when he was barely a child and then layer after layer, he has been building his armor so as not to drown in the maelstrom of abuse. With every kill, a little boy has been screaming for help in an empty room.

Soft lips press a kiss to the crown of his head and Feyd's breath trembles in her hold, a beast tamed by a loving caress. That's all it takes.

Just because she understands his actions, doesn't mean she endorses them.

"Will you still be my wife?"

"I haven't decided yet." Another kiss so gentle, it taunts the corpses stacked up in the processing hall.

"So, we're no longer engaged?"

"I don't think we ever were, not to me. But that doesn't mean I don't love you."

Dizzily, Feyd-Rautha raises himself. If not for the fingers twisted into his woman's shirt, he might just topple back into the spinning vortex at whose edge he is teetering now, one foot in heartbreak, the other in salvation. Blue eyes crack open, rimmed with dark blood vessels. She doesn't flinch, doesn't bolt, only her hands slide to the front of his suit and slip under the lapels, thumb rubbing where his heart hammers.

Feyd sees the tracks of dried tears on her cheeks and the shadow of horror tucked away in the corners of her eyes in a way that is all too familiar to him. More than anything, he wants to delete the images from her head and close the door, kick the blade under the bed, pretend it never happened. He tried to do everything right, got her flowers, hid her away in her own room away from state matters, made love to her with all his heart, but at the end of the day he is still who he is when he can't hide within a dream and it'll never be enough.

"Feyd, is… Is Lilia okay?"

"Yes, she is," comes the earnest reply and she exhales shakily, head sinking against Feyd's chest, arms sliding around his waist beneath the suit where his skin is burning hot.

"Thank God." Her voice warbles, the only warning before her knees give out and every other muscle along with them. The pair sink to the cold, hard ground. "I just want to go home," she sobs and crawls in her beloved's lap which is still the only place in the cold, hard universe that soothes her soul.

Not her sarcophagus, although it is tempting to freeze herself up again and sleep forever. No, it is still him. A new home, not what she had imagined, but a home.

"Me too," Feyd sighs and squishes his cheek against the top of her head, closing his eyes to envision the bedroom of their shared dream, blue pillows, a white bed, a softly rustling fern in a terracotta pot, her in his arms. Home.

How easy it would be to demand of him: 'If you kill one more innocent, I will leave you!' But she might just kill more than she saves that way, and maybe him too, and maybe herself.

"Feyd, can you-" She sniffles. "If you get angry again, please never hurt Lilia. And whoever the new guard will be, don’t hurt him either. Can you do that for me please?"

"I promise." He squeezes her tight, eyes screwed up so tightly that he sees only dizzying stars. "I love you. I'm sorry."

She cannot fix the whole world, but she can start where she can see. It's not a solution, but a sapling, and a sapling can grow.

Mother Father How did I end up here, stone bound? All I feel ist the striking distance to the clouds My flesh is fettered on the skin of the soil But even so I almost reach the sparks in the void Sailing through the vacuum, am I drowned or alive?

- Cepheus by Fewjar

A/N: Okay, I promise promise this was the angstiest chapter, we're climbing uphill from here!! 🥺🥺🥺 Hand over your guesses, what do you think will happen from here? 😌💕 Thank you so much for all of your time!

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@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

#feyd #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd x oc #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x oc #feyd imagine #feyd rautha imagine #feyd fanfiction #feyd rautha fanfiction #feyd smut #feyd rautha smut #dune part 2 #dune part two #dune 2 #austin butler #peggysuave fanfics #peggysuave;relic

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