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afewfantasies · 3 months

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🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - I - Nightmares

MASTERLIST

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.8K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: "Feyd-Rautha he's psychotic", at least thats what people say. Only, people forgot to add that your father's decided you were to marry. It's been over a decade and Feyd's committed to have the marriage and you with him as he ascends as heir and na-Baron of Geidi Prime.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: abduction, masterbation, voyeurism

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️

“Another one?” Your best friend and fellow Bene Gesserit sister asks as you wake in another cold sweat. Nodding you sit up in bed blinking through the darkness. Leia lights the lamp and a yellow glow shines into both of your faces. The first vision was a decade ago, you had been sleeping under the stars. Pale skin and a bald head. A large brute of a ban killed another. Then there was a boy clearly terrified but shaking with anger too. Black eyes, black teeth, pale skin, a temper. Year after year the visions became angrier, more psychopathic. Handing you materials Leia climbs into bed beside you and you begin your account of the vision.

“Will you tell the reverend mother?” She asks.

“Not yet” you confess ordering your thoughts and placing the coded message on the scroll. Leia watches in silence. This vision was in a black room probably on Geidi Prime. You were asleep on a larger black bed with four posts. You were asleep only to wake up to the black eyes looking down at you. He’d never spoken before but he’d said two words in the strangest grittiest words before. “You’re mine” unlike all the other dreams you felt him in the bed, felt the friction of him coming closer, felt his breath on your skin, the heat coming from his body.

“Are you alright?” Leia asks, handing me a glass of water.

“No” you confess as the two words haunt you. There’ve been all kinds of visions. Brutal murders, sick torture, murderous games with concubines, moments of tyrannical rage and now. Now he’d come for you. Stepping out of the bed you find solace in the coolness of the stone on your feet. Leia follows and you search your things for the herbs that dull your senses. It’s a necessity for sleep and reprieve. Since childhood you’d been careful not to share but as you’ve grown it’s only become clearer and clearer the subject of your dreams. He was tall, strong, angry, well off, psychotic and some would say handsome. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the na-Baron and your original betrothed.

“What is it?” Leia asks.

“He’s coming for me mother must teach me the way” you say against your training with fear and foreboding.

——-

Feyd’s earliest memories were of you, he’d been with his father on your home planet looking into your cradle. Your mother was beautiful and your father kind. You were peaceful and little and he’d held you in his arms. He felt protective and during the commitment ceremony he’d meant every word. As a second son your world was promised to him. Even as a child the differences between your two cultures were glaring to him. The freedom to play and be a child, the kindness of the people and you was something to look forward to. But then Rabanne had murdered his father, and his mother had been indifferent and after a few years it enraged him to no end. In a fit of anger he’d killed her. Even with all of his concubines he’d never felt as peaceful as he had with you in his arms as a child. He’d stopped a genocide in your home world looking for you only to find your mother’s kind eyes fearing for her life. He’d done right by sending her to a peaceful planet instead of taking her life. He learned you had been taken by the Bene Gesserit sisters which meant you could be anywhere. No matter where, he intended to find you.His heart felt like a displaced magnet. Angrier still was the fact that he imagined you living a full life without him. Unbothered, not tortured by the distance as he was, happy and serene. Still he could not disclose his search to anyone in fear for your life. He would have to move carefully to keep his commitment to you.

Another planet, stepping off the ship he’s given respect by the procession awaiting his arrival. His heart races; he knows your close. Sticking earplugs into his ears he applies the fasteners having his guards to the same. No one would use the voice on him today. He moves quickly spilling no blood. He can feel you. He’s getting warmer. He can feel it. Moving quickly he heads down into the belly of the academy moving quickly through the bunkers. His heart pulls as he passes an entryway stopping when he has a familiar sensation. Heart racing violently against his chest he stops Turing to face the steel door, he stops breathing allowing the violence of his heartbeat to reverberate through him like a war drum. Feyd-Rautha signals for his men to wait outside. Using the code scrambler he gets into the door. Hiding you hold your breath ducking down into the thick of your clothes, the sound of the alarms system’s failure are blaring. Fear racks through you as you try to keep calm remembering the Bene Gesserit mantras. Fear is the mind killer. The noise stops and you relax a little waiting for an announcement. Heavy boots hit the floor forcing you to freeze, the steps come closer stopping in front of the closet. Leis screeches and its muffled, trembling you contemplate your next move. The steps come closer and you see the door open, light filters in. You cover your mouth hoping for safety until a black eye meets yours. Familiarity and horror paralyze you. Pale skin and a bald head. The face from your nightmares. Feed-Rautha Harkonnen. Pinching yourself you discover he’s finally free’d himself from your dreams and is now material. He steps in separating the close from around you leaving you crouched against the wall with no cover before sitting on your bed and watching you like he has all the time in the world.. His smirk is unsettling and it takes a moment before you stand feeling silly and all too vulnerable crouched in the deep closet.

“Get dressed” he croaks but you’re shaking like a leaf. Snarling he procures robes from the closet placing one over your head. The trembling intensifies. And he steps back feeling rejected. Leaving he has his men pack up your things and then there’s a barrage of people asking you all sorts of questions from what you like to wear and eat and do and it’s all so much. You’re loaded onto a Harkonnen ship and placed in a room alone. Looking through the window you gaze into space. When a few hours have passed you hear the door open and know it’s him before it closes. He takes a seat in his leather robes. You turn to face the man who moves like a snake. He’s more terrifying in person than in your dreams. His eyes watch your every move drinking you in. Parting his lips and showing his black teeth.

“Are you comfortable?” His words come as a surprise. It’s the thing you’ve least expected. It takes a moment before you nod, trying not to be rude as you look around the room.

“Yes, thank you” you respond.

“We are heading to my home world. I understand you have different needs. The Mentats are sourcing food and clothes if there’s anything you need let them know” he explains sanely.

“Ok” you respond, your hands begin to shake again. You sit on them trying to hide the true fear you feel. House Harkonnen is known for many atrocities.

“I’m sorry” you apologize, terrified and embarrassed.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks.

“A Harkonnen” you confess and his snake-like eyes look displeased.

“Do you know who I am to you?” He asks, forcing you to frown.

“Nothing” you respond only to regret it instantly. Feyd-Rautha takes a breath inflating his chest as he trembles with rage, the paleness of his skin flushing as searing anger bubbles to the forefront. He stands stepping back from you in fear of hurting you.

“My father and yours promised us to each other” his fierce voice cracks as he struggles for control. His terrifying blackened teeth make your eyes shut. He’d done terrible things to people, slight and then slash that's how it went. He was one with his knives and happy to use them. You wait for life to end, your breath to hutch and everything to fade into darkness but it doesn't happen. You hear boots hit the floor three times. Bravery, curiosity? Perhaps it was so quick and painless that this is purgatory? You open your eyes and see Feyd has given you more distance. He’s recalled his anger and he stands stoic, fierce and regal.

“Do you not remember?” He asks because that day had been so monumental to him.

“I had heard heard whispers but …” you trail considering the realities and the odds. Your visions, how you’ve been in hiding. Out of all the things they call him; liar isn’t one of them.You consider the possibilities and it comes to you. Your heart begins to race, you feel stinging in your thumb, like a pinprick. A commitment ceremony was held. The realization is dizzying. “You wish to be married?” You ask and he nods. “To me?” You specify and he nods again. “But I’m nobody from an extinct world. I’m not even a high ranking member of my order” you declare in truth.

“No, you will be na-Baroness Harkonnen” Feyd says, taking a step in your direction. He watches you try to make sense of it. He’d never considered your reaction to being found, he hadn't expected fear or reluctance. He expected your inherent trust in him for you to cling to him for support and comfort as you once did, for you to relish his touch and be most comfortable in his arms.

“na-Baroness” you whisper, looking up at him. Pride fills Feyd at the sound of the words coming from your lips, utter perfection.

“My wife” he rasps and somehow your fear seems unfounded. “I made a vow that I do not intend to break” Feyd says recalling you in his arms as a babe. Your eyes looking up at him without fear in your swaddling helpless, innocent, true and his. A knock at the door causes him to withdraw, he turns standing in front of you. The guard tries looking around to you until Feyd stomps a foot. The man averts his gaze telling Feyd your landing is imminent. Nodding he straightens his gown as he stands tall. Feyd-Rautha holds out a hand. You take it with a deep breath and it seems to amuse him. The heat of him feels familiar. “There will be a crowd, I will send you along in a pod”

“With who?” You ask standing with him.

“My men” he specifies and it's unsatisfactory. Grabbing your head dress you place it on your head and move forward that way. You hold his hand he secures yours warmly walking at your side. You keep up with him and as the door descends you start to tremble. He stands in front of you as you try to overcome your fear. His eyes are reassuring, his strong hands gripping yours in solidarity. There's no weakness in him. He’s all strength, cunning, volatility, rage and psychopathy. His eyes urge you to get a grip but the roar of the welcome party is unnerving. Your fathers reign ended to a crowd. Soldiers came and there was shouting, there was cheering and you had no time to say goodbye before your mother put you into an escape pod with a scroll. You arrived at an outer planet to find out your father had been beheaded. It’s why you hate crowds to this day.

“Not today” he whispers motioning for someone to come get you. The roaring is violent and you follow them into a pod lighting up at the sight of Leia. The two of you embrace each other warmly. In moments you’ve deemed each other okay. The guards watch the two of you closely. Sitting beside her you take a moment to check the beauty mark on the inside of your thumb. It had been there as long as you could remember. You should be terrified by your current predicament, inadequate training, no preparation, playing a part of an unsanctioned plot of sisterhood, at the mercy of perhaps the galaxy’s most unbalanced man. But he’d been nothing but reasonable thus far outside of your abduction.

The cheers from the people are thunderous, they celebrate his return with conviction. Once outside the pods you become acquainted with the sprawling palace halls. Uneasiness fills you and your hand clasps Leia’s for comfort, something your guards eyes settle on. Saying nothing you follow behind him seeing a Mentat among your escort. You’re brought into a grand hall with a stately black stone table. Fresh colourful food is on one side while rare organic meat is on another, the sight of the bloody dishes and iron rich aroma sickens you and Leia.

“I wish to retire, I am exhausted” you declare unable to sit. The silent guard turns to you nodding. He motions for a Mentat to guide you and Leia to your quarters. You're separated from her after a long hug. Your room is far grander than your quarters at the academy. It has a familiar quality of the ones from your home world. The colours are less sterile, the hues less grey. Pulling open the drawers you find lush vibrant fabrics, the sort of robes you remember your mother wearing before the fall of your house. It's a strange thing. Turning you lean against the dresser puzzled by the days events and not nearly as scared as you should be.

Finished and energized by his warm reception Feyd-Rautha heads to the dining hall. He waits against the door when he hears no chatter. Bracing himself for anything he pushes open the doors to find the room empty with the exception of the Mentat and a few guards charged with your care.

“She wished to retire” the Mentat explains.

“Did she eat?” Fey’d asks.

“No” The Mentat responds. Feyd’s mood sours, settling into a rage, if it were anyone else he would have dragged them back out of the room, placed a collar around her neck and forced her to do as he pleased but it wasn't anyone, it was you.

“Set the table in my quarters” he demands heading into his rooms. Undressing he removes his armour until all he has on are slacks and a tunic. Feyd dismisses his staff sitting at the table and pressing a button. A screen emerges from the wall with a wide panoramic view of your quarters on display. He watches you as he eats, watches you let your hair down from the ornate style of the Bene Gesserit sisterhood. He watches the sway of your hips as you go from room to room. He watches you admire the artwork that's been placed there. Feyd-Rautha watches you with pride and admiration, you weren't trying to run as far as he could see. He watches as you return to the sleeping chambers. He feels himself stiffen as he watches you undress, standing he drops the rare meat drawn to the screen with a crooked grin as you make your way to the cleansing chambers. The bounce of your breast, the softness of your skin, everything has him solid as stone. He watches you step in and the misting of water commence, the beads of water glisten on your skin, he zooms in to get a better view of you unguarded. The surprise in your expression as the automatic system goes through the washing ritual.

His thoughts are heinous and depraved, his need for dominance, ownership, acceptance and submission are more than he can take. Releasing his manhood from his plants he begins stroking it roughly. For the first time he doesn’t call his concubines to satisfy him. They would all fail miserably, no one but you would ever again, but this night he would have to do. He needed you so bad he felt desperate. Stroking himself faster he’s practically salivating as the chamber begins drying you, the way your hair blows, the surprise in your eyes, the suppleness of your skin. It takes everything in him to contain his hunger for you, control his passion, his need. He wanted to be inside you marking you, claiming you with his seed. Watching your expressions change as he takes you further and further into the pleasures of passion. You would be his wife soon enough. His hands would never leave your warm flesh. He would keep his manhood sheathed inside you training you well. Coming hard from his own fantasies Fed’s shallow breaths bring him to a stark realization. He would do anything to have you stop trembling at the sight of him, he’d try to be as patient as possible. He needed your submission, your acceptance of him, and he needed it to be real, to want to share his bed. Looking up at the screen he watches you dress in sheer bed robes. Climbing into the large bed he watches you find comfort in it.

“You’re mine” he says to the screen as a promise.

🖤

Thank you so much for reading 🩶 let me know if you enjoyed, want to be added to the taglist or anything else on your mind 🩶 comment, like & reblog for more Feyd. xx

TAGS: @elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22

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andy-15-07 · 3 months

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hi! I love your feyd rautha fics 🥰 can you write one where the reader is pregnant with his child, a female, and he’s upset and cold with the reader because she’s not a male heir? but then, when she’s born, he’s so transfixed by her beauty and just the fact that she’s his, and that he just melts and swears to kill anyone for her?

My precious one

masterlist ! pairing: Feyd Rautha x reader

Dune Masterlist

The halls of the fortress echoed with an air of tension as Y/n, heavily pregnant with Feyd Rautha's child, moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors. Feyd, the formidable heir to House Harkonnen, had been distant and cold ever since learning the gender of their unborn child. Tradition demanded a male heir, and Y/n's heart ached with the weight of disappointment as she faced the impending birth of a daughter.

"Y/n," Feyd's voice, usually smooth and commanding, was laced with discontent as he entered their chambers. "What use is a daughter to the House of Harkonnen? You were to bear me a son, a worthy successor."

Y/n's eyes welled with tears, but she fought to maintain her composure. "Feyd, she is still our child, a part of both of us. She will carry the blood of House Harkonnen."

He scowled, turning away. "A daughter will bring us nothing but weakness. I need an heir who can command respect, instill fear in our enemies. This changes everything."

As the days passed, Feyd distanced himself further, leaving Y/n feeling isolated and burdened. The weight of disappointment settled upon her like a heavy cloak, but she clung to the hope that when their daughter arrived, Feyd's heart would soften.

The day of reckoning came, the air thick with anticipation as Y/n went into labor. Feyd, though present, maintained a stoic silence, his eyes betraying the turmoil within. The labor was arduous, but when the cries of their newborn daughter filled the room, Y/n felt an overwhelming sense of joy and relief.

"She's here, Feyd," Y/n whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Our daughter."

Feyd's eyes met the tiny, squirming bundle in Y/n's arms, and for a moment, the hardness in his gaze softened. The baby girl had a delicate beauty that seemed to captivate him, a sight that defied his earlier expectations.

"What shall we name her?" Y/n asked, her heart swelling with love for their precious child.

"Feydra," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with a tenderness that surprised them both.

Feydra's arrival sparked a transformation in Feyd. The once cold and distant heir was now consumed by an overwhelming protectiveness and love for his daughter. As he held her for the first time, his fingers traced the contours of her tiny face, and he couldn't help but marvel at her innocence.

"She's ours, Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I will do anything to protect her. No harm shall come to our Feydra."

From that moment on, Feyd became an attentive and devoted father. He would spend hours cradling Feydra in his arms, his stern countenance replaced by a softness that only she could evoke. The fortress, once a place of cold authority, became a haven for the blossoming love between father and daughter.

As Feydra grew, Feyd's determination to shield her from the harsh realities of their world intensified. He vowed to eliminate any threat that dared to cast a shadow over her, swearing to protect her with a fierceness that only a father's love could inspire.

One day, as father and daughter strolled through the fortress gardens, Feyd's eyes gleamed with an unspoken promise. "Feydra, my precious one, you are the future of House Harkonnen. No harm will befall you as long as I draw breath. I would destroy worlds to keep you safe."

Feydra, oblivious to the dangers that lurked beyond the fortress walls, gazed up at her father with adoration. In those moments, Feyd's heart swelled with a love that transcended bloodlines and tradition. The bond between father and daughter had forged a legacy that defied the expectations of House Harkonnen, proving that love could be a force more powerful than any political alliance or familial obligation.

#feyd rautha harkonnen x you #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha imagines #feyd rautha #feyd x you #feyd x reader #feyd oneshot #austin butler x you #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler imagines #austin butler #austin butler x y/n #dune x reader #dune imagines #dune imagine #dune fanfiction #dune part 2

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shockercoco · 1 month

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Consequences

Austin butler x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, riding, P in V, overstimulation, dirty talk, jealous!Austin

Word count - 2925 (I didn't intend for this to be 3k words lol)

a/n - request: “Hi! Please can you write an Austin butler x fem reader smut where he's jealous after watching her film a sex scene and he shows her how it's done? Maybe he's a bit cocky as well because he knows that only he can make her moan?” - loved this ty, I hope you enjoy :)

“They need everyone back on set in ten minutes,” you hear your assistant tell you from outside of your trailer door, interrupting your inner turmoil.

“Okay,” you tell her, and you hear her walk away as you go back to your thoughts.

You had been pacing back and forth inside your trailer for the majority of your lunch break thinking about your upcoming scene. It was a sexual scene that included you having to be practically naked in a bed with your male co-star.

When you had accepted the role you knew what it entailed, but back then the intimacy part of the script seemed so minor, and you had brushed past it. Given the fact that this wouldn’t be your first time shooting this type of scene, you really shouldn’t be stressing out. During those past roles, though, you hadn’t been dating Austin so it was simple and wasn’t awkward. It’s also not like Austin would have a problem with you doing this either because he trusts you – after all intimate scenes are a big part of the movie industry.

The intimacy coordinator had talked to both you and your co-star Matthew separately to inform you guys on what was expected. You also knew you could always say no, and you would probably be replaced with a body double, but that didn’t do anything to calm your nerves.

Figuring enough time had passed, you exited your trailer and headed back to set where the makeshift bedroom was already set. You saw Matthew in a robe matching yours standing off to the side getting some final touch-ups from one of the makeup artists. He gives you a small smile when he notices you walking in before turning his attention back to the woman in front of him.

You and Matthew had grown close over the past couple of months, which isn’t unusual because you were both the lead actors, and he seemed like a nice person –at least from what you’ve gotten to see. Austin would always tell you Matthew was too nice to you each time he visited you on set, but you never saw it and would tell him that you would be okay. Austin is a persistent man and didn’t deter from his theory, therefore, he would always eye Matthew and keep you in eyesight. You would just silently laugh to yourself when you saw Austin behind the camera eyeing Matthew.

“Matthew’s my friend so this shouldn’t be too awkward. This will all be over before I know –,” you think to yourself, but your thoughts are interrupted when someone taps you on the shoulder from behind. You turn around to see Austin there smiling at you.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you smile back at him as he brings you in for a hug with a quick kiss on your cheek.

“It was a last minute decision. I had to attend a meeting not too far from here, so I thought I’d stop by. I hope that’s okay,” Austin tells you as you lean back to look up at him.

“Of course it is, I was just surprised.”

“What scene are you filming?” he asks you as you two pull away. That’s when he notices the bed sitting in the middle of the room and your robe. “Oh.”

You cringe a little. “It’s just a quick sex scene, you know how it is. It’ll be over before you know it,” you try to reassure him as his eyes find Matthew.

“Yeah, but it’s with him,” he makes a face.

“I don’t get to choose my co-star, Austin. There’s only a couple more weeks of filming, and then we don’t have to see him again until the movie premiere,” you grab onto his arm for him to look at you. He finally tears his eyes away from your co-star to look at you again. He rolls his eyes, not at you, and gives you a nod.

Your assistant comes up to you to tell you that the director is ready to start the scene. You give Austin one last look before going with her and walking into the fake bedroom, Matthew joining you. Crew members start moving around to make sure everything is ready to go, and the assistant director comes over to put you and Matthew into position, followed by the intimacy coordinator.

You take off your robe underneath the covers, not wanting to reveal yourself too much. Nipple stickers cover the top of you while a skin-colored pad is attached to your lower half. Matthew also has something to cover his manhood.

Once everything is in order, the crew members start filing behind the camera. Austin is also behind the camera standing to the side with his arms folded and jaw tense.

“You okay?” Matthew whispers next to you, and you give him a quick nod. He’s currently laying on his side looking down at you. “I see your boyfriend came to cheer you on.”

You’re not sure how to respond so you just smile at him.

“Just imagine me as shrek or something,” he jokes, making you laugh in response.

“I was planning on it.”

When the lights dim and the director yells action, Matthew doesn’t hesitate to lean down to kiss you, putting his hands on your waist. Austin watches everything from his place behind the camera.

Safe to say Austin wasn’t a fan of the whole process. Austin watched everything from his spot behind the camera – the way Matthew touched and held you, and the sounds falling out of your mouth as you held onto him. There was also more than one take, which made Austin even more agitated and tense. He couldn’t help but wonder if Matthew was getting turned on or if he was messing up on purpose.

Both you and Austin were relieved when the director called it a day, and luckily that was the only intimate scene that had to be filmed. When you got up from the bed and put on your robe, with the help of your assistant, you saw the look on Austin’s face. You thought it was best to avoid eye contact.

The car ride back to Austin’s house didn’t involve much talking, and when you finally entered the house he was still silent. You decided to take a shower, to wash the day off and to give Austin time to cool down. Seeing that the sun is long gone, you prepare for bed — filming took longer than expected. As you walk out of the bathroom connected to the room you shared with Austin, you notice him already in bed on his phone, appearing to have already showered.

He probably used one of the guest room bathrooms, which isn’t uncommon of him, but given the situation you just find it extremely petty. You can’t help but laugh at Austin’s attitude, but then again you wouldn’t be too happy either watching him have pretend sex with another girl, which is why you try to avoid joining him on set during those days.

As you climb into bed next to him, he doesn’t even glance at you as he continues to check his emails. You sigh dramitically, hoping to get his attention, as you look at the clock on the nightstand displaying eleven o’clock. Still nothing.

“Austin,” you say, trying to get him to look at you, but he just gives you a hum in response. You call his name again and he just raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to say something else.

“Are you really going to be upset all night?” You ask him.

“I’m not upset.”

“Are you sure because I’m pretty sure this is what upset looks like,” you point at his solemn face.

He looks over at you pointing at him, still with a plain face, before looking back down at his phone. You roll your eyes at his pettiness as an idea pops in your idea.

“Is there anything I can do to make it better, at least?” You ask sweetly, even though none of this is your fault, hoping that a little pillow talk will help him get over this. A mischievous smirk grows on his lips before he finally tears his attention away from his phone, placing it aside to look you in your eyes.

“You know, there actually is something you could do,” he says, making you want to rescind your offer at his eagerness.

“What is it?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

He motions for you to sit on his lap by patting his thigh, but doesn’t wait for you to say anything as he grabs your hips to pull you onto his lap to straddle him. He forces your hips down against him causing you to hold back a moan, your thin panties allowing you to feel him grow hard through his sweatpants. Keeping his grip on your hips firm, he then begins rocking your hips back and forth, forcing you to grind down. You place your hands on his chest before gripping the fabric of his t-shirt as your eyes begin to flutter.

“You know what?” he asks as he leans to whisper into your ear, “maybe I am upset.”

“You know what, maybe I am upset,” he leans to whisper into your ear. A shiver runs through your body from the feeling as he continues, “I’m upset that I stood there and watched the way your co-star enjoyed fake fucking you, and after all this time you still don’t see the way he looks at you.”

“He’s acting, Austin, that’s what his role entails.”

Austin pulls away from your ear and looks you in the eye to say,” So he’s still acting even when the director calls cut?”

“He’s just a friend, I promise,” you whine out as you begin to feel arousal pool out of you and form a spot on your panties. Your answer doesn’t bring Austin any comfort.

“This is exactly what i’m talking about, you don’t see it,” he shakes his head at you and removes his hands from you. “Lift up.”

Confused, you listen and lift your hips to hover above his lap, only for Austin to shimmy his sweatpants down his legs enough for his underwear to be revealed and to pull his hard length out. He then takes the lead and pulls your underwear to the side, grabs himself in one hand, pulls you down a little, and begins to rub himself against your slit. You both groan at the feeling – him at your wetness, and you at his teasing with your knees already growing weak.

“You’re going to take a seat and ride until I’ve had enough,” he tells you, knowing well enough that you weren’t a huge fan of riding.

You didn’t enjoy taking control, and you would always get tired too quickly, which encouraged Austin to take matters into his own hands and thrust into you until you were overstimulated — not that you didn’t enjoy all of that, you just rather be on the bottom.

You nod before lowering yourself onto him until you’re completely full, taking a moment to take in the feeling before beginning to move. Austin tilts his head up with a sigh, his lips slightly parted at the feeling of your warm, rigid walls swallowing and releasing him repeatedly.

Your hands are on his shoulders now, gripping tightly, using him to help stabilize you. Keeping his grip on your hips firm, Austin looks down at the space between you two, watching as his length continues to disappear and reappear. Your eyes join his gaze and whimper at the sight.

As expected you feel your legs quickly growing tired, so you lean forward to hide your face in Austin’s neck, using him to place some of your weight on.

“Oh, no. I want you to look at me,” he tells you.

“Austin,” you whine as you move your head away from him. One of the hands on your hips moves to your jaw, forcing your eyes onto his blue ones. His stare sends a wave of warmth to your center, his unpleasant mood turning you on, bringing you closer and closer to your climax.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem earlier when you had Matthew grinding on you,” he states. He drags his thumb across your lip, tugging it down before releasing it.

“You know it’s not like that,” you tell him breathlessly as you shake your head. He continues staring into your eyes without responding to you.

Austin finally breaks that contact when he goes to take off your shirt, revealing your bare chest. He leans down to take one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking and twirling his tongue around your nipple, and eventually moving to the other. He brings his hands up to your back, bringing you closer to him. This just sends another wave of pleasure through your body, making it harder to keep your rhythm strong.

You whimper as you look down at him getting lost in his own world, and that’s just enough to make you tumble over the edge. You squeeze his shoulders and let out a cry as a strong rush of pleasure flows through your body and down to your cunt. With his mouth still connected to your breast, Austin can’t help but moan at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, causing a shiver to run through your body. He smirks to himself as he watches you fall apart above him.

He doesn’t let you or himself recover, though, as he flips you onto your back. He pulls his sweatpants, and underwear the rest of the way down his legs before pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it. He then proceeds to rip your thin panties and toss them aside, too impatient and needy to take them off the correct way. He goes to hover you and quickly sinks into you with a moan before pounding into you with intensity, trying to chase his own high.

Still sensitive and not completely over your previous orgasm, your next one comes almost instantly at Austin’s rapid pace. This one is definitely more intense and as you open your mouth to let something out, you’re met with silence, leaving your mouth hanging open and your eyes closed as you toss your head back and release around him a second time.

Feeling your walls close around him once again, Austin cums with a deep moan as his head dips down. He never stops thrusting into you, just slows down, as you feel his warm load shoot into you. This prolongs your high and brings you into overstimulation as your back arches, and you finally find your voice to let out a sob as your body continues to quiver and shake. Just when you think he’s going to stop, Austin speeds back up into you, making you place your hands on his waist to grip down.

“Please,” you whimper, wanting to tell him to stop with the continuous torture, but you’re enjoying it too much. He just laughs above you.

“What’s wrong, huh? Too much?” he teasingly asks, but you don’t have the energy to answer. He looks down at the spot you two are connected to see the remains of your orgasm pooling out and onto the sheets below. He watches as your flow of arousal coats him as he continues to plunge into you.

“It can’t be too much, I mean you seem to be loving it too much,” he removes your hands from his body and holds them in his hands as he leans down onto his elbows. You're caged in as he pins your arms to your side. Austin rubs his nose against yours to bring you back to reality, watching as your eyes find his.

“Austin, baby,” you breathe out.

“Austin, baby what?” he asks with a tilt of his head, knowing he has you right where he wants you. He leans down a little to spit into your already parted mouth.

You don’t respond, you can’t respond as you continue taking him in. Your body is on fire, and you can feel your walls constantly clenching down around him.

“You don’t want me to stop, right? I mean there’s no way,” he smiles. “It seems like she doesn’t want me to stop either,” he says referring to your cunt releasing a squelching sound with each thrust from how soaked it is.

What comes out of your mouth next is nothing but a blabbering mess as you give into him, feeling drool – or his saliva – coming out the side of your mouth. You feel more of your wetness run out of you at his dirty talk, before feeling yourself unexpectedly cumming again. You release for the third time with a shriek as you dig your nails into his hands.

When Austin feels himself coming to his second orgasm, he quickly pulls out before jerking himself off the rest of the way. He shoots his sticky load onto your stomach, marking you as his. You feel yourself clench around nothing, your cunt so used to him diving into it.

Austin uses his finger to swipe some of his remains up from your stomach, and then places his finger on your lips, wanting you to open. You bring him into your mouth before tasting and sucking his finger while looking him in his eyes.

“You better stop before we go again,” he looks down at you, already feeling himself growing hard.

#austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler smut #austin butler x you #smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha

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youaintnothinbuta · 1 month

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“Did you cum without me?” — feyd rautha x reader

Summary: Feyd Rautha, your husband, knows you very very well. He knows what your sex smells like, and he’s not pleased when he can sense it on you despite not having seen you at all that day. He reminds you that you aren’t to touch yourself, and that making you cum is his job

Pairing: feyd rautha x fem!reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, mature language, unprotected sex, p in v, masturbation insinuated, squirting depicted, probably typos sorrryyyy

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Feyd stirred from slumber before you as always, a habitual gesture that allowed you the luxury of lingering in bed as long as you pleased. However, you didn’t see him at breakfast either, hinting at his preoccupation with Na-Baron duties.

All day you found yourself restless and bored, ennui gnawing at you, more than ever typical. You even spent almost two hours in the bath, just trying to make time pass. Spending hours and hours alone, your mind started to wander. Your hands followed suit. You found yourself lying in your’s and Feyd’s shared bed, writhing beneath your own touch. You laid on his side of the bed, his smell helping feed your fantasies as you succumbed to orgasm by your self indulgence. And, once not being enough, for a second time.

Only minutes later you peeled yourself up off the bed, washed your hands, and were once again making your way aimlessly through the Harkonnen residence. To your delight, you heard your husband’s voice resonating through a nearby hallway, and quickly made that your destination. He smiled as he saw you, reaching out for your hand briefly, to acknowledge that he hadn’t seen you all day. As you passed him, he turned his head, inhaling deeply. You continued walking, but he quickly grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

He pulled you closer, his face just inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath against your skin as he sniffed your skin. Suddenly, he pulled back, his eyes narrowing.

“Did you cum without me?” he asked, his voice low and menacing.

“No,” you lied, trying to pull away from his grasp. But he was too strong. A growl rumbled from deep within him, a reaction to your lie. He could smell you. Harkonnen men were surprisingly gentlemanly and yet so, so primal in nature. The scent of your orgasm on your skin was certainly not one unfamiliar to him.

“Then you won't be too sensitive to cum right now,” he growled, his hand already making its way between your thighs. The men he was talking to quickly took their cue to leave, leaving you alone in the hallway.

You tried to protest, but it was too late. He had already pushed your skirt up and was fingering you roughly. You could feel your clit swelling and becoming sensitive, but he didn't seem to care.

“Push through it,” he commanded, his voice laced with possessiveness, his fingers moving faster and faster. You did as you were told, biting your lip to keep from crying out. But it hurt, and you couldn't help but squirm under his touch.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

With his right hand still playing with your pussy, he used his left to flick his belt undone. One handedly, he freed his already hard cock from his pants, lining himself up at your entrance.

His arms snaked around your waist, holding your body flush against his as he slowly pressed himself inside of you. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of him finally filling you up, like that itch was finally being scratched. He gripped you by the jaw, pulling out of you softly before slamming back into you.

“I make you cum,” he growled, “Me. Not you.”

“Understand?” He barked, pounding another hard thrust into you.

“Y-yes.” You stuttered, watching as he clenched his jaw in pleasure.

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“Yes, Feyd. You make me cum. Only you.”

“Good, darling, good,” he purred, lightly circling your clit with his thumb as he continued to fuck you, there, standing in the corridor.

His grip on your jaw eased, you took the opportunity to press your lips to his, in a burning kiss. You descended into a mess of moans and whimpers as he softly pressed his tongue into your mouth. His hips started to lose rhythm, your noises helping draw him closer to orgasm. He focused his attention on his thumb, rubbing your clit with the perfect pressure and pattern he'd come to learn so well for you.

“That's it,” he whispered to you. “Come for me.” And you did. With a scream he loved so very much, a gush of liquid spilled out of you. Marvelling at the sight in front of him, he continued to work your clit, watching as your squirt continued to stream from between your legs, his pants and boots sprayed with it, a puddle around both of your feet. Never having felt an orgasm so strong, your body threatened to give out as you shook and moaned, letting the last lingering bits of your orgasm out.

His strong arms held you up, as he continued thrusting. You felt his cock twitching inside of you, and with a low, strung out grunt, he spilled his black seed into you, fucking it as far into your pussy as he could. You clenched your walls around him the way he liked, milking him for all he was worth.

He pressed his forehead to yours, catching his breath. “Mine, darling,” he mumbled, slowly pulling himself out of you.

“Yours, Feyd.” You whispered, also still panting. Feyd looked at you, his eyes filled with love and satisfaction, an expression he had reserved for you alone.

“It is my job to make you cum. You do not take that away from me, do you understand?” He reminded you.

“Yes.” You nodded as he cupped your face in his hands.

“Good,” he kissed your cheek, “look at the mess you've made.” Your eyes fell to the floor, you blushed as you noticed the puddle you stood in.

“Go, get dressed for supper.” Even when he spoke softly there was still that harsh rumble in his voice. You obliged, heading back to your chambers.

At the dinner table, you walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I love you,” you whispered in his ear, feeling his muscles flex in reaction to your voice.

He turned to face you, his eyes dark with desire. “I love you too,” he said, before standing up to pull your chair out for you to sit beside him.

A/N it’s currently 1am I got home from seeing dune part 2 about an hour ago but I absolutely couldn’t go to sleep without giving y’all something ;))

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shan-yee · 2 months

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𝘍𝘦𝘺𝘥 𝘙𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘢 𝘹 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘰��𝘴!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ๏𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 = 5897 ๏𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 = fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, marquing + blood, breeding, talk of pregnancy ? I think that it’s all. ๏𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 = When Lady Margot is called to seduce the Na-baron Feyd-Rautha, the first daughter of the emperor Shaddam IV must accompany her in case things do not go as planned and indeed, things do not go as planned. ๏𝙰/𝙽 = Damn. IT TOOK ME 6 DAYS TO WRITE THIS SHIT !? I really hope that it was worth it :’) Also, did I wrote Feyd correctly ? ๏𝙰/𝙽 2 = I would like to point out that English is not my first language, so if you see a mistake please tell me ! And I don’t know why but i couldn’t find the account of the last two person i taged, so i don’t know if they received it ٩( ᐛ )و

——— 🅃🄰🄶🄻🄸🅂🅃 • • •

@the-dark-dreamer25 @alexandrainlove @void21 @luxiniary szapizzapanda tom-pls-fuck-me

—Princess, the Reverend Mother wishes to see you. Announced the guard, head bowed.

The man was new, and certainly he had heard many rumors about Princess [Y/N], first daughter of Emperor Shaddam. Earlier, when he was ordered to go get the princess, he noticed the smirks of his comrades and their whispers.

But it was sure that when he opened the large doors of the royal bedroom he did not expect to find his princess and three men, probably soldiers, naked. Two watched a young man with blond hair sneak between the legs of the [H/C] haired girl. He held her thighs apart but raised his head when he heard the doors open, a shiny substance running down his lips and chin, a substance that he quickly licked while looking up at his lover.

The princess clearly seemed unhappy and even less sexually satisfied, but seeing the guard's eyes open wide and his inability to look at them a slight smirk appeared on her lips. The fingers of her right hand tenderly caressed the hair of the young man as her other hand touched affectionately the jaw of another man, leaving the third man frustrated and begging for affection from his lady.

—What does that old witch want ? she finally asked.

—I-I don’t know your highness…He shudder, his gaze moving to the side, towards a wall of the large bedroom.

Suddenly, the young woman's fingers closed in the blond's hair between her thighs, who emitted a slight grunt of pain and surprise.

—Not only do you not look your princess in the eyes when you speak to her, but you are not even capable of giving her an answer.

The terrified young man could do nothing but get on his knees, begging her to spare him. In a split second all the pleasure and excitement she felt had dissolved, the crazy old woman had the talent of interrupting her at the worst moments. Knowing very well that the reverent mother would never leave her alone, she got up, grabbed a bathrobe that was on the floor before leaning over the three men, sitting quietly on her bed, to kiss their lips, one at a time.

—I’m sorry my pretty pets, wait for me. She whispered, looking affectionately at them and the three men nodded happily.

Taking one last look at her lovers [Y/N] walked out of the large bedroom, stepping on the left hand of the guard, still on the ground. He only got up after she left the room to close the doors and follow his princess, watching one last time as the three soldiers lay on the bed and talked, as naked as the day they were born, waiting patiently for the return of their beloved mistress.

The princess' footsteps echoed on the concrete slabs leading to a small open veranda, the sun was beating down on her face and the cotton of the bathrobe was starting to stick to her skin making her movements unpleasant, which had the effect of annoying her even more.

—Reverend Mother, sister…Lady Margot. She greeted, once she reached the veranda, where the three women were sitting around a cup of tea.

The mother Mohiam looked up at the young woman to greet her but changed her mind when she saw her outfit, she slowly shook her head bringing her tase to her lips. Irulan's cheeks tinged with pink, pink with shame, and she couldn't help but glance at the oldest woman.

—What indecency. This outfit is not worthy of a woman of your rank, you shame the order by showing yourself in this way.

Hands on her hips [Y/N] lowered her head to observe her outfit, her bathrobe was slightly open at her chest but she had worn much more vulgar, with a sigh of boredom she sat down at a corner of the square table, Irulan to her right and Lady Margot, who still had not spoken, to her left.

One thigh on top of the other and her upper body relaxed against her chair, she looked like anything but a high-ranking woman.

—Stop your reprimands and spill the beans. The [H/C] haired woman grumbled, which earned her a look of disapproval from her sister and a warning from the reverent mother, a raised eyebrow.

—Hold your tongue young woman. A deep aura laced the old woman's voice.

[Y/N] just crossed her arms across her chest, showing her displeasure, you had to be stupid but above all suicidal to contradict or defy the Bene Gesserit, the princess was neither of the two. Lady Margot put her cup down after finishing her tea, making the three women around her turn their heads and the blonde smiled graciously at them.

—We have a request for you princess, one that, I am sure, will satisfy you. Informed the countess.

The young adult arched an eyebrow while staring at her elder, then a curious smile appeared on her lips and her companions quickly understood that she was suddenly interested in the conversation.

—Well, you have my full attention.

—Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is hosting a grand banquet in honor of his nephew, Na-baron Feyd-Rautha.

—I don't see how this concerns me. Interrupted [Y/N] not seeing the point of this conversation.

Lady Margot cleared her throat with a soft sneer before glancing at the reverent mother who took over.

—You will accompany Lady Margot to Giedi Prime. We need to find out if this young man is controllable.

—I still don't see why I should get involved in your stories. Your plan failed, Lady Jessica was supposed to be on your side and you were supposed to have control over her and her son. She accentuated all the “you”s with a mocking look.

—Sister ! Exclaimed Irulan, red with shame.

—We are Bene Gesserit, everything has always been under our control and that will not change today. If the great houses learn what your father has commissioned, he will lose the throne and you, your comfort. This mission is important and you must play your role without whining for once. Mohiam finally ordered, silencing the two sisters.

She knew that the Reverent Mother was right, if the rumor of what her father had done got around, then that would be the end. She wasn't ready to give up her luxury and wealthy life because of a brat and her father's lust for power. Silence reigned for a few moments before the eldest princess spoke again.

—Feyd-Rautha…a mad man I think I heard during conversations. What do I have to gain from it ?

—We heard that the Na-baron had practices...somewhat similar to yours, if you know what I mean. If everything does not go as planned, you will have the right to interfere and “take advantage”. Replied Lady Margot.

The young woman thought about it for a moment. The few things she had heard about the baron's nephew never painted him in a good light, but it was true that she had heard of his sexual appetite. Only she wasn't sure if she would have the opportunity to taste it, but just to be able to finally admire the young man, she accepted.

—Can I bring my pet-

Her question was interrupted by a nudge from Irulan, who couldn't stand her jokes, although this time, it wasn't a joke.

The journey to Giedi Prime was done in silence, Lady Margot and [Y/N] weren't really the best of friends. The countess was much too simple and calm for the princess. Their characters were diametrically opposed, yet they could still talk to each other without it turning into a bloodbath.

Only, right now, the youngest was angry at her elder's privilege. [Y/N] was just a backup if their mission didn't go as planned and the Na-baron didn't find anything interesting in Lady Margot. But if, indeed, he was interested in the blonde, [Y/N] would have left her pets for nothing, a reality that did not please her at all.

Arriving at the Harkonnens, they were welcomed by the Baron and his oldest nephew, Rabban. This particularly irritated the princess who took Feyd's non-presence as an affront, after all, she was of imperial blood.

Without really paying attention to the Baron, she was accompanied to her quarters which were in a different place from those of her companion, because of their difference in rank, which did not displease the princess.

Later she learned that the Na-baron had not appeared before them since he was preparing for the hundredth fight, a spectacle apparently eagerly awaited by the inhabitants of Giedi Prime.

dressed in her most beautiful dress and her most sumptuous jewelry, she intended to overshadow Lady Margot, decided not to have come to this planet for nothing.

The black sun was beating down on everyone and it was clearly not missed by [Y/N] who was fed up with Kaitan's constant sun. She was patiently awaiting the arrival of Feyd-Rautha, Lady Margot at her side who also seemed excited although she hid it with her calm and reserved air.

Bene Gesserit sisters joined them but the princess ignored them, much more interested in the still empty arena than in their conversation, which she did not even listen to with one ear. Her fingers played with the chain of her gold necklace, trying to occupy herself with something when the Na-baron finally entered.

[Y/N] wanting to get a good view of the young man leaning forward while slightly getting up from her seat, she brought her binoculars to her eyes and a satisfied smile appeared on her lips. The young woman was generally not very picky when it came to men, although she always had certain criteria.

And this man, he ticked all her criteria. His milky skin made the princess want to sink her teeth into it, to stain it scarlet, but above all, mark it. She wanted to take his jaw between her fingers and force him to look at her, touch his defined lips and kiss his throat, maybe even run her tongue across it.

When the Harkonnen knelt for his uncle, [Y/N] began to wish he had knelt in front of her instead. That he pledge allegiance to her and agree to be hers, to belong to her and her alone.

A rush of excitement filled her as she let out a chuckle that did not go unnoticed by the Bene Gesserit. After seeing him it was clear that she was not going to let the Countess steal him from her, he looked much too appetizing.

Throughout his fight [Y/N] watched his body move and his muscles shifting under his armor, his movements were sharp but controlled, good news for her. Her skin shived as she already imagined all the things she could do to him or he could do to her. Time passed far too quickly for the princess's liking and when he won his hundredth fight she forced herself to sit and applaud him calmly, not wanting him to notice her euphoria.

The same evening it was planned that Lady Margot would go and court him, the young woman then decided that he was going to be hers no matter what the order wanted. Since she was very young, Mother Mohiam had taught her the art of being a Bene Gesserit. Unfortunately, as a teenager, lust overcame her desire to learn more.

She still listened during her lessons but the order and their prophecies no longer interested her as much as before. Only, as an imperial princess, she had never been able to stop them. Today she was very happy with it.

Manipulation and persuasion via The voice were part of the teachings of the Bene Gesserit. It had taken her several years to perfect her learning, compared to her younger sister who was obviously a prodigy and had quickly made up for the extra years that [Y/N] had.

At seven p.m. the great banquet in honor of Feyd-Rautha began and the young woman was finally introduced to the Na-baron. She took advantage of this opportunity to once again contemplate Feyd attentively, she didn't even bother to hide her excitement this time.

Her eyes wandered over his jawline which she loved to admire so much, she could already imagine her hands gently grasping it before caressing his cheekbones with the tips of her thumbs. She dove into his electric blue eyes and for a moment she had the impression of losing herself in their depth, this sensation made her shudder with desire but above all with apprehension, she had never felt such attraction before, even with her favorite lovers.

His lack of eyebrows and hair did not repel her, she, who loved pulling her partners' locks. But the idea of squeezing his neck to force him to look at her only made her even more excited. Finally her mouth curved into a mischievous smile.

Next to his uncle, Feyd then placed one knee on the ground, right hand on his heart, and his cold fingers grabbed the young woman's hand to place a kiss on it. She felt her skin warm up tenderly while the young man's lips were anything but warm, and this coldness made her body shudder and her lower stomach tighten.

He left his lips on her skin slightly longer than acceptable and raised an amused but also penetrating gaze, as if he knew what she was thinking. And at that moment many things were stirring in her mind. By kneeling in this way, he was submitting to her. And having a man with such a reputation as Feyd-Rautha give up his dominance was thrilling.

She even came to wish that he had knelt in front of her under different circumstances.... With a discreet gesture she passed her thumb over the Harkonnen's lower lip, testing its softness. This didn't seem to bother him since he closed his eyes as he felt her finger move, then, a grin appeared on those said lips, letting her see the black-tinted teeth she had perceive during his fight.

After these few seconds, maybe a minute and a half at most, he stood up, his arms crossed behind his back. This moment didn't last long but she had the impression of staying in this position for hours.

Baron Vladimir looked at them discreetly but said nothing, anyway, if something happened between them it would benefit the Harkonnens. Having ties with the imperial family, such close ties, could be decisive.

Dinner went very well, although the princess couldn't help but stare at the Na-baron most of the time. But it didn't seem to bother him that much, most of the time he even stared back, their intense staring game had left [Y/N] finishing the meal with her thighs tight and slightly sweating.

When everyone had to excuse themselves to go get ready for the fireworks. The young woman turned one last time, while holding her dress so she could walk in her heels, to look at the Harkonnen and her lips parted to let out the whisper of a sentence that only he could hear.

« Come to me. »

Then, she smiled brightly at him as Feyd's pupils dilated, for a moment everything around him disappeared and only her voice reached him.

Surely he should have ignored it, continue his life with his dear concubines and enjoy the huge party that was going to take place in his honor. Only, something inside him screamed at him to go after her and obey her. Obey all her requests, no matter what they are.

And now he found himself in front of the princess's quarters, dressed in black, which made his milky skin stand out.

He went inside, then closed the door behind him, not bothering to knock, after all he was at home. Once in the guest room he looked for the young woman, passing over the large bed in front of him and the few supplies placed everywhere, but he did not find her, for a moment he really thought that she was making fun of him and that irritated him to the highest point.

But the same voice that had ordered him to go find her rang through the air again, making him hold his head for a moment, clearly not used to the tricks of the Bene Gesserit.

« Here. Come meet me. »

Feyd then turned his head trying to find the source of this mystical voice and he saw a gray door, just like the walls of the room, slightly half-open. He took a slight breath, not out of fear but rather apprehension, he wondered how he was going to find her. Naked ? Dressed in a sensual outfit ? Maybe she was even making fun of him and playing hide and seak ?

In any case, he stomped forward while tilting his head in curiosity. With the back of his hand, he pushed the door open and stopped at the doorstep. He found a large bathroom, a shower side to properly remove dirt and a bath side, with a large bathtub.

He found [Y/N] there. Arms hanging outside the bathtub, legs crossed and raised, revealing her knees as well as her feet. She looked at him with a petty grin that made him feel warm, maybe he really liked submission.

« Kneel, beside me. »

And for the third time that evening, his actions were directed by this woman. In other circumstances he would have slit her throat and fed her to his darlings. But the lump in his throat and the heat he felt in his body were far from unpleasant, he craved her and all the things she wanted to do to him.

Then he knelt down beside her and observed her attentively. The curve of her throat and her neckline covered in warm, transparent droplets. Too busy observing her body, he did not notice her hand coming to rest on his cheek until her warm skin came in contact against the coldness of his.

He then relives their proximity from a few hours ago, when she had caressed his lip. Only this time, he felt the humidity of her palm, humidity which made his skin shiny in addition to its whiteness.

—I wanted you the moment I saw you. The [H/C] haired woman whispered, so as not to break the bubble of sensuality that had formed between them.

—Did you, woman. He replied, his hoarse voice cutting through the air.

She didn't like this tone and took it as a challenge. Her hand on his cheek stopped it’s caresses and came to firmly grip his jaw as she frown, her gaze hard.

—You should be grateful, that I, the first imperial princess, has taken a liking to you. She replied in a stern tone that matched her expression.

Feyd held her gaze, his eyes wandering over her angry face, he definitely liked her tone a lot. A shiver of excitement ran through his body, his breathing starting to get heavy.

[Y/N] didn't take long to understand that this situation excited him more than anything else and ended up getting up after releasing the young man. She got out of the bathtub without giving him a glance before retrieving a bathrobe which she wrapped around herself after drying herself slightly.

Then she turned towards the Na-baron who did not move, only turned his head to spy on her. He quickly understood that she wanted him to move and stood up to follow her as she returned to the large bedroom.

The princess took a cup and filled it with water before sitting on the bed, bringing the cup to her lips while looking at him.

—Take off your clothes.

This time she didn't use The voice, she understood that he would listen to her no matter what she said, so what was the point of wasting her energy on these sleight of hand tricks ? Feyd nodded and slowly started to remove his clothes.

The Bene Gesserit stared at his movements, she watched the muscles in his arms move as he removed his bottoms and unbuttoned his black top. She then let out a slight sigh of pleasure, his body was magnificent to look at but surely even more so to touch. Only, she wanted to make him boil.

That he begged her to touch him everywhere and as she wanted. However, her determination didn't last long when she saw the defined bulge he had in his underwear. And seeing her hastily swallowing her saliva, he grinned, like a mischievous little child.

Regaining control of the situation he approached her, then once at her level he undid her bathrobe before throwing it a little further when she did not push him away. On his knees once again, but between her thighs this time, he gently spread them, letting his icy fingers climb over them. While following the movements that her chest was making as it rose.

Because once he was on the ground, the young woman's breathing had taken off and her skin suddenly heated up. Her lower abdomen tightened with apprehension as she saw him getting closer and closer to her crotch.

Letting him do so, she leaned back slightly, grasping the sheets between her fingers nervously, while closing her eyes. She had never felt something so strong and yet she was well accustomed to sex and many unspeakable sexual practices.

Only this time it was different. He was something that didn't belong to her, something she wasn't supposed to touch or approach unless she was beckoned. And yet she had braved this prohibition and done the complete opposite of what she had been asked.

He represented dangerousness, sensuality but also a forbidden fruit, and right now, she wanted to sink her teeth into this fruit, devour it raw but above all savor it.

[Y/N] was quickly brought back to earth by feeling the warm muscle of her lover. In surprise her abdominal muscles contracted and she let out whine, her thighs instinctively tightened around his head.

She was going to loosen them immediately but Feyd held them back, his hands holding tightly the plump of her thighs so that she wouldn't move them. His throat let out a low moan of pleasure, he wasn't suffocating, but having her thighs around him gave him a new feeling of closeness.

Watching him do it, the young woman finally decided to relax and calm her breathing as best she could. Her body fell against the soft mattress before her eyes closed again, taking advantage of the only source of warmth Feyd possessed.

Usually the Harkonnen was not the type of man to kneel for a woman, his concubines always cared for him and only his pleasure. The only times he touched them was to inflict pain that gave him satisfaction.

But now that he had tasted the princess he couldn't live without it and his only goal was to make her scream. The smell of the young woman became intoxicating, a drug which he, from now on, could no longer do without.

His tongue tried to catch as much of her transparent and succulent nectar as possible, wandering into every nook and cranny of her soaked slit. Quickly one of his hands left her thighs and came to join his tongue, the contrast between his cold fingers and his hot muscle made the body of the [H/C] haired woman tremble.

Her lips parted as she gasped, her back arching and her brows furrowed for the second time, she definitely couldn't get used to his coldness, even less when he touched such a sensitive area of her body.

Feyd moved away from her swollen lips for a few seconds, moistening his fingers with saliva before going to collect some of her juices, humidifying them enough so that he could slide them slowly inside her. He watches his fingers dig in before looking up at her, his lips red and wet as was his chin which was glistening slightly.

She felt dizzy with arouse, her limbs trembling under the emotion and the touch of the Harkonnen between her thighs, his fingers inside her only dived her into pleasure and passion. Finally she dared to look down at him, meeting his greedy gaze.

He smirked at her. She wanted to hit him, not liking his superior air, surely he felt proud to have put her in one hell of a state. Only, her body was much too heavy for her to do anything to him and anyway, even if she wouldn't admit it to herself, she liked the way he made her feel.

Finally he began to move his fingers, withdrawing them slightly before pushing them back in with urgency, as if he immediately wanted to find the warmth of her inner walls which tightened around his middle and ring fingers.

—Is it to your liking imperial princess ? He teased, loving to see her lose her cool because of his movements.

His spike had the effect of a slap and she stood up suddenly, grabbing his wrist to stop his back and forth movements. He admired her chest rising and falling as she tried to regain calm breathing and the light beads of sweat running down her face and neckline.

—Look at you, drenched in sweat even though you haven’t done anything. He chuckled, deciding to ignore her warning look.

Apparently she didn't like his teasing at all as her hand circled around his throat, squeezing it slightly as he groaned quietly, the corners of his lips curling up, at least he would have had control for a little while.

—Know your place. She panted, gradually regaining her breathing.

He finally opened his eyes, which he had closed when he felt her squeeze his throat a little more, enjoying the intoxicating sensation of suffocation. She brought her face closer to his and the young man's orbs flickered from her gaze to her lips, a sudden urge to kiss her taking him in the gut.

And if she had noticed it she made no comment, forcing him to stand up by pulling his throat forward. He then found himself on his back, on the black silk sheets, his lover on top of him. He stared at her inner thighs, where he could see her wetness running lightly down them.

[Y/N] leaned over his throat which she had finally released not wanting him to pass out, but little by little you could see light red finger marks, making her smile. Her tongue flicked over them, making him shiver and groan beneath her.

Her hands held his wrist this time, not wanting him to touch her as she enjoyed playing with him. Her muscle moved down his chest before her teeth sank into his pale flesh.

She closed her eyes, beginning to taste the metallic taste of blood, blood that didn't belong to her. Feyd had emitted a low moan of pleasure, an aching pain took hold of him but that only aroused him more. Especially when he saw her eagerly licking the small wound she had inflicted on him, collecting the droplets of blood that escaped.

The young woman looked at her work with satisfaction, she, who had dreamed all evening of marking it, had finally done it. You could clearly see the bite on his white skin, plus it will probably leave a purplish mark for a few days or even a week or two. She was so proud of herself that she made him a few more.

Again on the torso but also the shoulders and throat, each time repeating the same ritual, biting, cleaning and admiring. Feyd let her do it, letting out grunts and moans from time to time. He had once tried to free his wrists to grab her hips but she had bitten him even harder to make him understand to stay still.

Once her work was finished, her teeth went to nibble his left ear, tickling it slightly. He took advantage of her proximity to turn his head and furtively kiss her throat, making the princess sigh, not liking to be interrupted.

[Y/N] then started to stare at him, thinking about what she was going to do to him, but she was starting to get impatient and the wetness of her sex was starting to bother her, she wanted him right away.

Bringing her right hand to her lips she let her saliva fall there while using her other hand to hold herself above him.

—You shall give me a daughter. She ordered him.

She didn't forget the main reason for her coming, but their passionate embrace was starting to make her head spin. She would return with the Kwistaz Haderach, and thanks to that, perhaps the Bene Gesserit will let her have the privilege of seeing him again, after all she would give them what they want, so they can grant her that.

Feyd was probably going to say something but she quickly silenced him with her lips. She hungrily explored his mouth, making him groan in surprise as he closed his eyes. Their hot breaths mingled as their noses brushed together, making her grumble since she couldn't move as much as she wanted.

Her lips parted as her glistening hand descended to his cock, which she delicately grasped. He buckled his hips in her hand in surprise and he let out a grunt followed by a light hoarse laugh. He grabbed the back of her neck, keeping their lips firmly connected as his tongue had ventured between her lips when she had parted them.

The Bene Gesserit's delicate hand gently moved up-and-down, wetting him to make sure he would fit inside without harm, but she was so soaked that she was sure nothing would block.

Finally she lifted her hips above him and sink down on his cock, her hands on his chest, letting a choked moan escape her as she pulled her face away from his and Feyd grabbed her hips, forcing her to stay still. His breathing accelerated as he bit his tongue to prevent a too loud moan from coming out while throwing his head back.

He tried to compose himself, his muscles tensing. His heart was beating hard against his chest and his blood was boiling inside him. She enveloped him in a pleasant and sensual warmth making him feel hazy. While regaining his senses, he caressed her hips with the tips of his thumbs to make her wait a little longer before sitting down.

Finally, he nodded and she rolled her hips, keeping him inside her as he reached up to grab her thighs and wrap them around his waist. She let him do it, very happy not to have to move herself and get tired.

—A daughter you said ?

The Na-baron rested his forehead against hers admiring the way her lips parted and her eyes closed as he lifted her, his hands gripping her backside tightly, then he slammed her back on his hard cock.

She let out a cry of pleasure, putting her arms behind his neck, bringing their faces even closer while their sweating foreheads were already in contact. [Y/N] took the initiative to place light kisses on his lips while he continued his movements.

Every time she separated their lips, he chased her mouth away with a growl, begging her to let him kiss her longer. But she never let him, delicately scratching his back to make him understand her displeasure.

They kept eye contact whatever happened, observing each other's reactions of pleasure. Her moans and shortness of breath for the young woman and his grunts followed by sighs for Feyd.

[Y/N]'s warmth contrasted perfectly with the Na-baron's coldness, it gradually warmed his body and his heart without even realizing it. He saw the beginnings of affection and mutual attraction in her eyes, encouraging him to speed up his movements although his arms were starting to hurt slightly. But he ignored this pain which was not that unpleasant if he was honest.

Quickly she joined his movements as best she could, feeling her pleasure increase and her mind become foggy. With each thrust he bury himself deeper, desperately seeking her and his release. Her walls clinching around him brought him closer and closer.

Feeling that she would not resist long, her thighs tightened their grip around his waist and she hide her face in the crock of his neck, his scent lulling her and allowing her to reach her climax, making her release the sharper and louder moan of the evening, her nails clawed at his back for dear life, once again tracing his milky skin red.

Her lower stomach contracted and her whole body seemed to convulse against him, her chest pressing completely against his torso while her being was overcome by a deep thrill of ecstasy.

The pain these scratches gave him allowed him too, about ten seconds and some back and forth later, to reach his orgasm. He gripped her thighs in such a way that he was sure it would leave marks for a few hours. His seed sank deep into her warmth, making her sigh as she felt the warmth of it.

He held her against his chest for a few minutes before falling back on the mattress, his lady's face buried against his chest. The contact with the fabric of the sheets made his scratches burn slightly, making him sigh a discreet groan.

Finally she raised her head and lifted her hips bringing out his, now soft, shaft. Feeling his cum sliding down the inside of her thighs she tried to contract her walls to keep as much of it inside and Feyd noticing this, raised his hand to slide his middle and index fingers inside her hole as she hissed being still a little sensible.

The young woman looked down to admire the veins on her arm stand out slightly, then she met the gaze of the Na-baron who was smiling mischievously at her. She was preparing to lean in to kiss his lips but the explosion of fireworks made their heads spin.

That's it. She had what she wanted and Lady Margot will not have the pleasure of tasting this magnificent Apollo. Only, “winning” wasn’t even what she appreciated the most.

Their compatibility had been perfect, their movements had matched and their bodies understood each other perfectly. She had never felt so much pleasure and satisfaction with just one round.

Feyd brought her out of her torpor by leaning over her chest, placing small kisses there as he began to move his fingers back and forth again, he wanted to be sure that no drop of his seed came out.

Her attention back on him she grabbed his jaw affectionately and placed a kiss on his lips then her tongue collected the salty pearls on his right cheek.

—You shall dream of me every night, think of me every time your mind wander and breathe for me and only me. She whispered at the crook of his ear.

He smiled at her, a dark smile that told her that he belonged to her and that she was now the only woman he wanted, before his eyes stared longingly at her lips.

—As you wish my princess.

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precious-little-scoundrel · 4 months

Text

Masters of the Air Fanfic

As requested by sweet @arianatheangel-girl and the subsequent poll for a “Buck Cleven Fic before the series comes out” -and I, being a madwoman with no impulse control and a faint recollection of the book, have delivered…this…whatever this is

Song Challenge: i was challenged by dear @the-ugly-swan for a twenty favored songs challenge and I’m gonna go ahead and make this part of it. August by Taylor Swift informed some of the bittersweet timeline here, with infidelity not being the enemy but rather the lack of possessing oneself fully during wartime to give to another

Spoilers: historical accuracy and inaccuracy abound here so, beware there are some biographical facts about Cleven in here that might count as spoilers to those who wish to watch the series with a blank slate. While to the history purists I must beg for a substantial amount of artistic license to be granted me, and obviously I’ve not seen the show yet and I crunched the timeline to my own will

Reader insert but without the use of “y/n” -I’m utterly fudging a bit on the likelihood of a WAAF lady being part of the American ground crew, however, I had in my minds eye the vision of a greasy mechanic and a glamorous flyboy and it wouldn’t budge, so shhh, go with the vibe

Warnings: mature, 18+. Fluffy smut was requested and while it is very brief and mild in here, not very explicit in phrasing, it’s quite present and a plot point so beware. Also, Virgin!Gale has my heart so we went with that. No shade to dear Marjorie irl, I’ll probably end up writing fics about her once the show gives me Inspo. Some angst due to war, POW’s, etc, mild language

Word count: a monstrous 12k

They came in like locusts at the height of summer, long prayed for, oft cursed in moments of perilous isolation, those ever so intriguingly shiny Americans.

Swarming with a metal buzz over the flatlands of East Anglia, big hulking beasts touched down on fresh tarmacs with more grace than anything that size ought to have, flashing the most bizarre and suggestive paintings on their gleaming fuselages. Flying Fortresses, they were called, and deserved the name. Nothing but the biggest, the loudest, the most alarming machinery would do for the American war effort, and now all this mighty strength was Britain’s too, no longer alone, no longer enduring.

Now the fight could be taken to the enemy in earnest. Out of their flying ships poured the most alarmingly young looking faces, jaunty hats and leather jackets, they looked every bit the sort of fellows war was advertised to.

Farmers in their tractors, mothers with daughters still under their command and RAF veterans all looked askance at such pristine warriors. Had their fertile fields been paved into airfields just for this? Were these gum chewing boys the long expected aid? It wasn’t anti-climactic, nothing American could ever be, it was all just alarmingly fresh. It was understandable then, the initial tentativeness the locals felt towards their new occupants, the way the boys took up such space in the rural villages, made such a racket in the pubs, chased every skirt that swished in the rainy summer breeze, stuck hands out for a shake no matter the introduction. They were a warm, boisterous and confident lot, all much needed attributes in wartime Britain, and soon, the initial distrust of the citizenry thawed, hands were shaken in return and invitations made. An amiable amalgamation eventually occurred, Norfolk never to recover or return to whatever placidity had been her’s before the arrival of the 100th.

Personally, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on them. The planes, that is.

Amalgamation was less a choice for yourself and your service members than a duty. It was abnormal, having a mixed ground crew, British and American servicemen too often clashing in hierarchy disputes for it to be standard, but with deployment rates so high and casualties mounting, ground crew became a case of whichever skilled individuals could be called upon to keep the operation running, the pilots up and the enemy bombed.

You were just glad to be near home, first time back since ‘39 when you’d signed up in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force -even if your rural hometown was now overrun with Americans. They weren’t a bad lot at all, at least not the ones you’d encountered so far on base. Amiable and unexpectedly eager, undeterred by veterans’ grim looks and tales of the woodchipper across the channel, that line of anti-aircraft that shredded anything trying to penetrate the continent.

“Better get crackin’ then.” Was the common response followed by a grin.

Your crew chief sergeant, Ken Lemmons, an American with a forelock of sandy ringlets and the patience of a saint, made the job easier even as every ounce of expertise was exacted from each man -or woman- under him. Feeding a fiery chain of bullets into the turret gun under a hot July sun, you thought your papa may have had the right of it when he tried to dissuade you from choosing the harsher duties of the Auxiliary Force. You could’ve been pouring over a map in the cool of the boardroom right now, or passing on radio messages, even shuttling planes would’ve been more relaxing, but no, you’d spent your life passing him tools in his garage, your papa had been building flying machines when most for these boys were still in diapers, and that path called to you, too. So for you it was grueling maintenance work and the ever present grime of grease on your hands and the awkward reach of twisted metal repairs. Gratefully, after their first mission, there were plenty of them back safe, however riddled their fortresses might’ve been.

It was interesting, the way certain of the flight crew treated the ships. Some were endeared but indifferent to their repairs while others hovered at each hole and tear, like over protective mothers, while you and your mates tried to do your jobs.

Why, one plane in the five assigned to your care was even named “Our Baby”. With such a moniker it made sense that its porcelain faced pilot would caress the shredded wing with a misty eyed frown at each wound, like it were a breathing thing, a race horse, a friend. You didn’t judge it, and he didn’t seem aware of his audience, he’d be back out there doing his own check up after debriefing. Never interrupting your work, always quick to step aside or duck out of the way of a ground crewman’s path, it wasn’t time to chatter or make introductions, although sometimes when the work took long and his reports longer, he’d be there to bid goodnight to you all, soft, American drawl saying “Goodnight, thank ya, goodnight, good work, thank ya” again and again to each.

You grew to recognize them, the ones each mission spared, there were so many and under hats and bundled in leather jackets they tended to blend together, but there were those who made their mark, if not on you then on Dorace in cartography and Eileen at the Red Cross. There was much tittering and speculation, after all, spread thin as their time was, there was also plenty of off time, made all the more charged and anxious as it came in the form of waiting for new orders. The men would be vibrating with nervous energy and generous in the flush of a recent victory and they took it out on the little villagers who in good British fashion took it on the chin and challenged them to a contest of good spirits.

Those were happy days, less anxious than the preceding ones and less heavy than those making up the year after. You dared be roped into the multiple pub crawls, often choosing the most sensible and quiet of the group as your victim and attaching yourself to their side for the evening. This tactic had its fallibility, sometimes those moderates were such a bore as to be unsupportable or hadn’t enough verve to make a full night of it and retired early like respectable, curfew-abiding saps. That’s how you found yourself one night ensconced in a beer pungent corner of Flaggen’s, green leather seats sticky under your palms, with Major Egan fanning out a wad of cash in front of you. It was a blatant attempt to bribe you to clear his aircraft sooner than the last inspection suggested.

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

If you were less tipsy you wouldn’t have giggled at the man’s idiocy, but his arm was heavy around your shoulders and this very cash had bought you one too many gin and tonics. “These regulations keep you alive!” You chided him, shaking your head and feeling the room tip as you did. Truly these Americans could hold their liquor, almost as well as the Polish Squadron when it came to a binge.

“A little flack isn’t gonna keep her down.” he scoffed, “I’ve been grounded for a week now-“

“-I don’t have the authority-“

“-and I’m not gonna sit here while Buck goes up and racks up his number!” Eagen was vehemently slurring and your drunken mind tried to process who Buck was, if not Egan himself.

“Aren’t you Bucky?” you asked, bewildered.

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

“So who’s Buck?” you concentrated very hard on the ancient coaster beneath your latest pint.

“It’s Buck! It’s Gale, Cleven, Major Gale Cleven!” Egan waxed louder and more dramatic with each addition. “You keep clearing his plane! But not mine! Why’s that, huh?”

“How do you know that?” you asked, dubious and only in the raucous of this little pub would his loud voice go unheeded. Compared to the ongoing dart game to the left behind the half wall, an elephant’s trumpeting would be considered bashful.

“ ‘Cause he tells me?” he replied, bewildered at your slowness, “Says you and your crew are little fairies, crawlin’ all over his plane and patching it up better than ever after each mission. And then you clear him. Simple as that.”

“I don’t have authority to clear anyone.” you repeated.

“Huh,” Egan grunted, “how’does he mean then?”

“I don’t know.” you replied firmly, “I doubt I’ve even got your plane, i don’t see you around.”

“I don’t stay around, that’s your job, patching up. I just fly the damn thing.”

“Oh, well.” you shrugged, “I’ve had five, it’s down to three after last mission.” Three years ago the mention of that ratio of losses would’ve sank your mood to the floorboards, by now it’s horrifically routine. “What’s yours called?”

“Mugwump.” he grinned proudly, a flash of white beneath his dark mustache, the man’s face positively shimmered with sweat.

“Serial?” you asked demurely, just to be difficult.

He squinted his eyes shut briefly, head tilted back as if to ask the heavens for help and the recited in a drill master’s staccato “42-30066, ma’am, yes ma’am.”

You giggled again and Egan’s arm jostled your shoulders, smushing you further into him. They were good fun, these boys, didn’t even mind your horrifyingly unflattering uniform with its bulging pockets adding bulk where your curves should take center stage and your stupid pleated cap making you look to be half baker, half doll. You preferred your plain navy coveralls but you’d hardly be let into an establishment in them. Egan’s warm arm didn’t seem to mind the excess poof of the material, he smashed it right down with his hand’s firm grip, he was fun, you decided, no harm in good fun. “Alas, not one of mine.” you sighed, focusing hard on the serial number.

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

“No,” you went on, “but I’ve got this one, a very spoiled one, maybe you know whose it is. They named it ‘Our Baby’!”

Poor manners and personnel etiquette though it was, you couldn’t say it without tittering.

Egan didn’t laugh, he just looked at you like you’d proved his point. “Yeah,” he replied vehemently, “That’s Buck Cleven’s!”

“Oooh.” -So it was him, the fighting cherub, the walking doughboy, toothpick, baby at wings: there were a dozen or more nicknames you and the ground crew gave the wing-petting Major behind his back. “He always says goodnight to us.” you said instead.

“Is that where he is when I wanna go for a drink?” Egan exclaimed, “Ha! You’d think he was married to the ole ship.”

“He handles her beautifully.” You feel oddly compelled to defend, he’s a master at flight and as someone who must repair each fault of his landings and his leavings and his missions, you feel some loyalty to his finesse. “He handles her so well.” you repeat in the tone of a woman who’s seen some aviation in her time, young though you may be.

“Well let me let you into a lil secret,” Egan smirks and you brace without knowing why, he is, after all, not the respectable and dull men you choose to go out with, he is the dangerous sort you bring those dullards along to deter, “shes the only ‘she’ that boy has ever ‘handled’ -if ya get my drift.”

The sleazy wag of his eyebrows leaves no room for ignorance, you feel your face heat up, wether in prudery for the topic or second hand embarrassment for his friend’s sake, you don’t know.

“Nothing wrong with that.” you reply coldy, only to distance yourself from the road his body language seemed to be hurtling you both down.

“Quite right. Nothin’ at all!” Egan agrees vehemently, his smile easy and his eyes clever “But I’d be a poor friend if I didn't try to remedy his predicament.”

“Telling me is somehow part of this remedy?” you were suspicious, rightfully so.

“Maybe.” Egan drawls it out, shifting in his seat to no longer corner you, his attention drawn to the nearby dart game. The man of the moment, the subject, the handler of planes and none else, was not here. He had such a luminous head of golden hair, it would be a beacon amongst the muddy haired crowd flinging darts. “The thing of it is, dear,” Egan confided, “I've had an absolutely marvelous time since I got here. And I think that’s rather essential, for sanity and for international relations, don’t you? I’ve gotten to know all sorts of wonderful people, lovely people like yourself-“

“-word is, you’ve known them a little too biblically, no wonder Cleven avoids your outings.” You could not help but temper him. “Half of Great Britain has had the privilege, if some are to be believed.”

“And so what if I have? I love dancin’!” he laughed quite happily at your barb and you didn’t have it in you to pull down any further a man who was sacrificing so much day in and out. “Getting to know Great Britain is a better occupation than pettin’ plane wings under the moonlight.”

You tittered again at his words and the oddly endearing memories you had of watching Major Ceven petting and whispering to his plane like she was his long-standing beloved, loitering ground crew unheeded. “He does do that.” you agreed.

“Hey, everyone’s got their method.” Egan insisted in his friend’s defense, “But I have told him, it’s good for the morale to mingle, even if he hates drinkin’.“

You pucker your face at that. “I know he mingles, Violet says he’s a doll when he goes to market.” you point out, small town chatter gets around and while you can’t say you know Cleven, you know he’s mild mannered and precious. And a terribly pretty face too, which isn’t fair, he oughta be an ass which a face that cute. “And he got a tan from somewhere last week.“

“Oh, so ya noticed!” Egan is triumphant, “A bunch of us used our day passes to go messin’ around in boats on the canals.”

“Good for you.” you didn’t know what else to say. “Why are we talking about him? What’s your point? I can ask for your plane to be transferred to my crew, but it won’t get you a sloppy clearance. And if your friend is so socially awkward he can’t even manage a pub night, you can hardly expect me to be flattered that you consider me prime material to throw at him.”

“He’s not awkward.” Egan cut to the chase quite serious, in mission mode, “Buck just had his hopes tangled up back home, and now he’s here he’s finding it hard to accept that hopes were all they were. She’s real moved on.” Well that had hurt, you winced in sympathy. “I warned him, everything during this war has got to be taken as a bit inpermanent. Don’t fall in love with Texas girls when you’re headed to England -via: Louisiana, Indiana, hell, by New York she’d stopped writing.”

“And now the texas girl has-“

“-found a Texan, I guess.” He shrugged and chugged the last of his pint. “She’s gettin’ married, it's really over. So, -“ he made a broad gesture as if to explain his reasoning for this entire segue. “-you like projects, you wouldn’t be in the line of work you’re in if ya didn’t, so whaddya say?”

You looked around the dimly lit pub in search of two things, sunny blonde hair and a clock to tell you how badly you were going to regret this night, come morning. “He’s not even here.” you balked.

“Well, no-“

“-what I say is,” you grinned at him disbelieving, “you owe me another gin and tonic for subjecting me to such inane chatter.”

His grin should have served as warning enough that he would neither drop the subject nor let you off free this evening. In fact, the ticking clock and its late curfew breaking hours became the least of your concerns come morning. The cool wash of bitter juniper blended into the pungent flow of beer, it blurred everything, soon there was a great swelling of pride for your native village, a pub crawl was on, all three visited and drank from, an army Jeep was requisitioned without authority, there was some incident regarding a policeman‘s helmet. The latter being the reason why you found yourself in “jail” the next morning, nursing a raging headache and questioning life decisions while glaring at John Egan’s polished boots.

There was very little talk about bail or Air Force hours being exceptioned, the more pressing concern to the Bobbies who had nabbed you was the coed holding cell. Thorpe Abbotts was a small place, after all, and you liked it that way. If this overly indulgent night could be kept away from the military police, all would be well.

You had one hope: Harry Crosby was sensibly absent from the holding cell, having a keen sense of when to depart from the raucous joyride at the precise moment to save himself a demerit. It was an extreme embarrassment to you that you’d not had the same sense. In fact, fond as you were of a bit of a knees up, you couldn’t quite credit the fact you had allowed yourself such free reign, or accomplished such foolishness. Glowering at Major Egan’s face now, animated with delighted chagrin at your shared plight as it was, you vowed to never again hook your fortunes to his, as it were.

Your resolve, and humiliation, was about to be compounded, exponentially.

There was a bustle of a visitor entering the precinct, easily heard in the small space, followed by the low hum of mild mannered conversation. It went on for sometime, and no amount of straining at the bars and cocking of ears would allow you, Egan or your fellow misfortunates to ascertain the gist of it. Violet’s husband was the main constable, and you were quite certain he’d be moderate in his sentence, he had his helmet back, after all. It was the Air Force penalty of not being on base in time this morning that you feared, a growing nausea that compounded the misery of your aching head. They’d not discharge Egan, they’d probably not even demote him, he was too crucial and he’d done this one too many times for it to be grace alone saving him. When he was needed, really needed, he was there. That’s what counted. The same could be said of you, but that hardly mattered given your low rank.

Violet’s husband, also known as constable Herbert, came in sight and with a jangle of keys and a tap to the side of his nose, swung open the bars of infamy and gestured for you and your fellow inmates to file out.

“All sorted.” He declared. His gaze lingered on you as it had many times in your life when you’d been caught jumping in puddles after church, “Let this be a lesson and a warning to you.”

You tried your best at both obeisance and penitence, both of which were rather natural feelings at the present time, while hurrying past as fast as was respectful, your approaching shift hours making your heart thump in panic.

On the steps outside, your savior was loitering against the wrought iron fence, thumbing at the petunias in the nearby window box. Gale Cleven was a mile long of lanky body in perfectly pressed and tailored Air Force greens, fresh faced as the good conscienced are, hair combed without his cap and a smile on his soft face that was composedly long suffering, rather than endeared, as he watched you miscreants pour out of the modest brick building.

You stumbled to a halt on the first step at the sight of him and allowed your instincts to take over, hands smoothing down hair and skirt with frantic self consciousness. You must’ve looked a rumple.

“I hope last night was worth it.” Cleven drawled in that voice of his, so oddly deep for so fresh a face, his placid smile growing into something more genuinely mirthful as Egan smooched at him in gratitude and swore that he knew his Buck wouldn’t abandon them, that his Buck would pull through for them. “I order a round of toothpaste for everyone and cold showers, you stink.” Gale shied away without any real effort, nodding in greeting to the boys he recognized.

Then, as if in the most painfully slow motion with all the strong string accompaniment of a silver screen scene, his eyes landed on you and an odd ache formed in your chest at the anticipation of his disapproval.

It made you tense and draw yourself up to your full height, looking about as regal as a drenched bantam in your disheveled dignity, but you weren’t about to be relegated to another tier than these boys he so amusedly indulged.

“Y’all know what time it is?” he asked mildy, those azure orbs with their batting dark fringe didn’t waver and you realized he indeed had more guts than you’d given him credit for.

There was a chorus of “no”s and various guesses based on the fast evaporating fog and the lightening sky.

“Zero five thirty.” he ended the suspense with the cock of an eyebrow at you.

“Shit!” Egan was suddenly animated, “Shit, shit-“

“Hey, you keep your swearin’ away from my sweet lil corporal.” Cleven chided, and it took you a brief moment to startle upon realizing he meant you. And he thought you sweet? “C’mon Miss,” he waved you down the steps and for some inexplicable reason you felt very compelled to obey and suddenly stood beneath his gaze like a dutiful child awaiting deliverance or censure, “I’ve only got this bike, petrol allotment ran out when we went to the canals last week. But it’ll get ya back faster than this lot. Reckon you can manage on the handlebar?”

“Wha-?“ you glanced sideways at the bike with its large, sweeping handlebars and second guessed his meaning until he himself was straddling it. His legs required the seat to be hiked up impossibly high and the narrow nip of his waist was accentuated by the posture. Those padded, fleece puffed jackets you had seen him in had done no credit to his form, a toothpick he may have been with how terribly lean he was, but he was firm in all the right places. He was also waiting on you to answer while you ogled him.

“Gosh yes, I can, if you’re sure? Awfully kind of you.” you blathered and moved in a hurry to make up for your stalling, keenly conscious of his eyes on your back as you shimmied your backside up onto his handlebars, feeling the warm press of his hand as he helped steady you from tipping all the way back. You wiggled on the thin metal bar, spreading your legs on either side of the front wheel and doing your best to ignore the raucous commentary of the still tipsy audience of your fellow inmates swaying on the precinct steps. “Y’all just be glad there’s no mission scheduled today.” he snarked to them instead and they chimed up that last night’s idiocy was calculated with that in mind.

“Huh.” Cleven uttered, unimpressed, behind you and it made you shiver, worse than if your father caught wind of this stunt. “Darlin’ put your hands over mine, s’gonna get wobbly takin’ off.” he directed next and you did as you were told, looking back over your shoulder at him with a grateful smile that you were relieved to see returned, pink lips stretching and a freckled nose bunching up sweetly when all of the sudden a rush caught you by surprise and the bike was in motion and you whipped your head back to view the street as it rushed up ahead of you. “See ya boys!” he hollered out as a mutinous babble rose from his friends at being left to jog back.

The young man could put some speed on a bike, uphill too. Or, as much of a hill as could be found this far East. You could hear him chuckle when you squeaked at the first jolt of a pothole, your thumbs hooking under his hands and curling into his palms. They were warm and calloused, dry from the cool breeze and you may have imagined the way he squeezed them in assaurance but you did not imagine the way his voice piped up again, smooth and conversational: “Harry told me if I was quick I could get you out in time, I think we’re gonna make it. S’dont worry, even if Sergeant Lemmons gives ya trouble, I’ll insist.”

“That’s really too kind of you.” The chill of windburn and a substantial amount of remorse made your cheeks glow scarlet. “All of it is. I’m rather ashamed.”

“I didn’t take you for an all nighter sort.” he agreed but followed it with a soothing compliment, “You’ve always been nothin’ but perfect. P-p-perfectly punctual, I mean, and there’s no reason to let Egan’s idea of fun ruin your record.”

“Wasn’t his fault. Not wholly.” you sighed, giving Violet a bashful wave as you passed her opening the shop, a wave which Cleven mirrored behind you and between the two of you letting go the bike, it nearly dumped you both. It was luck and sheer persistence that righted you and kept your balance. “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a bad habit, picked it up at Northolt.”

“Where’s that?” he asked.

“South, by the coast.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to explain your debauchery away, “I was working a ground crew down there for a bunch of Polish Pilots. Spitfires mainly. That squadron nabbed the most kills of any in the RAF back in ‘40. Why, even Churchill visited more times than I can count, he found them good fun. Too much fun, they never went to bed without downing half a barrel. There was dice built into the bottom of the pints at the Black Bull, rather addictive, rolling to see who would buy the next round. —There was always a next.” You added upon reflection.

That was also the year you had lost your brother. The correlation between the habit and the loss wasn’t to be dwelt on.

“Huh,” Cleven let out one of him contemplative hums, “and how do we compare?” he asked surprisingly.

“How?” you laughed, daring to crane your neck back to see him in the early morning sunshine, pretty and sweet and arch in his expression. Dusk had not done his mama’s work on his face any justice, it made you want to pant he was so pretty.

“I dunno, in any way,” he laughed in turn, not even breathless as he sped the bike over the cobblestones, the village barely awake and mostly quiet, “how do we compare?”

“To the Poles?”

“Or the French. Or your own, the RAF ain’t no joke.” he amended, “Whoever is our competition.”

“So it is a competition.” you smirked -how very American of him. “Depends,” you hedged playfully, “Our boys are so very nice, familiar, they never run out the right coinage during a date either. But the French are better flirts while the Dutch are better dancers. But the Poles, they know how to romance. Lots of hand kissing and flowers, so many flowers there had to be rules made for overstocking the billet.”

“Sounds like we gotta step up our game.” he decided.

“Is that what you meant? How you compare? First impressions?”

“I-I- guess, yeah.” he now sounded confused, “I mean, what else? You got scores for aircraft?”

“I do.” you replied, as it was true, “But that’s unfair, you’ve only just arrived. I thought maybe you wanted to know something more -salacious.”

“Like?” His tone behind you was guarded and you doubted if the alcohol of last night were not still buzzing and fortifying your brazenness, that you’d ever go through with what you said next.

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

You felt his fingers flutter around the bars beneath your own, you gripped them tighter, not just because the stretch of old road before the air base was ancient and pitted but because you were in an agony of suspense as to how he’d take your forwardness.

“There’s a record of that somewhere?” he asked at last, a beat too long, too delayed for casualness, too morose for flippancy.

“In fact there is.” you responded carefully. “A little diary of rankings, actually, there’s multiple and whenever there’s a grand assembly of the WAAF or the WACs, they’re passed about and tallied.”

“Sweet Jesus.” he swore behind you, “And here I’ve been chalkin’ up railways and munition dump targets like they’re some achievement.”

“Oh it’s all a bit of silliness.” You assured, not intending to make him glum.

“Do-“ he hesitated and you prayed for strength for him to spit it out as the airfield came in sight on the flat plain ahead. He didn’t.

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

“Are one of these little tallies yours?” he asked miserably.

You grinned to yourself and felt the sunshine seemed brighter and the air crisper than ever before as it rushed in your face with the slowing speed of his bike. “No, not in the least. I merely keep track of Sally’s ledger. It’s all a bit too -messy, for me.”

You dared peak behind you again and he looked relieved, then blushed furiously at your observance of him. “Well, who does Sally say is winning?” he dared.

“Romania.” you chortled and he did too, in shock if nothing else. “But Egan’s caught wind of it, he’s quite determined to save your country’s dominance, you don’t need to sweat it.”

His frown was back and you had to focus on not falling off as he slowed the bike to a halt, momentum precarious as his long legs kicked out and walked it the last yard to the segregated barracks, you felt his hand again on your waist to steady you. “Does that bother you?” he asked earnestly, sorrow in his blue eyes.

He offered a hand for you as you hopped down and it was you who held onto it long after it was needed. “Bother me?”

“Yeah, him -consortin’…with Sally?” he pressed, hands quite engulfing your one, “Does it hurt you? Bucky, see, he doesn’t mean to hurt, he’s just so-“

“-Blimey, you are a dear.” you marveled and then amended your interruption as your amusement only further creased that sweet face, “If I am ever again in Major Egan’s company, it will only be to escape it just as quickly. I’ve had quite enough of…consorting.”

“That so?” The lackadaisical confidence he exhibited outside of the precinct was back again, a not unattractive smirk plastered on his vulnerable face, a scheme in his guileless eyes. “Had enough of holding cells?”

“Quite.” you smirked back. “A quiet family dinner is more my style, the occasional picnic, even a zip round Oxford as one must show the foreigners about.” you paused and squeezed his hand once more, “And I do enjoy a bike ride.”

You did not know if he cataloged your preferences for an ideal date or not, life was busy, after all, and the momentary frolics in the July sunshine and banter on the tarmac and evenings in the pub were the exception. Time went on. Most of life was spent in the air, in his case, and in yours, beneath the belly of his beast, wrench in hand. But ever after his gallant rescue of you, there was more than the passing “goodnight” paid to you, there were cheerful smiles on his exhausted face when he returned from a mission, as if you were the one face he was coming back to. With an old familiar dread you noticed the way you begin to take each hole and dent and damage to his plane personally, as if it had been exacted on something precious to you. You have begun to care, for him and for his men, and your tired heart could barely do more than dread what that might lead to.

Good fun. That’s what these boys were supposed to be.

Gale Cleven hadn’t proven much fun. And somehow that was worse. It was worse and also unbearably honoring to be the last face he saw before taking it off, flags in your hands waving in front of his hulking bomber, giving the old familiar directions for a perfect takeoff, one he executed sublimely time and again. His sober, purposeful nods to you before he engaged and taxied out for a mission of death was more intense and intimate than any bouquet or even, your thought, a kiss. It was true the donut dollies on the sidelines were often the last faces of home that many of those boys would see. But in the his cockpit, looking down at your shrimp sized figure on the tarmac, both Major Cleven and you knew that for him, it was yours.

Once, there was a scare, in the first days of august. More than a scare if you were being honest, your heartbeat about stopped and didn’t pick back up for a few hours until word came in. The rest of the base wasn’t much better.

Ten planes had not come back. -Among them, Our Baby. And Mugwump. For two officers, so crucial, so senior, idolized and beloved as they were, to not return, was a blow like none other. You weren’t alone in hovering around the control shack, taking license of your friendship with Dorace to get a play by play of any news. When news came, such as it was, it was both relieving and exasperating.

It would seem there was some problem, a defect or too great of a hit. Orders to land in enemy territory were ignored, however, by Cleven no less. He had doggedly pushed on, safely landing them in allied Africa, of all places. It took almost a day for this information to finally be pasted together, by the end of it you were sad, haggard and half useless in your coveralls, stupendously relieved for a man you were supposed to feel professionally about.

Instead, that night, tucked in your own bed after a meal with your parents and little brother, you thanked God for keeping him -them, all of them- safe. And found yourself pondering the tan on him when he got back from his African foray. Some jealous part of you feared he might be kept there but a week later the thunderous hum of approaching bombers buzzed the air overhead of Thorpe Abbotts and the satisfying thwump of wheels touching down brought them back. There was a frenzy of greetings, flight and ground crew eager to welcome them back, the radio operators, too, and even the civilians who’d managed to get on base.

Your little brother among them. Donald wanted to see them back safe and it wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t dire, not returning from a mission the planes wouldn’t be in such poor shape. They’d been repaired in Africa, enough to fly them all the way back to England. So little Donald was nearby and when the crowd parted and a bee-line for Cleven became apparent, he took advantage and gave the young man a firm handshake in greeting.

“Hey buddy, thank ya, who do you belong to?” Buck laughed while returning the firm grip.

“I’m her brother.” Donald pointed you out proudly among the dispersing crowd and you rolled your eyes at his expectancy for Gale to know or care about you, more than your most pertinent work on base.

“Oh are ya now, hers, huh?” he grinned at you, “Been talkin’ about me?” he greeted, there was a still healing scrape on his left temple that your fingers itched to soothe. How badly had he hit his head?

“Of course I have.” you defended, happiness bubbling under your lips and threatening to make you smile more than was professional, you could see Sergeant Lemmons observing you from the side and tried to keep some decorum. “We thought you’d died.” You stated plainly, it wasn’t any secret to Donald, as soon as the plane had gone missing and before radio contact had been reestablished, you’d rushed home and made the family pray over supper.

“We’ve been praying for you.” Donald agreed, and you saw Cleven startle, a gasped intake of breath between those lush lips and his eyes seemed to water as he searched first your brother’s face and then your own.

“You have?” he choked out, raspy and touched.

“Yes.” you whispered, mouth twisting in a ugly grimace to hold back your own emotion. It was of little use, something beyond War Effort investment in his well being had been admitted. “We thought you might be dea-“

-you didn’t finish your reiteration of your dread. Your face, a greasy and mist spattered face, was suddenly smushed into the padded leather of his bomber jacket, nose tucked right into the fleece apex where his pale blue scarf always rested on his throat.

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

“-even though it made the potatoes cold, Da insisted on prayin’ every night after she told us-“ Donald was waxing eloquent on his own sacrifices of having one added prayer request lengthening his mealtime but you were oblivious to more than the firm press of Cleven’s still gloved hand to the back of your scarf wrapped head, some strong emotion shuddering through his body against your own. A tremor of terror and pain, you suspected, emotions he’d been suppressing all week.

After all, the saved weren’t supposed to be shaken up. They’d been saved, what was there to be off about? You’d seen enough pilots after a close call to know it was every bit as bad or worse than actual disaster. They’d send him right back up again in days, and that was what was expected, demanded, required. He was tremoring against you and you gripped him tighter, sympathetic and aching to cure it somehow. Even for a moment.

“We’ll keep praying.” you assured, and you heard him clear his throat, snotty and rough. “Oh, blast, I’ve positively greased your jacket.” you mourned as he let you go, finally, and you caught sight of the mess your filthy hands and face had imprinted on it during the embrace.

He chuckled as he looked down at the imprint, “S’fine.”

After such an exchange of emotion the air felt charged between you two, without privacy or precedence, it felt unthinkable to linger in that mood. You turned to his plane and pet the fuselage with unstudied fondness, it had been horrid having the old bird absent. You were not above having favorites and the love he poured into his ship, somehow, like some old fairytale truism, made the hulking metal beast lovable, in turn. “How’s our baby, hmm?” you asked him, giving him a sly smile and he took your proffered out seamlessly, joining you in cataloging the damage that had not been deemed severe enough to hamper his return.

“Don’t crawl under here, sir!” you protested as you wiggled under the belly only to find him beside you in the plane’s shadow, “You’ll be a mess!”

“I’ve already got stains.” he brushed your worries off, and you knew it was true. Bloodstains in fact. He had lost a man, the report said, and apparently, judging by his trousers, Buck had held the poor fellow as he bled out. “And I wanna show you the spot I’m worried ‘bout.”

“Alright.” you conceded, allowing him to direct you to the nose. “Watch it Donald!” you had to reprimand your little brother who predictably followed after, “You’ll burn yourself if you touch that, this thing was just running.”

“Careful buddy.” Gale echoed gently beside you and pushed his little head down, more into a crawl. You refused to allow the gentle way he treated the brat to warm you, you refused. Or at least, you refused to let it show, the tingle and heat you felt being all too consuming to be denied.

He was lovely. But you already knew that. He was even more lovely when, upon crawling out from under Our Baby, he took his scarf from around his neck, silk decadently soft, flesh warmed and smelling strongly of his exertions, and swiped it across your greased cheek.

“You’ve got just a lil more…” he practically mumbled and wiped down to your chin, firm, gentle little rubs of the silk which required his other hand to grasp your chin to steady you. You weren’t sure when he’d taken off his gloves, but the feel of his skin on yours was heady.

“It’ll take a couple days.” You predicted regarding the repairs, “Which means you’ll have a few days free, if they don’t drown you in reports.”

“Oh they will.” he laughed, “But s’long as my days are free, means yours aren’t.” he pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“We shoulda thought of that when we chose this line of work.” he joked and your cheeks flamed at the realization he wished to spend time with you. “But you’ll have your nights still, yeah?”

Coming from anyone else, the request for your nights to be reserved would strike you as suggestive indeed. But this was Buck, and when he mentioned nights you imagined nothing but taking him home for a tepid potato and rationed powdered milk supper and the warm reception of your family. His weary eyes suggested how badly he needed that. You could give it to him, and it made your heart glow.

“Yes, I’ll have my nights.” you agreed, “And you can have them, too.”

Sergeant Lemmons agreed with your estimation of Our Baby’s damage the following day and four long days after were spent patching up damage that suggested what a hellish ride that must’ve been. Someone else hosed the blood out of the bay but it turned the puddle on the concrete beside you sickly pink.

To and fro from office to barracks to observation tower, Cleven would stop by to see his ‘baby’ on these occasions. The heckling the ground crew gave you regarding this potential double meaning was agonizing and almost made his attentions not worth it. But then he’d be dropping to a squat to chat with you as you soldered metal, heedless of the sparks, or else bringing scones from the mess to refresh you and, again, wiping your face often with his fancy scarves despite your protests that it was futile.

And at night, on the second day, you made good on yours and Donald’s word and brought him to dinner. It was a quiet walk from the base to the end of the long main road, right to the outskirts of the village, where your family’s unassuming little thatched cottage nestled amongst mama’s victory garden, daddy’s aeroplane hanger and repair shop loomed ugly and dark behind.

The look on Buck’s face when you met him outside the base’s gate at seven in the evening in a dress and heels was worth capturing. But you hadn’t a camera with you and it wasn’t like you were liable to forget. His pure look of awe and appreciation for your cleaned up and girlish state was nearly comic if it weren’t so flattering.

“Darlin-“ he began in a rush but did not finish, only taking you lightly by the fingertips and spinning you slowly, his eyes wide like he was seeing a marvel, which, maybe he was, -your womanly form finally liberated from puffy uniforms and ugly coveralls. Wholesome as your intentions were for the evening, and indeed for him in general, it was some relief and delight to know he was capable of getting hot under the collar. His mama’s well drilled manners soon caught up to his unbridled appreciation and a deluge of charmingly proper compliments rained down on you next until you had to put a stop to his babble by tugging him down the road with the reminder of dinner as incentive.

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” he began his worries again, nervous to meet your parents.

If he’d been like the rest of the boys he’d know just how much mingling was already common. It wasn’t remotely odd to bring him home, not when you lived so near. “Don’t be silly, they’ve been begging to meet you and Donald has plans of torturing you with his plane models and Papa wants to show you his shop and mama thinks you're much too skinny, I’m sure she’s gone to the black market to grab something to fatten you-“

“-how’s she know that?” he interrupted in shock.

“Oh,” you flushed, realizing your misstep, “I’ve talked of you. And she recognized you, she and Violet are thick as thieves and -it’s not like you’re unremarkable. A physical description is rather easy to give when you, well, when you look like…you.”

“What do I look like?” he cried out but his cheeks were smiling despite his outrage, “Malnourished?”

“Like a lanky cherub.” you refuted and were pleased that the late summer sun was still bright enough at this long hour to show his pretty blush.

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.” you were firm, both in tone and the press of your hand in the crook of his offered elbow, “And as we’ve been commended to entertain angels unaware, how much more when we are certain of one?”

“Oh shut up.” he begged you and you two staggered into each other as you laughed your hearts out. It felt good to laugh, for the both of you, and a little too foreign, as well. It left a hollow melancholy in its wake that was soothed by the near and swaying proximity of each other’s body.

“They’ll be glad to have you at the table.” you dared go on, feeling you should prepare him, should the subject arise, “I’ve a brother, you see, an older brother. Rafe, he was stationed in Burma. We’ve not heard of him in over two years. There’s an empty seat at our table, it takes a certain sort of soul to fill it without it feeling like a sacrilege. But you fit the bill nicely, I think.”

“Burma.” he repeated with all the gravity of a man who understood, who knew the ache of almost hoping a dear brother, a beloved son, was dead rather than enduring the slow hell of a Japanese internment camp. How awful to almost wish for a decisive end for one so loved. “No word at all?”

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, “And thanks for making it back, yourself.” you squeezed his arm jovially and felt his other hand fall atop yours there in the crook of his elbow and a sweetness filled you at the gesture, such as you’d never known before. It was peaceful and lovely and your little village suddenly looked as pretty and idyllic again as it was always supposed to, the routine route home was seen through his eyes, the eyes of a homesick boy with a soft girl on his arm, bound to meet her parents and inspect Donald’s plane models.

Your mother and father loved him, little surprise there, he was a darling and homesick and yours was a happy home, humble and wounded though it may be. Your mother was obnoxious in her delight the moment father took him out back to see where your expertise for welding first began, the little aerodrome, no longer fitted with pleasure craft but now fitted to scrap the more useless casualties. Mother pestered you as you helped clear the table, asking after him and whatever this thing was between you. When you assured her it was only dinner to fill that chair and some unfathomable knowledge that had grown each time you stood before his propeller and waved him off to death, she knew it for what it is.

War and the urgency of living that goes with it, shrinks long emotions into fast passion and steady hearts into foolish daring. Neither of you were the sort to tumble into the passing vogue passions that had seized hold of your friends and comrades. Yours was a quieter path. Even so, after the fourth evening of dinner rations and quiet fireside chatter and the patter of late summer rain on the roof, there was a kiss as he walked you back to base, his jacket over your shoulders, his shirt clinging to him and the sweetest intent etched on his misted features as his lips descended to yours.

“Thank you,” he had said so passionately yet so subdued, a wall of wisteria at your back and his honey blonde hair dripping into his eyes, “I’ve needed this bad.”

His words suggested the family dinners, his scorching lips suggested the molded flesh of your body in his large palms.

“So you’ve wanted this?” your breathed mixed, a hazy little cloud between you in the damp evening air, your little alcove of shelter from the rain under old Mosley’s shed was like another little world entirely, fauna filled and peaceful, even the ever present drone of machinery was drowned out by the downpour.

Your mother had been right, you should've waited longer till the clouds passed but you had both cited curfew -and maybe even subconsciously sought just such a predicament as the one that had you necking Gale Cleven in a wisteria claimed tool shed.

“I’ve wanted you.” he clarified, firm grip on the base of your neck punctuating his turmoil, his lips met yours again and whatever oath of abstinence he had chosen, it did not seem to include kissing. He was soft and persistent and all consuming, those restless hands migrating in an ever mapping caress, making every part of you thrum with butterflies. “Wanted you for a long while.” he spoke into your lips, “I think you’re just great.” And there was happiness then, untinged with anything temporal beyond the feel of warm flesh beneath cold, rain soaked cloth and lips that tasted of honeyed biscuits.

It was impossible to maintain the stoic propriety of behavior you’d once managed before, on base, after that. You knew now how he sounded when he moaned into your mouth and he his stare alone could make you blush, you had spoken to his mother on the phone and he had seen your childhood bedroom. He learned once, laying amongst sea grass on the beach during a cloudy Sunday, the silky moist feel of you beneath your swimsuit, his long, bashful fingers that were ever so fond of petting anything and everything, finally finding a place that responded to his swipes with jolts and gasps and sighs and pleasure. You peaked three times on that sand dune, Buck none the wiser as he had nothing to compare your little deaths to, you kept a firm grip on his forearm and told him he was doing marvelous and that’s all it took for him to be persistent. Persistent beyond what you imagined any other man could be due to cramp. He was getting freckles from so much sunshine, but it was well, the rains would be here soon come autumn.

These happy days had you risking your life to pause your work and watch his pretty form swagger across the asphalt to his next destination and he, ever so right and proper and by the book, became devil enough to lie in wait for you and catch you by the waist when you least suspected it and drag you into some abandoned corner.

Only to kiss you.

To kiss and to ask after your day, as if your evening was not to be spent sat beside him at table or the movies, lying on a picnic blanket with him near or in the back of a jeep on top of Mayberry Rise, the tallest point around where the stars ran into the sea on the horizon.

One of the first days of September, you made good on your promise to Harry and drove with him to muck about Oxford for a day and see the college, the library, too. It was a long ride and as you were at the wheel, Harry was gem enough to allow Gale along, too, and by the end of it, driving back late and in a rush before the headlights would be needed, you were quoting favorite literary passages to each other. As if you were all students, not misplaced youths in the business of killing.

You said as much and in the burgeoning gloom Gale’s rich voice asked if you knew any Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

“No, I don’t.” You admitted, for all your chiding today of their not being cultured enough, you didn’t know your American writers as you should.

“He’s got a poem for that.” Gale said, “For what you said. Or at least, it makes me think of today -that verse, ‘member Crosby?- the one it goes:

-I remember the gleams and glooms that dart across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part, Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song, Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

The deafening silence for the rest of the car ride was filled with truth and your own heart was heavy when you bid them both goodnight that evening, headed to your seperate billets. You paused in you departure to turn back once more at the door and holler to Buck in the chilled September air, “That poem, is there more of it?”

“Lots more.” he’d spun round on his heel, pleasantly surprised at your inquiry.

“What’s it called?” you intended to search it out, though it was doubtful that a copy would be found near this remote place.

“How about I write it out for ya?” he suggested as if thinking the same.

“You’ve got a whole damn poem memorized?” you balked, incredulity warring with amusement that you should’ve guessed he’d be the sort.

“I-I-I might.” he stuttered before laughing.

“Then please do.” you grinned and threw him a kiss across the distance which he jumped up and caught from the air in a grand show of dedication. “Goodnight, cherub.” you wished him, “Sleep tight.” He had a mission in the morning, a daylight one.

“Goodnight old Bean.” He teased your accent and the door swung shut behind you blocking out the cold and the retreating sound of his footsteps.

If you’d have known that was the last time you’d hear them you’d have stayed an age out in the cold night listening to him go, memorizing the cadence of his gait, the sway of his shoulders disappearing into the twilight, the turn of his head as he’d throw a glance back at you, sweet and handsome and cheerful despite his ominous itinerary.

If you’d have only known.

It wasn’t like last time, like Africa. There had been no loss of contact. Dorace had heard every awful minute until the clock ran out. They’d been shredded, their precious ship turned into a raging inferno and Major Cleven’s gritted and garbled transmissions left only one hope that some at least had jumped out. Jumped out only to land in Nazi occupied Europe, it was a faint mercy to cling to.

The empty chair sat next to you again at the table and mocked you all. Mocked your hope and your resilience to dare love again. How foolish to bring home a man who belonged to a group they were calling “Bloody”, and not as a curse but an epithet.

The losses had been staggering all summer and now in September they hit close. You were confident that Crosby and Egan were every bit as dismal inside as you felt, Egan’s warm hand had clasped your shoulder like you were a fellow officer and told you he was sorry. You took the condolences and gave them back, a stupid little exchange that only highlighted how unspeakable some pain is.

Three weeks later, Egan’s plane didn’t come back either.

In your more fanciful moments you allowed yourself to imagine Egan and Cleven alive, somewhat whole and reunited. You could almost hear Cleven’s joking welcome, “What took you so long, Bucky?”

You’d indulged these fancies for Rafe, too, until years of silence suggested the worst.

However, this time, well into October and with an entirely new set of planes under your care, word came at last through the Red Cross, and the truth was exactly as you’d dreamed. There was only the paltriest letter back to command but it said they were well, they were alive, together indeed and being moved to the Polish border. Away from their own comrades' bombs. It was more than most ever got, and your family celebrated the news with the gratitude it deserved.

As October turned to November and your gloved fingertips froze as you worked, every sharp needle of chill reminded you of him, how much more awful it must be that far north, snow piled deep and muck everywhere and lice covered blankets and illness left untreated. As the holidays hurtled nearer, days of peace and goodwill you had planned to be spent with him, you were consumed by the dread of losing him to the elements since war had proven too clement. At night you lay abed and reread the one bit of handwriting you had from him, that damned poem he had written out, left under your door in the early dawn that had taken him from you.

My lost youth. That was the title of the thing. It cut like glass every time you read it, but Buck had touched that paper and looped those letters and dotted those i’s and it was precious to you. It became a prayer of sorts.

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Then, in January, as if prayers got heard, the most unexpected happened.

Major Gale Cleven, what was left of him after cold, starvation, murder and a treck across Europe, had returned. Things like this, seeing your lost beloved ride up to your workplace in the shotgun seat of a jeep, was the stuff of movies, hopeful propaganda or a woman’s mind that had finally cracked. You just stood there, welding helmet in hand, frozen rain spitting down at you, watching him jump out, watching Harry tear down from the observation tower to embrace him.

Dully, you could hear behind you Segreant Lemmons kind cheer of “so it was true, he got away from the bastards!” and a congratulatory thump between your shoulder blades. It was a moment of truth, to realize how far your faith had dwindled when the very answer to your prayers stood steaming with life in the cold air and yet you still could not accept it as reality.

“Baby.” his hands were warm compared to your damp cheeks and the span of them, so familiar and large, cupping your jaw with the calloused thumbs swiping at your temples, that was reminiscent of August and of happier days. Yet still, you had dreamed of him doing this, dreamed of a million different embraces and each time you woke up. “Baby, I’m back, I came to ya.” his voice was wrecked, from disuse and illness and whatever misery that had subjected him to. That, that was real enough, the rattling cough more so, you’d imagined his suffering in your worst nightmares too, this was something you could believe.

Familiar flesh was gaunt under your touch, gray cheeks where once there’d been freckles and the sinful pout of his once ruby red mouth was a dull violet, as if the vitality had been leached out of him. “What’d they do to my cherub?” you mourned, worst nightmares and wildest hopes blending into this one moment.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry f’me, I’m back. I came back.” he cooed to you, rough and sad himself, and your face was buried again in the placard of his coat, a great woolen overcoat this time, no fleece or any vestige of the swanky finery that got the flyboys ribbed for being soft, fancy, spoiled.

Nothing soft about these men, nothing gentle about their lot, nothing glamorous about being hurled down from the skies in a ball of fire.

“We kept praying for you.” you realized, it seemed important to tell him that however hopeless you all had felt, you’d gone through the motions anyway.

That was faith, wasn’t it? The hope of things not seen?

“I felt ‘em.” he said. “How else you think I managed it?”

It. -had managed it, that tiny word represented a host of terrors and miseries and unforgettable incidents that ricocheted in his brain like the lead fired into his boys head’s when they couldn’t manage a forced march, barefoot and underfed, in the snow.

Christmas had passed but January was not so very advanced, that evening your family turned back the clock and it was a matter of guessing as to who was celebrated more, baby Jesus or Buck Cleven. The two seemed intertwined at this point and in the warm glow of gas lamps and rationed toddy, with Buck’s hollow cheeks beginning to bloom and his dull eyes starting to animate, some part of you finally understood why so many felt worshipful on the holiday. The shit war rations felt like a feast, mama’s canned vegetables being the freshest thing he’d eaten in ages and with him sat at table again, empty chair filled, his hand creeping into your lap to lace with your own, there was peace.

Even the airforce, hard driving and high demanding though it was, took one look at his battered condition and admitted a period of conveyance was due. It wouldn’t do to send up a shoddy pilot, lose another plane, yet another crew or a hero of the hundredth. It’s not every day one of your squadron leaders escapes a POW camp and marches over occupied Europe and fordes the Channel to get back home.

A month was set aside. And you took as many weekday passes as you could during that month, happier than anything that he had been permitted to stay in town, to lodge with one of the locals. Rafe’s room was now occupied by him and mama’s broth was poured down Gale’s throat twice daily and his days kept busy with paperwork and Donald’s math problems. The ticking clock, the passing days, like the evil crocodile gobbling up time, was politely and britishly ignored in favor of enjoying what was. You no longer slept with the tear stained and crumpled poem clasped to your throat but his head lay there often enough instead. The thump of your heart helping him sleep, because exhausted and sick as he was, sleep and solitude were not comforts.

He was wracked with guilt for leaving Egan and his men behind, it had been every man for himself during that brutal forced march, he knew that and yet he’d left a friend behind. Buck waited for news of Egan like you’d waited for news of him. Nameless and senseless guilt ruining much of his own success and peace.

“He’d have expected nothing less of you.” you had taken to reminding him, “He’d be angry if you hadn’t taken the opportunity like you did.”

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

You admitted to him then, the horrid guilt of feeling that somehow, some missed defect or some lousy flaw had been the reason he’d been downed. Your work somehow not sufficient to keep him in the skies. When you’d admitted as much, Sergeant Lemmons had looked at you with all the censure such moronic introspection deserved: “Cleven got bombed to hell. He expected it, daytime raid and all. Blame the Nazis.”

“Blame the Nazis.” you suggested now to Gale as he lay sprawled in your arms, sweaty and feverish but his color was back and he looked pretty as anything so alive and near.

He looked ready to dare something, his face hovering nearer yours and the heavy weight of his limbs suddenly feeling full of intent but then his sparkling eye caught sight of something in the doorway and his lips quirked and his body shifted away.

“Whatcha doin’ sulkin’ out there Donny?” he addressed your brother and sure enough the little scamp emerged from the shadow of the doorway and joined you two on the bed, comic book clutched in his hands. They had a routine, apparently, Papa was no longer the chosen one for bedtime stories. It made you want to wince in anticipation for when Buck would move back to base and things would become full of dread again.

That day came sooner than you’d counted on. A month is not so very long, after all, and it was filled with so much work and business, stolen moments at home hardly being the norm.

“It’s an easy mission.” he’d said at dinner, as if arguing the point to you all. You knew he was trying to convince himself more than anything and so you all let him specify just how easy, how routine, how utterly unworrying tomorrow's flight would -should- be.

If it’s hard to get back into the saddle after being bucked off, how much worse to climb back into a plane after being tossed from the skies.

That evening he lounged on your bed instead of Rafe’s, the house emptied as your mother and father took Donny to the movies, the appeal of a new film finally showing cited as being too alluring to resist. He was lost in his thoughts, watching you go about your little evening routines that you tried to maintain when at home. It was domestic and cozy, warm where the world outside was cold and then there was Buck, golden as anything in the low lamp light, utterly unaware of the figure he cut lying on his side.

“I’ve missed it.” he told you, “Flying, I’ve missed it.”

“Of course you have. You were born for it.” you murmured.

“Ya know,” he reflected, “I signed up for the Air Force before it all got hot, before Pearl Harbor. I was gonna fly no matter what. I remember grittin’ my teeth durin’ training and tellin’ myself it would all be worth it. Just hang in there and it would pay off. I just felt something important would need me. Hell, guess I got more than I ever bargained for, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

“I couldn’t do this if I didn’t believe in it.” He insisted and you knew he was talking to himself again, until his face turned towards yours and the softest look of fondness crossed features turning them almost pained when he said next, “I couldn’t do it, get back up there, if it weren’t for love. The rightness of it but -love, for my boys, my family. For you.”

“I know, and we’re terribly lucky to have your devotion. -And…and I love you, too.” you vowed earnestly, then giggled at the absurdity of this being the first time to admit it.

“I’d had my suspicions.” he grinned back, some of that old cockiness returning along with his vigor as he snagged your wrist and pulled you down beside him.

“Do you know why my parents have gone?” you asked him pointedly, turning on your side to face him.

“To see a movie.” His face was so innocently perplexed you almost lost control of yourself and ruined the game right then with something terribly forward.

“My parents aren’t in the habit of seeing movies.” you corrected him soberly.

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

“Oh they’re at the movies.” you smirked, “But they’ve gone for us.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, if not of you then of his own naïveté. “For us.” he repeated and his voice had dropped an octave in the interim.

“Yes. Something about wanting us to have a goodbye.” you quoted.

“I’m not dying tomorrow.” he pointed his finger firmly in your face and it made you smile to see him so fiesty again.

“No,” you agreed with his prophecy, “but I wanted to give you some incentive to hurry back.”

“Oh?” those lips of his puckered again in confusion before his smarts caught up with him and the pink corner tugged up in mischief, “Ooooh.” he repeated, suddenly very close, his energy, his body, his heart, inches from being one with you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, oh yes.” you confirmed, slotting your lips against his gently only to be met with eager, desperate need in his own kisses.

Your childhood bed was narrow and the counterpane below you familiar and dear, stitched by your mother in colors you’d once wished to update upon entering maturity. Now, laid out in perfect security and familiarity, you watched Buck Cleven dangle a toe off the abyss before diving in, pausing to caress the blanket beside your hip, smiling to himself.

“What?” you were breathless to know every thought in that dear head.

“My mama made me one, looks lots like this.” his eyes were watery soft yet his smile was glad, his hips narrow and sharp in the cradle of your own, stark hipbones not yet padded by your mother’s cooking pressed you down into the bedding, grounded and right. “You’ve made me real at home here.” he whispered and it pleased you ever so much. “Do I dare take this last liberty?” he muttered as if to himself, even as those blue orbs bore into your own, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt and you ached from need long deferred and the weight of remedy lying heavy between your thighs.

“It’s no liberty,” you whispered, catching his dog tags and bringing his face to yours, the size of the man so very apparent now he was hovering above you, “it’s yours.” you watched his pupils blow out at the statement, his ragged breath fanned minty across your face, even angels wield swords. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

With that exchange of truths something snapped between you, like a ribbon cut, gone was the hesitant cordiality and deference that had marked your courtship. Here now was fierce possession and the gloated satisfaction of those who possess something cherished and are no longer kept from partaking of it, buckles and garters snapped in the quiet room and the rustle of sheets and shirts wafting to the floor made your breaths hitch with anticipation. Precious flesh came into touch with every brush and it was enough for many minutes merely to cling and grasp, imprinting desire into the back and the arms and the throat of each other, like an armor of love against the decay of death.

“Yours, yours.” you swore as his finger played you once more, his breathing hard and rough in your ear, harsh commands for you to say it again and again, reminding you he was fearsome when he wanted to be.

“Don’t look,” he begged when you realized through a haze of joy what he was about, pressing in with all the finesse of a cricket bat knocking at the wicket, hoarse and doe eyed above you, there was only the whine, “please, darlin’ don’t look, just, my eyes, please.”

It was a fumbling entry but nature and pleasure prevailed, as it had since the first couple. And dear boy that he was, he knew you had indulged in a leg up, one or two at least, before he came along but still, he could not bear it for you to see more, not this time. He wanted it just to be the kisses and the sight of your precious face contorting at the fullness of your belly and the force of his hunger for you. All the rest were vulgar details left somewhere under your skirts, and, unbeknownst to him, reflected in your childhood mirror situated on the wall behind his plump arse.

“Oh god.” he had choked out, winded and in awe as his body shook at the feel of you accepting him deep, “You’re a slice of heaven, heaven that’s-that’s what you fee- oh god, oh god.”

He had giggled at the absurdity of this dance and then broke off with a moan that made you giggle in turn and back and forth it went as his body jerked into yours as if he’d no control over it, led quite literally by the part of himself buried inside you. He knew it was foal-like and a poor showing as a lover and he also knew you didn’t care a bit, your eyes wide at the size of the intrusion and captivated by the sight of his newly enlightened face.

“You alright?” he asked urgently, as a sudden and familiar feeling took over his body. The feeling of his brakes giving out, his flaps malfunctioning, the hydraulics failing -it took over him, his spine tingling and his vision beginning to blur and only your punched out gasps and sweet smile wavering on his horizon as the frantic, masculine, natural need to drive in deep enough to puncture your heart seized him and propelled him in you, against you, above you with such force you forgot to breath. For all Egan’s teasing of Buck’s hatred for athletics, the man wasn’t shabby when it came down to it, even after months of internment, or maybe due to that stolen time, his life force seemed to pour out in a torrent and your belly buzzed at the sweet abuse.

“I’m perfect.” you managed at some point, “You’re perfect, so perfect.”

He shuddered at the praise and as if terror struck him then, he was suddenly pulling away and moaning “I should- I shouldn’t -I’m gonna, darlin, I’m gonna lose it-“ and young and sweet and clumsy as anything he rutted against your slick frantically, mouth pressed to yours until the hot gush of his satisfaction spilled out and added to the mind fuzzing feel of him sliding against your little pearl.

You encouraged his shaky limbs to collapse on you, the lanky frame of him a sweet weight, sweaty cheek pressed to your breast, you could feel the dopey curve of his smile against your plump flesh. His hair curled at the nape from the sweat of his exertions, all winter chill forgotten in this bed. War and missions and bombs, too. You petted each other for a while before he raised his head and, gazing at you adoringly, he murmured “thank you.” his nose nudging yours and the steadiest of kisses lingering in the tingly aftermath.

“Darlin?” he broached the subject a while later, cheek again pressed to your chest and his fingers sliding in a hypnotic caress over your thigh.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Later,” he prefaced, tentative and raw, “when -when the war’s over, and when, well, when I can make my own promises…”

Your heart hammered beneath his ear and you squeezed your legs around him, as if to shore him up enough to say what you wanted him to say so very badly. “Yes?”

“Would you marry me then?” he begged and somehow you knew this, what you had just indulged in, was never going to happen without that hope for him.

Perhaps that’s why it felt so strong, like a communion of souls more than anything else. “I’ve half a mind to make you wait and get my answer when you come back tomorrow.” you teased and his head reared up with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Don’t you dare.” he warned, grin breaking out despite himself.

The sound of the front latch grating on the door startled you both but he pressed you down when you went to scamper and clothe yourself. “The door’s closed anyway,” he argued in a whisper but you knew he felt as nervous as you at being caught, if not more so, yet still he was a stubborn one. His hand was firm and large clasping your cheek, expression arch and expectant. “Promise you’ll be a good little girl and say yes when I do ask.”

You laughed at his gall, to make you wait, to make you promise when he wasn’t even proposing. But then again -you had said you were his, and he was yours. It had already been done. Sometimes life was as simple as Gale Cleven made it out to be.

“I promise.” you whispered happily, bringing him back down to your embrace and willing away thoughts of tomorrow and flagging him out to danger.

One day he’d come back for good. One you could make promises again. Until then, there was hope.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writers lifeblood, I’d adore hearing your thoughts. 💋

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austinbutlerslovers · 4 hours

Text

Eternal Ink 🪽

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin is a renowned tattoo artist with his muscular physique covered in intricate ink. After careful contemplation and a little liquid courage, you decide tonight is the night you will finally get the tattoo you’ve been wanting at his shop. Upon entering, you’re immediately struck by his handsomeness and drawn in by his skill. As he works on your tattoo during a quiet, late night session, the intimacy between you two intensifies, fueling a passionate connection. At the end of the session, he satisfies you with something far more exhilarating than the tattoo.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Edging with unprofessional touch • seduction • dirty talk•nipple play•fingering•Austin covered in tattoos size kink •protection •sex on a tattoo table•multiple orgasms

Master List ••• Upcoming List

*Thank you for your votes! 🗳️ war camp will be released shortly *Please enjoy the winner tattoo 🏆

Eternal Ink 🪽

You stepped out of your car, feeling the cool night air against your skin as you made your way towards the tattoo shop. You were dressed nicely in fitted jeans a plunging halter top and mid calf leather boots. You’d been thinking about getting inked for a while now, and after a few drinks with friends for courage, tonight felt like the perfect opportunity.

Before you even set foot inside, you where well aware of this place’s unrivaled excellence, a testament to the exceptional skills of its artists. But it was the masterful artistry of the owner Austin that truly commanded attention. His reputation resounded through the city streets for his artistic brilliance.

The neon sign above the door glowed softly casting a warm light onto the pavement. ‘Eternal Ink’ it read in bold stylish letters. The sign was a striking blue its light flickering slightly creating an almost hypnotic effect. It was framed by a pair of tattooed wings that seemed to flutter with the movement of the light adding an artistic flair to the shop’s entrance.

The store front itself was equally impressive. Large glass windows allowed a glimpse into the shop’s interior, showcasing walls lined with framed tattoo designs and artwork. The door was a heavy dark wood with a polished brass handle, adding a touch of old world charm to the modern, edgy aesthetic of the shop.

Pushing the door open you were greeted by the scent of antiseptic mixed with a faint hint of bergamot. The lobby was both inviting and intimidating, a perfect blend of artistry and rugged masculinity.

Dark polished hardwood floors gleamed under the soft overhead lights, and the walls were covered in framed pieces of tattoo art each one more impressive than the last.

A plush black leather couch sat against one wall, next to a display case filled with tattoo designs and equipment. Next to the display case was a high table covered in tattoo design books. A large ornate mirror hung along the back wall reflecting the lobby making it feel even larger.

At this late hour it seemed the only occupant of the shop was the owner Austin working behind the counter organizing ink bottles.

He stood with his back to you his tall fit frame outlined against the soft lighting from the glass shelving he stood in front of.

His sandy brown hair was slightly tousled giving him a rugged yet polished look. The muscles on his back and shoulders were clearly defined, each contour accentuated by the soft lighting.

Tattooed angel wings adorned his shoulders, their intricate details peeking out from beneath the fabric of the black muscle tee clinging to his athletic form.

His chiseled arms were a canvas of intricate tattoos, each design seamlessly flowing into the next all the way up to his neck and down to his wrists. For a moment, you simply stood there, captivated by the sight of him.

The way he moved with such confidence and ease was mesmerizing. As he turned your eyes met and your breath instantly hitched in your throat as his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. He was irresistibly attractive.

“Hey there,” he said eyeing you in return, his voice was smooth and deep with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He stepped around the counter and extended his hand.

“I’m Austin. How can I help you tonight?” you took his hand feeling the strength and warmth of his grip. Your eyes locked again and you felt a spark of something more pass between you.

His touch was firm yet gentle, his skin warm and roughened slightly from years of tattooing.

“Hi..yeah…” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “I was hoping to get a tattoo tonight. Am I too late?”

His smile deepened, and he held your hand a moment longer than necessary before letting go.

“You’re just in time,” he said not even glancing at a clock. “What are you thinking about getting?” He asked as his gaze traveled subtly down your body, taking in your curves with a look of appreciation that sent a thrill through you.

When your eyes meet again Austin’s gaze lingered on yours and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with nervousness.

Despite his commanding presence there was a warmth in his eyes that put you at ease.

You shifted slightly, suddenly unsure of what tattoo you wanted. “I’m not exactly sure what I want,” you admitted, feeling a bit sheepish.

Austin’s smile remained “No worries, Let’s take a look at some tattoo books. We’ll find something that speaks to you.” He said reassuringly and gestured you to follow him to the high table in the lobby which was adorned with a variety of tattoo design books.

As you flipped through the pages together his hand would occasionally brush against your sending sparks of electricity flying through you.

You slowly regained your composure and began to explain your idea to him, a small intricate design on your inner hip, something personal and meaningful. He listened intently, his eyes focused on you with understanding as you discussed the details.

Then with a fluid motion, he pulled open a drawer from the table, retrieving his sketch book and flipping open a fresh page. “How about this?” he suggested his hand moving slowly as he sketched a design on the piece of paper.

Once finished, he handed it over for your approval and as you examined the drawing in your hand, you realized it was exactly what you had envisioned, perfect in every detail.

“That’s it!” you said your voice filling with excitement. “I love it!”

As your eyes lifted from the drawing to his you could see a hint of pride in his expression as a warm smile spread across his lips.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, his voice low and genuine as his eyes lingered on you. “Let’s get you set up.”

He led you to a back room, his private tattoo space that exuded a dark masculine energy. The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray adorned with framed photos and artwork. Black leather furniture sleek and stylish filled the room. The scent of leather mixed with the faint aroma of ink and antiseptic created an edgy atmosphere.

There was a large framed picture of Austin on a powerful motorcycle above his desk, looking every bit the rugged artist that he was. Next to it were pieces of his favorite designs, detailed and vibrant tattoos that showcased his incredible talent.

In the center of the room was a black leather tattoo chair, its surface smooth and inviting. It looked like a throne, commanding attention in the dim lighting.

Austin gestured for you to sit and as you settled into the chair he pressed a button making you lay all the way flat, filling you with a mix of excitement and nerves.

"First time?" he asked, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he turned on his work light and directed its beam on your hip.

“Yeah,” you admitted, laughing nervously. “Go easy on me?”

He chuckled, a warm, reassuring sound. “I’ll take good care of you, don’t worry.”

As Austin prepared the equipment, his movements were precise and confident. The room was quiet the only sounds being the snap of his black gloves fitting onto his hands and the soft buzz of the machine as he tested it.

You took a breath and unbuttoned your jeans pulling them down low to reveal your right hip bone. His eyes remained steady on his task as he cleaned your skin.

His touch was gentle and professional, yet still he managed to send a shiver down your spine.

“Ready?” he asked, looking up at you with his intense blue eyes.

You took another deep breath and nodded. “Ready.”

Austin’s eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

He dipped the needle into the ink, and his fingers pressed lightly against your skin. As the needle touched your skin a sharp burning sensation shot through you. It was unlike anything I’d you’d ever felt before, painful and sharp, but also exhilarating.

The pain was sharp and constant but there was a rhythm to it, a hypnotic quality that made it bearable. You winced a bit biting your lip as the discomfort quickly began to mix with a strange, almost pleasurable sensation.

Austin paused for a moment lifting his gaze to meet yours. “You doing alright?” he asked with his hand gently rested on your hip.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I’m okay. It hurts, but it’s… different. Not as bad as I expected.”

He gave you a small, understanding smile. “Just let me know if it gets too much, alright? We can take a break if you need.”

His words were comforting and the way he looked at you with genuine care made you feel completely at ease despite the pain. You nodded and he returned to his work.

The needle continued its steady hum and his fingers occasionally brushed against your skin to wipe away any excess ink. The sensation of his touch, coupled with the steady rhythm of the needle ignited a wave of arousal within you, transforming the discomfort into a tantalizing pleasure.

You found yourself captivated by his face as he worked. His handsome features were well defined, his high cheekbones and strong jawline catching the light of the overhead lamp as he worked.

His intense focus made him even more attractive, the way his brows furrowed as he concentrated, his full lips pressing together in a thin line of determination.

Each time his eyes flicked up to meet yours it sent a thrill through you, unable to deny your desire for him. It became evident he felt the same way as the depth of his emotions mirrored your own, the undeniable attraction between you both conveyed through each intense gaze.

He leaned in closer to fill in the intricacies of the design and you felt his warm breath against your skin, each exhale sending a gentle shiver down your spine causing you to move slightly. His grip on your hip reactively tightened. His fingers pressing into your flesh in a way that felt both possessive and protective.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he encouraged, his voice low and soothing, keeping you calm as he worked on a vital area of the design. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he manipulated the needle in delicate lines of precision.

His face displayed such a focused intensity as he masterfully inked the tattoo needle into your skin that it made you feel a mixture of anticipation and exhilaration knowing his skilled hands were marking your body permanently.

You calmed your urges focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing and the gentle caress of his hand, until it transformed into something more.

His fingers began to trail across your skin with a subtle intimacy that stirred the arousal in you once more and you couldn’t help but fixate on his hands. You began feeling increasingly turned on by the way his fingers moved with purpose, each touch deliberate and confident, sending waves of desire coursing through you.

The warmth of his touch and the firmness of his grip stirred a deep lust within you. As his fingers ventured closer to your pelvic line, your pulse quickened, and your breath hitched in your throat.

Austin looked up at you again, this time the intensity of his stare sent a thrill through you. There was a spark there that ignited within a wordless heat growing more intense between you two at every passing moment.

He paused, leaning back to wipe away any excess ink, his fingertips trailing along your hip in a tantalizing manner. The deliberate slowness of his touch sent waves of excitement through you, intensifying the already electric atmosphere.

Sensing your attraction for him he couldn’t help but feel a surge of his own desire rising. Firmly gripping your hip he began seductively tracing his thumb along the edge of your tattoo.

Each stroke elicited a soft gasp and a subtle shift in your breathing a silent acknowledgment of the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. As your eyes met he gazed at you with an allure that made it clear his touch fueling your arousal was intentional.

“You have very beautiful skin,” he said softly, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and desire. His gaze traveled down your body lingering on the curve of your hip where he was tattooing. “Perfect canvas.” He said passionately.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your body reacting to the intensity of his gaze and the intimacy of his words.

“You’re doing incredibly well for your first tattoo,” he praised, his voice a blend of reassurance and seduction. “Almost done,” he confirmed. His eyes locked onto yours with a smoldering intensity as a playful smirk formed on his lips revealing his desire for you.

You nodded, unable to speak, your body trembling slightly with the intensity of the experience.

His touch returned even more intimate than before as if he was savoring the contact, making your breath hitch and your heart race on each touch. The warmth of his hand and his fingertips lingered after every stimulating touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as you became wet for him.

His eyes lifted to meet yours with a mischievous glint dancing within them. He spread his large hand wider across your pelvis, keeping the needle centered, as his fingers sensually teased under your panty line. The intimate touch ignited a fire within you, and it was evident he relished the effect. His smile only adding to the allure, intensifying your desire for him.

The sculpted muscles of his bicep flexed subtly as he finalized the design, showcasing the intricate tattoos adorning his own skin. Every movement he made captivated you, from the ink on his forearms to the designs gracing his neck. With each glimpse, your arousal heightened, fueled by an intense curiosity about the hidden artistry concealed beneath his clothing.

When he finally lifted the needle for the last time you let out a shaky breath, feeling a rush of relief and exhilaration from the intimate experience.

“All done,” he said, sitting back and snapping off his black gloves admiring his work. “Take a look.”

As you sat up he offered his hand, helping you to stand. You walked to the full length mirror in the room, lifting your shirt and pulling your jeans lower to admire your new tattoo.

It was beautiful, exactly what you had envisioned. The lines were clean and precise, the design was delicate yet striking. You turned to him filled with gratitude and something deeper swelling in your chest.

Before you could second guess yourself, you closed the distance between you stepping into his space with purpose. “It’s perfect,” you praised, your voice tinged with a hint of arousal.

You reached for him with a flicker of uncertainty dancing within as you gently placed your hands on his broad chest. “Thank you, Austin,” you breathed, your voice barely audible as you gazed up into his eyes overcome with desire.

He looked utterly irresistible, his hair tousled in a way that only added to his allure, a few strands falling playfully over his forehead and framing his beautiful blue eyes. His features exuded a quiet confidence and undeniable charm, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief as they met yours.

His full lips curved into a smile and he pulled you in closer slowly wrapping his arms around your waist. "Stay a while?" he asked, his voice was a deep rich tone sending a surge of anticipation through you.

“I’d love to,” you breathed and he lowered his lips onto yours in a passionate kiss, the intensity of the moment flooded through you entirely. His kiss was tender yet hungry as his hands roamed your back holding you tightly against him.

You broke apart from him nearly breathless form the moment and he smiled down at you. His eyes locked onto yours showing the depth of his desire as he gently caressed the curve of your cheek.

“You know I own this place,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “So we have all the time in the world here.” He said with a smile that exuded confidence as he held your gaze.

“That’s good to know,” you replied, your voice laced with seduction. “I wouldn’t want to rush with someone as skillful as you,” you teased as you gazed up at him full of desire with a sensual smile spread across your lips.

Austin chuckled and tantalizingly traced his finger gently along your jawline “You’re something else, you know that?” He asked with his eyes narrowed.

You shrugged playfully as you responded “I get that a lot” with a hint of allure in your voice.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I bet you do.” He said moving closer. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks as he leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. This time it was deeper, his mouth explored yours with an intense passion that made your heart race. His tongue teased and tasted yours each movement sending jolts of electricity through you as his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour.

His grip was firm yet gentle on your waist as he broke the kiss pressing you against the leather edge of the tattoo table. His body was so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him in waves. His eyes darkened with desire locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

He leaned in so close that his lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “I’ve wanted you from the moment you walked in.” His words sent tingles of excitement throughout your body as he gently trailed his fingers down your arms. “I never imagined you felt the same,” he confessed, his voice thick with desire.

You felt a surge of anticipation fill you as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes with a slow sensual smile curving on his lips. Then without another word kissed you hard and demanding, his hands exploring your body gliding down your shoulders and over your chest gently squeezing the curves of your breasts through the fabric of your shirt.

His fingers teased your nipples with featherlight strokes until they hardened. Then with a tantalizing pull he gently tugged at the buds, eliciting a soft gasp of pleasure from your lips. His touch ignited a fierce desire within you, and you melted into him, your own hands reaching up to thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as your mouths came together in a heated clash.

The tattoo table was sturdy behind you supporting as Austin’s kisses increased with desire. His lips moved from yours trailing down your neck, their warmth igniting a deeper lust with every tender press.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice a low caress against your skin. His teeth grazed your neck eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips as his hands roamed possessively over your curves, lingering on the bare flesh where your halter top didn’t cover.

“You feel so soft,” he whispered, his voice filled with admiration and lust, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

He brushed his hand against the skin of your neck. “I want to see every inch of you,” he said, his eyes smoldering with desire. “And I want to touch every part of you,” he said his hands traveling possessively down to grip your hips.

A shiver ran through you as you finally answered. “Then take me, Austin. I’m yours.”

Austin’s breath hitched as he heard your words fulfilling his desire. With a hungry gaze, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

His eyes darkened with lust as a smirk formed on his lips. Your consent giving him the final push to satisfy his overwhelming urge to indulge in the passion between you.

He kneeled down in front of you swiftly unzipping your boots, easing them off, one by one with a steady hand. He pulled down your jeans revealing your skin inch by inch to the cool air as he took them off. His eyes never left yours as he peered up at you hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your wet panties sliding them down until you stepped out of them.

As he stood his fingers grasped the hem of your shirt tugging it upwards. You lifted your arms, allowing him to pull it off and toss it aside. He paused for a moment, his eyes roaming over your naked form with a look of pure desire.

“You’re irresistible,” he whispered, bringing his hands to cup your breasts with adoration as his thumbs traced your nipples. His lips found their way to your neck trailing a line of soft kisses. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he murmured against your skin as his lips continued their journey up your neck.

As you opened your mouth to answer he captured your lips in another searing kiss his tongue boldly delving into your mouth, exploring with an irresistible need.

“Austin..” you breathed, pulling back slightly, your hands sliding up his muscular arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin. “I need you,” you confessed, holding his gaze with your faces mere inches apart.

”I need you too” he whispered against your lips. His words were filled with longing and urgency and he readily lifted you onto the edge of the tattoo table positioning himself between your legs. With his body pressed firmly against yours, you felt tingles of anticipation surging through you.

He stared into your eyes as he placed his hand on your thighs, gently spreading your legs apart on the tattoo table. His passionate touch sent waves of anticipation through you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice was thick with desire.

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. “Yes, exactly.”

He smiled, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”

You shivered at his words, the anticipation building even more. “Then don’t hold back,” you urged, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Austin’s eyes darkened with lust as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I won’t.” he vowed.

His hand reach between your bodies and his fingers made contact with your wetness applying a gentle pressure, slowly gliding them along the slick surface of your folds. With each stroke he explored the contours of your most sensitive areas, looking into your eyes and paying attention to the subtle responses of your body.

The sensation intensified as he lingered on certain spots, teasing them with the delicate precision of his fingertips, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you as you stared at him in shock.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice filled with desire as he looked into your eyes again seeking your confirmation. You nodded quickly as your heart raced in anticipation.

With a deliberate and tantalizing slowness he pushed his fingers deep inside, the sudden intrusion making you gasp in pleasure. The sensation was intoxicating as your walls clenched around his fingers, each movement of his expertly seeking and stimulating a sensitive spot within you.

He curled his fingers as he pushed them in and out of you sending surges of pleasure throughout your body, intensifying with every thrust as he skillfully explored your depths.

He wrapped his other hand around your throat, his lips returning to yours as he moved his fingers through you in a steady rhythm. Every touch, every kiss, and every thrust of his fingers sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body.

The pain from the tattoo faded away, replaced by a pleasure so intense it left you breathless. You felt the familiar tightening in your core as Austin’s fingers worked, pulling along the ridge of your most sensitive spot with each skillful thrust.

With the deliberate strokes of his fingers, expertly penetrating your inner walls you felt yourself giving in to the intoxicating waves of pleasure crashing over you and began to tremble and pant into his mouth as he kissed you. His lips trailed down to your neck and he sucked on the soft skin causing your walls to flutter against his plunging fingers. “Let go for me” he whispered against your neck.

His seductive command was the final push to take you over the edge. A loud uninhibited moan escaped your lips, the sound echoing the room as he skillfully brought you a climax. Your core throbbed with the release of euphoria as sparks of ecstasy raced through every nerve ending in your body as you orgasmed.

You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response from the pleasure he had just allowed you to endure. “Austin!” you panted trying to form words as he stared into your eyes with a knowing grin. The desire to be consumed by him overwhelmed your mind entirely.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent as he removed his fingers from you. He brought them to his wanting mouth his eyes never leaving yours as he traced along each finger with his tongue savoring the taste of you before sucking them clean. His eyes roamed your body with a hunger that made your heart race.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice low and intimate as he leaned in capturing your lips in another erotic kiss.

You pulled your lips back to meet his gaze. “Then show me,” you whispered, the intensity of desire evident in your voice.

His eyes bore into yours with a primal desire to conquer you before he deliberate took a step back, creating space to undress.

He knelt first and unlaced his boots, removing them with his socks before setting them aside and standing back up.

You watched in anticipation as Austin gripped the hem of his muscle tee, effortlessly lifting it over his head in one fluid motion and flinging it aside.

The sight that greeted you took your breath away. His torso was a masterpiece of art and strength. His skin was covered in intricate tattoos, each one telling a story, that highlighted the sculpted muscles beneath.

His chest was broad and firm adorned with a phoenix that rose majestically in the middle, its wings spreading across his pectorals in vibrant hues of red and gold.

On his rib cage, a dragon coiled, its scales meticulously detailed, the black ink contrasting sharply against his tan skin. His abs were a series of defined ridges, leading down to the waistband of his jeans.

Austin’s gaze met yours, a smoldering heat in his blue eyes as he reached for the button of his fly. With practiced ease, he unbuttoned and slid his jeans off, revealing his long, thick cock.

You couldn’t help but gasp at its size. He was impressively endowed, his cock throbbing with desire and anticipation, every vein pulsing beneath the smooth skin was a visual testament to his undeniable readiness to claim you.

His strong, muscular legs were also decorated with tattoos. A compass adorned one thigh, its points perfectly aligned, guided by the celestial bodies and a hyper realistic wave design graced his calf, as if the ocean itself had been captured in ink.

On his other thigh, an astral pattern began that extended down to his shin, depicting a cosmic journey in ink.

He stood there for a moment, letting you take in the full view of him, his body a striking combination of raw power and delicate artistry. The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment with anticipation and desire.

“You like what you see?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

You nodded, unable to find your voice.

Austin stepped closer, cock swaying as he leaned to reach his hand into the low drawer of his tattoo station. He retrieved the golden packet of a condom glinting in the low lighting as he tore it open.

You watched as he rolled the condom down his large cock with a practiced skill and a look of anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

“You ready for this?” he asked with his voice full of desire. You met his gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of excitement and longing.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

He returned to you, positioning himself between your thighs as you sat on the tattoo table. Every inch of him felt larger and more commanding, the embodiment of strength against your softness.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around the base of his thick shaft. With a firm grip, he guided his throbbing cock to the entrance of your soaking wet pussy, teasing the head along your slick folds, feeling the heat radiating from your core staring into your eyes.

“Ready for me?” he asked as he positioned himself at your entrance, seeking confirmation before the inevitable plunge.

You nodded eagerly, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you wrapping your arms around his muscular back reveling in his strength

He slowly pushed forward the tip of his cock parting your lips, the sensation of his hardness pressing against your softness eliciting a loud moan from your lips.

Each inch he pressed inside made you gasp, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth, as you gripped his back tightly, your nails dug into his skin as you moaned with pleasure.

He groaned in response, easing the rest of his remarkably large cock inside of you until he filled you to your core. His eyes locked on yours as he felt your walls throbbing around his cock, trying to adjust to his size.

He brought his hands to hold your hips, steadying himself, as his lips brushed against yours.

“You feel so good on me,” he whispered capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

He withdrew his hips, slightly sliding his cock out before returning it back in smacking his hips flush with your body as his tip pressed against your core beginning his strong rhythm.

With each of his thrusts the intensity grew, driving him deeper into you sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You felt his muscular chest pressing against yours, skin sliding together with each movement as he held you firmly against him, bracing you to take the impact of each powerful thrust. His breath mingled with yours as your bodies moved in perfect rhythm.

“You feel incredible,” he groaned, his voice filled with desire staring at you for confirmation. You only gasped in response, unable to form words as the pleasure washed over you in relentless waves.

He increased his movements and your back arched with the quick jolt force of his thrusts.

You gasped, feeling the intense pressure of his hardness against you cervix as his hips clapped between your legs.

“Yes, Austin, yes just like that!” You finally cried out, unable to contain the overwhelming pleasure of being so completely filled by him.

Austin groaned in response to your plea “You’re making me so hard,” he rasped, his voice thick with arousal as he wrapped his hand around your throat in a possessive gesture continuing to thrust into you. Each clap of his hips between your legs igniting a new wave of pleasure.

You began gasping and panting for air between moans, locking eyes with him, knowing your orgasm was imminent. His eyes met yours with a primal hunger, his grip your throat tightening, adding to the overwhelming sensation of his control as he thrust into you with unyielding determination.

You could feel every inch of his powerful body dominating yours, his strength and authority driving you wild. In that moment, you were completely lost to him.

He panted against your lips, his grip firm on your throat as he thrust into you hard and fast

“I want to feel you cum for me,” he rasped over the hard claps of his hips between yours. Each word sent shivers down your spine, and you moaned in response, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure consumed you.

“Fuck!” he whispered sharply “You feel too good.” he admitted and shut his eyes tight enduring the pleasure as he rode into you ramming you full of him.

“Yes Austin take me” you relented arching your back, eagerly meeting his thrusts with your body trembling with ecstasy. “Im gonnna cum!” You gasped.

He growled eagerly, his primal instincts taking over as he locked eyes with yours. Without hesitation, he forcefully thrust into you, each movement becoming more intense with every snap of his hips, driving you both over the edge.

Your moans of pleasure mingled in the air as he delivered his a final, powerful push and gripped you tightly as his cock spasmed releasing rope after rope of his cum into your body.

You scratched your nails down his tattooed back and cried out feeling the throbbing sensation of his cock buried against your walls.

He hungrily captured your lips in a kiss, accepting the pain and pleasure, his tongue dominating yours, igniting a fierce passion that consumed you both.

He pulled his lips from yours and the room fell silent, only the soft sounds of your breaths mingling. He looked at you with his eyes softening. “Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. “Don’t leave.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, pulling him in for another kiss.

With Austin’s muscular tattooed arms wrapping tightly around you flexing against your skin, you felt the warmth of his body pressing into yours. The fresh tattoo on your hip still tingled, a reminder of the intense connection you had just forged.

You could feel the tension building as Austin withdrew sliding his thick cock out of you with a slow and deliberate pace. Each inch leaving you causing a yearning to feel full of him all over again. When the tip finally slipped out, he immediately pulled you close, craving the intimacy of your connection once more.

In that moment as you looked into each other’s eyes you both smiled feeling completely satisfied. The depth of your connection was undeniable, a powerful bond forged in the heat of passion and intimacy. You knew that you had experienced something truly unforgettable, a moment that would remain tattooed in your hearts forever.

❤️‍🔥END❤️‍🔥

🏷️ Always Tag Me List 💌

@burnthheparaphilia @abswifey @faegoddessog @lindszeppelin @purejasmine @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @magicovento @thegabbyh @fallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @unicoreads @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @shegatsby @denised916 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @meetmeatyourworst @rougegenshin @avidreader73 @jkdaddy01 @mamawiggers1980

#austin butler #austinbutler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin butler fandom #smut #austin butler x reader #fanfic #austin butler smut fic #austin butler fic #austin butler x #austin butler one shot #austin butler imagine #austin butler reader #austinbutler x #austin butler x fem!reader #austin butler x you

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my-heart-beat-for-anime · 2 months

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Feyd-rautha x Atreides reader headcanons pt.1

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

- you first met when you were both children

- your father carefully observed the young Harkonnen who approached his little girl

- to everyone's surprise, you hugged him tightly and presented him with a dagger scabbard that you had sewn yourself under your mother's guidance

- little Feyd looked uncertainly at his uncle, who pushed him closer to the girl with his meaty hand

- with a small blush he thrust into her hand a necklace with a black stone that had been roughly worked by the boy's hand

- the girl lit up and started showing the gift to her twin with enthusiasm

- after welcoming ceremony the atreides twins and Feyd set out to explore the beaches of Caladana in search of seashells

- in the heat of the game the little princess cut her knee on a pointed stone in the sand

- little Paul immediately ran back to the family mansion to tell his parents what happened and Feyd slowly carried you back on his back, all the while saying that you shouldn't cry like a little baby over a small scratch

- when House Harkonnen was leaving you waved sadly to the little boy you had grown so fond of and who had promised to come back for you

-the second time you saw each other was three days before your wedding, which took place on Geidi Prime

- when your family landed on the planet you were greeted by the sight of a man you didn't recognize, the only clue that it was Feyd was the scabbard you which you made for him and which he now has to strap on his hip

- Even Feyd-Rautha didn't recognize his bride instead of a smiling little girl he saw a confident woman who looked strikingly like the mermaids you told him about and again what gave you away was the necklace, he made for you, around your neck

- ahh how he wished instead of the necklace it was his hand holding onto your neck during the waves of pleasure he was going to cause you when you were his

- his gaze fixed on the man who was standing behind you, he didn't like how he whispered something in your ear, you giggled, he didn't like how close he was standing behind you

- as you walked up to him he gently kissed your hand but as soon as you were about to pull your hand back Feyd gripped it tightly and slowly licked your wrist while maintaining eye contact with you

- chtěl dát najevo, že jsi jeho od chvíle, kdy jsi nasadil ten náhrdelník

Pt.2???

#dune #dune part two #dune 2 #dunefanfic #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha x you #austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n

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pxnsneverland · 15 hours

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Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

Part 1 | Part 2

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3,025

warnings/notes: I decided to post another Austin fic I've been playing with for a little while. This is a set up chapter for the story and hopefully you guys enjoy it. The romance will begin soon :)

Chapter 1: Anchors and Aspirations

The icy wind bit through Violet's thin shawl as she maneuvered through the bustling market square, her gray eyes flitting from stall to stall. With the stealth of a seasoned thief, she slipped a hand into a basket, withdrawing a bruised apple before anyone noticed. At her heart, there was no love for thievery, but survival in the grim alleys of Victorian England left little room for scruples. As she tucked the stolen fruit into the folds of her dress, a shadow loomed over her. Her heart caught in her throat. She turned slowly, only to see Mr. Clarence Johnson, a local shopkeeper known for his scrupulous eye and unforgiving nature.

“Miss Everly,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft, his gaze not on the stolen apple but on her face. “You look more worn than usual. Are you unwell?”

Violet tensed. Clarence Johnson was an uncommon figure in their decrepit part of town; his presence alone suggested he was either lost or up to something far beyond her understanding.

“I am just fine, sir,” Violet replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering of her heart. “Just tending to some errands for my father.”

“Aye,” he nodded slowly, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“But you needn’t resort to pilfering for your sustenance,” he continued, glancing at where the apple had disappeared into her dress. “There are other ways, Miss Everly, ways that do not risk your slender neck at the gallows.”

Violet stiffened, her hand instinctively clutching the fabric over the apple. The threat of the law was always a ghost that haunted her every step in these streets. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Johnson, but I assure you, I manage as best I can.”

Clarence surveyed her with those discerning eyes that missed little. “Your father,” he began, his voice dropping to a softer timbre, “he does little to provide, am I right?”

The accusation stung because it was true, yet Violet felt a surge of defiance. “He is my father still,” she said coldly, daring him with her gaze to speak ill of the man despite his failures.

Clarence sighed digging into one of his pockets and pulling out a few coins. He handed it to Violet. “Go buy the apple, girl. It would be a shame to see you hang for a fruit.” A trace of regret flitted across his features. “Miss Everly, I—” He paused, seeming to choose his next words with care. “I find myself in need of a reliable assistant at my shop. Someone keen and observant. Your... talents could be put to better use than thievery.”

Violet's heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage at the offer. Employment from Mr. Clarence Johnson was an unexpected lifeline, a beacon in her relentless sea of struggles. Yet, mistrust curled inside her like a dormant snake. Why would a man of his standing offer her, a known petty thief, an opportunity?

"I appreciate your offer, Mr. Johnson," Violet started cautiously, her voice a low murmur as she glanced around the bustling market to ensure no eavesdroppers lurked nearby. "But why would you trust someone like me in your establishment? You know very well my... activities."

Clarence's eyes softened, hinting at a depth that Violet hadn't noticed before. “Everyone deserves a chance at redemption, Miss Everly. I’ve watched you, not just today but many times. You’re quick, smart, and despite your current... enterprise,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, “you have morals. You steal only what you need and no more.”

He was right—Violet never took more than necessary to survive. Her actions were driven by desperation, not greed. The acknowledgment of that fact from Clarence Johnson stirred something akin to hope within her chest.

"Consider it," he urged gently as he started to turn away, leaving the coins in her palm.

Violet watched Clarence's retreating figure, the coins heavy in her hand like the sudden possibility they represented. In a world that had offered little but hard edges and cold shoulders, the warmth of an unexpected offer ignited a flicker of daring in her spirit. She could almost taste the promise of stability, a stark contrast to the bitter tang of pilfered fruit and the relentless ache of uncertainty. Still, Violet knew better than to leap without looking. Her life had taught her the sharp lessons of betrayal and disappointment too well. As she moved away from the market square, her mind raced with both the perils and prospects of Clarence Johnson's proposal. Could she truly step into the light of legitimate work without the shadows of her past pulling her back? And more pressingly, what did Clarence see in her that others didn't? Was it pity, a calculated gamble, or perhaps something more personal?

As she wandered through the alleys, her route took her instinctively towards home—a term used loosely for the cramped, dingy room she shared with her father. The door creaked ominously as she pushed it open, revealing Edward Everly slumped over a table littered with empty bottles. The stench of stale liquor and despair hung thick in the air. Violet's entrance went unnoticed by her father, his consciousness lost to the depths of another drunken stupor. She stood there a moment, her gaze hardening as she took in the sight of his decrepit form. This was the life she was born into, one suffocated by poverty and neglect, a stark reminder of what awaited her if nothing changed.

With a soft sigh, she stepped over the threshold, her boots echoing softly on the bare wooden floor. The coins still clenched in her hand felt like both a promise and a burden. She walked past her father, careful not to disturb his fitful slumber, and seated herself on the small, worn-out chair near the cold fireplace. Here in the dim light of their one-room abode, Violet allowed herself a moment to think. Mr. Clarence Johnson’s offer was tempting—an escape from this life of constant desperation. Yet doubt gnawed at her; trust was a luxury she could scarcely afford. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden groan from across the room. Edward Everly stirred, his eyelids fluttering open only to squint at his surroundings in befuddled drunkenness.

"Violet?" he slurred, his voice soaked with alcohol and confusion.

"Yes, Father," she replied quietly, steadying her voice to hide the tumult inside.

"What are you doing, sitting there like a lost soul? No food again?" His voice was rough, accusatory, as he tried to focus his bleary eyes on her.

Violet's hand tightened around the coins, the metal biting into her palm. She considered telling him about the job offer, about the possibility of change, but the words died on her lips. Her father's unpredictable temper and his disdain for any sign of ambition or hope outside his own distorted view discouraged any such revelations. Instead, she rose to her feet, smoothing the front of her dress with a practiced motion. "I'll get us something to eat," she said, her tone neutral. "Rest now. You need it."

Edward grunted in response, collapsing back onto the table with a weary thud. Violet turned away, feeling the weight of responsibility press down on her once more. As she stepped out into the waning light of day, the coins still in her grasp represented more than mere currency; they were a test of her courage and resolve.

The streets outside whispered with the voices of dusk—traders packing up their stalls, children playing before they were called in for supper, men heading towards the pubs for their evening respite. Violet moved through them like a shadow, unnoticed yet sharply attentive. She made her way to the tiny store at the corner of the street, its windows dimly lit and shelves sparsely stocked. Mrs. Bauble, the elderly proprietor, looked up from her knitting as Violet entered, her eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion and then softening as she recognized the young woman.

"Back again, Violet?" Mrs. Bauble asked, setting aside her knitting. Her voice was raspy yet carried a warmth that was often absent in their bleak surroundings.

"Yes, Mrs. Bauble," Violet replied, approaching the counter with the coins still tight in her grip. "A loaf of bread and whatever meat you can spare for this."

Mrs. Bauble eyed the coins and then Violet, a knowing look crossing her features. "Trouble or fortune, my dear? Those coins look heavy with one or the other."

Violet offered a small, weary smile. "Perhaps a bit of both," she confessed softly.

The old woman nodded as if she understood all too well the dual nature of sudden opportunities. She turned to gather the requested items, wrapping them carefully before handing them over to Violet. "Be cautious, child. Fortune's favor is a fickle friend," she advised, her wrinkled hand briefly squeezing Violet's.

Violet nodded, feeling the weight of the old woman's words sink into her heart. "I will, thank you, Mrs. Bauble," she murmured, taking the small parcel with a sense of gratitude mixed with trepidation. As she left the store, the cool evening air brushed against her face, whispering possibilities that both exhilarated and terrified her. The walk back home was a quiet one, filled with the sounds of her own footsteps echoing off the cobblestones and the distant laughter of children not yet called to their suppers. Violet's mind spun with thoughts of Mr. Clarence Johnson’s proposal. It was a chance to step away from the shadowy margins of survival into something resembling a normal life. But at what cost? Could she really leave behind the streets that had taught her everything about resilience and distrust just as easily?

The uncertainty churned inside her as she approached the door of her humble abode once more. Violet paused, hand on the latch, feeling the divide between her current life and the one that might await her with Clarence Johnson. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, soft and encouraging, urging her to take a chance for a better future. Yet, the haunting memories of past betrayals loomed large, making her hesitate. Resolutely, Violet pushed open the door, stepping back into the shadowed confines of the room she shared with her father. Edward Everly was now snoring loudly, lost in an alcoholic haze that seemed to provide him the only peace he knew. Violet set down the small parcel of food on the shaky table and took a moment to look at him. Despite everything, he was still her father, and a pang of compassion tempered her longstanding resentment.

Quietly she unpacked the bread and meat, setting aside a portion for herself before preparing a smaller plate for Edward when he would inevitably awaken. Her actions were mechanical, performed with little thought as her mind wrestled with larger concerns. She knew that accepting Clarence’s offer would mean more than just changing jobs; it would mean stepping into an unknown world, risking exposure and vulnerability in ways she hadn't before.

Later, as darkness enveloped the room and the flickering candle cast long shadows across the peeling walls, Violet sat with her thoughts, tracing the outline of the bread with her fingers. The sense of impending change weighed heavily on her. It wasn't just the prospect of leaving behind the familiar, suffocating squalor that gnawed at her; it was also stepping into a realm so vastly different from anything she had known. What if she was unprepared for the challenges? What if she failed?

As these doubts swirled in her mind, Edward stirred from his stupor, his movements sluggish as he adjusted to the dim light. He squinted at the plate set before him and then up at Violet, a rare flicker of confusion crossing his usually indifferent gaze.

"Did you fetch this, Violet?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

"Yes," she replied quietly, watching him closely.

He took a piece of meat and chewed slowly. For a moment, there was silence between them—a silence filled with unspoken words and stifled dreams.

"Why do you stay?" Edward's question came unexpectedly. His eyes, clearer now, fixed on her with an intensity that made her flinch slightly.

Violet paused, her breath catching in her throat. It was not like Edward to show interest in her choices or her life. The question hung in the air, heavy and laden with implications that Violet had long avoided. She searched for an answer that could appease both her father and her own restless heart. "I stay because this is my home," she replied quietly, her eyes not meeting his. "And because you are here."

Edward snorted, a bitter laugh escaping him as he looked around the decrepit room that barely served as a shelter. "This? This is no home, Violet. It's a prison. You're young still. You shouldn't be shackled by my failures."

His words, so starkly honest, struck Violet with unexpected force. It was rare for Edward to acknowledge his own shortcomings so openly or to express concern for her well-being. This glimpse of the man he might once have been—before grief and vice had reshaped him into the figure he now presented—left her momentarily speechless.

"You could leave, find a better life. Isn't there anyone...?" His voice trailed off, his question unfinished but clear.

Violet’s heart pounded in her chest as she considered her father's words. They echoed the very thoughts that haunted her nightly dreams—the possibility of a life beyond these walls, a chance at happiness that seemed so tantalizing yet so remote. But the thought of leaving her father in this state, as wretched as it was, tugged at her conscience. "There might be," she admitted softly, allowing herself to think of Clarence Johnson once more. His offer had been genuine, filled with promises of respect and a new beginning. Yet, the weight of her current reality shackled her ambitions.

"But I fear what leaving would mean for you," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Edward scoffed, looking away from her piercing gaze. "Don't make an anchor out of me, Violet. I'm already drowning." His voice was gruff, edged with the harsh self-awareness that alcohol sometimes brought to his lips.

Violet swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears she refused to shed. Her father’s usual indifference made his moments of clarity all the more painful for their rarity and raw honesty.

"I need to think on it," she finally said, standing up and moving towards the small window that overlooked the dim alleyway below. There, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to draw strength from the night itself. The tangled streets of London sprawled out before her—so familiar and yet suddenly brimming with the promise of escape. Her heart fluttered at the thought, a wild bird caged by years of oppression and fear.

Inside, Edward shifted uneasily in his chair, watching her silhouette framed against the weak moonlight that dribbled through the grimy window. For a moment, he seemed about to speak again, perhaps to retract his harsh truths or to further encourage her departure. But no words came; instead, he sank back into his chair with a heavy sigh that spoke volumes of his resignation to life's cruel turns.

Violet remained at the window long after her father's breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep. Her thoughts were tumultuous waves crashing against the shore of her resolve. Clarence’s proposal was not merely an employment offer; it was an invitation to step into a world where she could perhaps wash away the stains of her past and emerge reborn. It promised safety, respectability, and above all, an identity unchained from the degradation that had colored her life. Yet, her father’s words haunted her: "Don’t make an anchor out of me." Could she really leave him here, adrift in the haze of his vices, or was it her duty to stay and prevent him from sinking deeper into despair? The weight of decision seemed insurmountable, anchoring her to this moment of indecision.

Violet pressed her cheek against the cool pane, the glass fogging slightly with each exhaled breath. Outside, the labyrinthine alleys of London whispered secrets of escape and adventure, but also murmured warnings of betrayal and hardship. Each whisper tugged at her soul, a symphony of opportunity and fear mingling in the night air. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft noise behind her. Turning slightly, she saw Edward shifting again in his chair, his face etched with lines of discomfort and regret. For a fleeting second, she saw not the man who had failed her but rather the father who had once held dreams and aspirations beyond the confines of their dreary existence. The weight of his words echoed in her mind, a haunting reminder of their shared struggles and the unspoken bond that tied them together.

Drawing in a deep breath, Violet stepped away from the window. The cool air had not offered solace nor had it stiffened her resolve. If anything, it had only deepened her turmoil. Walking over to the flickering candle, she snuffed it out with a quick pinch, plunging the room into darkness. She navigated through the black with practiced ease, her every step whispering against the wooden floor. Reaching her modest bedding in the corner, she lay down without changing, drawing the thin blanket up to her chin. The darkness was not just a physical veil but also a metaphor for the uncertainty that clouded her future. As she lay there, her mind continued to race, replaying her earlier conversation with her father, weighing each word, each pause.

As sleep eventually claimed her in its restless embrace, Violet dreamt of vast oceans and endless horizons—a world away from the cramped confines of their decrepit home. In her dreams, the ocean was a deep blue, not the murky grey of London's foggy mornings. She stood on the deck of a ship, the wind tugging at her hair and billowing her threadbare dress like a sail. This was a freedom she had never known, unshackled from the burdens of her father's failures and the oppressive weight of their squalid existence.

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

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afewfantasies · 2 months

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🗡️ Feyd's Blade 🗡️ - II - A thousand cuts

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.1K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: Feyd-Rautha is used to getting exactly what he wants when he wants it. Considering the feelings of another is foreign to him, but he wants to know you. He desires you in every way, so much so he cannot fathom things not going his way. Instead of lashing out Feyd chooses distance. Only his choice of bride is unpopular and his distance leaves you vulnerable.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: voyeurism, manipulation, attempted sexual assault (not between Feyd & Reader), rage, property destruction, several sexual fantasies, possessiveness.

PART I

🗡️ Feyd's Blade 🗡️ - II - A thousand cuts

“Feyd-Rautha”

You awake in a cold sweat and remove your blankets, the room is dark, the air is muggy. Your ears ring with all the voices you’ve ever heard recount the man's name. Closing your eyes as it begins again, focusing hard, concentrating you find your fathers voice. Taking deep breaths you hold onto the sound of it. His cadence stands out, the way he spoke and the promise he held in his voice for the name. Vaguely you remember being five or so and making Feyd a bracelet for his birthday. Leather and metal weaved together in an intricate braid. The heat draws you from the memories and away from the life you once had. Unbuttoning your sleep top you opt for a delicate babydoll. Swallowing hard you look up trying to find the source of the heat or a panel to control the temperature settings. You pad around the room the lights illuminating right ahead of you as if controlled by sensors. Unable to find the control panel you find yourself at a large window. Looking out at Giedi Prime at night you find a strange beauty in the depths of the darkness. Placing your hand on the glass you find it cool and lean against it. Perhaps so many years in Arrakis had affected their ability to sense heat.

Feyd watches you from his personal quarters. He’d tried falling asleep for hours after coming hard from visions of you washing yourself. His eyes couldn’t get enough of you. He was making mental notes for all the ways he would have you. He imagined being beside you, cleaning your soft skin and touching all the parts of you no other man would. He needed to see you again, all of you, while he enjoyed watching you sleep peacefully he needed to lay eyes on what was his once more. Managing the console he decided to turn up the heat. He’d watched you stir for a few minutes tossing and turning, tossing off your coverings until there were no more, he watched you change into a small silk bed set, one he’d picked out in his travels. He couldn’t place it, the thing about you that drew him in, that quieted all other distractions. It had been so when he was a boy as well. There’d been a million other things for him to do while on his visit, it wasn’t custom that boys remembered their betrothed. He certainly wasn’t expected to spend as much time with you as he did but he had been fascinated by you at a young age. He’d only been privy to the harshness and cruelty of the Harkonnen way. His brother was a brute and his uncle made men shudder. Strength was celebrated among his kind and there you were. Perhaps it was the amount of care he saw being poured into you. How your room had been colour coordinated with colours that reflected happiness, or that anyone could be so attentive to create such an atmosphere. Perhaps it was the scented air that was pumped in to wake you up and the alternative fragrance provided to settle you in bed. Young Feyd watched everyone dote on you endlessly, it was something he couldn’t identify with and therefore felt jealous of. But then he’d looked into your crib after witnessing person after person fuss at you.

The resentment only lasted a moment, you looked up at him with a toothless smile and he was yours from that moment. Your little hand around his finger and he was committed. There was no love, just a connection and dedication. It was pure and innocent. Feyd had only wanted to be another member of your host of caregivers. He imagined himself happy in your home world, happy among your people and eventually happy with you. Now, there was no one alive with enough power and resources to give you the life you deserved. He could care for things, his knife collection was extensive, there were over a thousand rare blades all still sharp to the touch. He knew every one of them intimately, he knew what they were capable and best used for. Which cut objects best, which cut through skin, which were mostly decorative and which caused the most pain. Which worked best with poisons and there were even a few rare relics that could also throw flames. Each was a work of art. Each protected dearly from corruption, damage and the outside world. Preserving them and enjoying them as they were designed to be used was Feyd’s and only Feyd’s responsibility. He intended to do the same thing with you. His most prized possession. Equalising the temperature he heads out of his room determined to spend the day getting to know you. Heading out to find a snack for his viewing pleasure he seizes at the sight of you barefoot, unguarded and lost with a large black robe draped over you.

Turning he walks over to face you, your eyes grow in size as you look him over. Feyd-Rautha would never fail to be striking, the hairlessness of him and those deep dark eyes, the strong chest and rippled abs. His expression asks the question before his lips can.

“Is everything well?” He asks. Looking up at him you swallow, averting your eyes from his muscular build.

“Parched, I was looking for water” you explain and Feyd nods in understanding. He stands holding out his large lethal hand. You look over the gesture unsure. Feyd-Rautha is a killer but he is also the man your father chose to have your hand. Looking at his hand again you relent, placing yours within him. Feyd gives you the surprise of a smile as he brings your hand to his lips placing a chaste kiss on it. It was against everything you had ever learned about the Harkonnen way. The Harkonnen were brutal men with insatiable appetites for whatever it was they loved; money, resources, respect, sex. They would get drunk on it, get their fill and let it destroy them. Per every contemporary record Feyd-Rautha’s appetites were for blood and respect. Kindness and gestures of flattery were beneath him, even with his uncle the Baron and arguably the second most powerful under the emperor.

“I’ve yet to figure out what you hope to gain from this arrangement” you comment against your better judgement. The Reverend mother had always commented on your lack of impulse control. It was a shock to everyone that you managed to withstand the pain of the box and avoid the Gom Jabbar.

“Willing submission, to be the first person you think of when you wake and the last at night before sleep takes you. Your body, your laughter, your smiles, all of your tomorrows, your arousal, desire, trust and your unconditional love” Feyd-Rautha’s words couldn’t come as more of a surprise. Your heart flutters but you don't know if you can trust it. You try to remove your hand from his, uncomfortable with his desires but his grip tightens forbidding it. Feyd has enough decency to allow you the reprieve of looking away as you enter another room in the labyrinth that is the palace. He pulls out a chair at a small irregularly shaped table and seats you before heading into a dimly lit room. You watch him curiously and he returns with a carafe of water and a fresh glass.

“Thank you” you mutter while taking a drink to quench your thirst. Feyd’s eyes never leave yours. You look away from him examining the room, it's very similar to the rest, simple, void of colour but somehow stately impressive.

“Nothing else to say?” He asks.

“Where is the Mentat that’s been stationed outside of my quarters”

“You wound me,” Feyd smiles.

“On assignment to retrieve something I think you’ll enjoy,” Feyd says.

“What may that be?” You ask curiously.

“Your mother used to send me your family archives, videos of milestones. It was brought to my attention that perhaps a piece of your home world could lessen the transition.” His words are such a surprise, you don’t remember anything of the sort. Nodding you try your best to make sense of his kindness. The intensity of his eyes never falters, the weight of them is immense as he tracks your every movement.

“What is it? Why are you staring?” You ask feeling self-conscious.

“You’re beautiful” he says. His words are shocking. The Harkonnens weren’t paragons of beauty, they were destroyers of it - historically. And somehow in its own strange and sterile way perhaps there was a beauty to this planet.

“Why don’t you get dressed, let me arrange an early breakfast and I can show you around while it’s being prepared” Feyd offers standing. You hadn’t realised your glass and the small carafe were now empty, he must’ve been tracking it.

“Ok” you nod. Standing he leaves the table as is holding out a hand again. You take it surprised by its consistent warmth. His stride is wide and it’s hard for you to keep up, when he realises he slows running his thumb along your hand so you can keep pace. Feyd's actions confuse you to no end. His requirements of you replaying in his head, unconditional love - a tremendous ask of a stranger. You stiffen when you see he can open the doors of your chambers only for it to amuse him, he smirks stepping into the rooms like they’re just as much his. It’s unnerving, he’s a dangerous man, a powerful man with an effervescent virility. Heading into your quarters you find suitable garments and apply them in a few minutes before emerging to Feyd now wearing a shirt. He smiles, removing your headpiece.

“You don’t have to hide your beauty, not around me”

“Around who then?” You ask as he takes your hand kissing it again.

“No one, people know better” he remarks..

“I know better than most that safety can’t be guaranteed” you confess.

“It can,” he affirms.

“You’re a passionate man, with a penchant for danger anything could happen. If you refuse the Princess’ hand the sisterhood will turn on you. People make side comments about Bene Gesserit witches but they are influential” you advise as he walks you into a cylinder.

“The Princess?” he smirks.

“Yes” you respond.

“I’m not interested” he confesses just as you shoot up. You’re terrified and he reaches out holding you close as it continues. The accelerated speeds are riveting but Feyd-Rautha’s militant stance remains solid as he holds you. When it ends he gives you a moment before stepping out. You can see it all from up here. The white sun is rising. Heading to the edge of the lookout you have a seat looking at the darkness of the planet and all the little lights. Feyd takes a seat beside you. He’d never found himself more enamoured with a single human or object. There was something visceral about how connected he felt to you. There was never any confusion in himself as to how you may feel, there’s a sense of knowing within him. He watches you look down into the most populated parts of Giedi. Where he could connect to your feelings he often found your thoughts to be a mystery to him. He wondered how anyone could take such comfort in stillness. Only time he enjoyed being still as before he was about to strike, nothing about you suggested anything of the sort. Violence seemed all together out of your nature.

He would have to learn to be gentle, to take pleasure in the softness of your skin, the slow throes of pleasure, your facial expressions when he dug deeper inside. The taste of your arousal on his fingers after you came for him and only him. He would need to break you in slowly, he would have you forever after all. Patience and diligence would be required for the task of getting you to open up for him, for you to understand his intentions for you were as pure as the steel in his sacred blades. He would do anything for you.

He would do it all.

“Were you promised to someone else?” He asks as soon as the thought crosses his mind. The thought that filled him with unbridled rage. He would have whomever that man was and place him in the arena. He would prove himself to her.

“No”

“No?” Feyd pry’s.

“There were a few attempts to have me matched. The men were decent enough but I never saw myself married” you confess.

“Who were the men?” Feyd-Rautha asks.

“The look in your eyes says it’s against my better judgement to disclose the names of innocent men” you smile looking back out to the white sun as he looks at you.

“Have you kept lovers?” Feyd asks, his temper bubbling.

“No, no lovers” You smile looking at him. “What of your pleasure slaves and pets?” You ask. His eyes grow and then he swallows, he’s railed with insecurity.

“What of them?” He asks and you shrug.

“Is there a selection process?” You ask and he stands shaking his head.

“Satisfaction, if they’re unable to do that then they’re useless to me” Feyd speaks plainly.

“Will that also be my fate?” You whisper and his eyes close in regret.

“No, I can only think of three rules I have for you to follow,” Feyd says.

“Am I permitted rules too?” You ask and he smiles chuckling a little.

“Perhaps I could be persuaded into following a few” he responds, his honesty is refreshing. “No other men, no other man gets to even touch you. Nothing beyond a handshake, if his eyes linger too long I’ll cut them out, if his hands touch pieces of you they shouldn’t he will lose them at the end of my blade. You try everything once and you never lie to me.” He says.

“What if I were to fall and a man helped me up? Would you take his life for holding me at the waist?” You ask. Feyd blinks like he doesn’t see the issue.

“Touching the na-Baroness will be his last great deed before death” he says with no qualms. It amuses and unsettles you in equal parts. You let out an awkward laugh.

“That is absurd” you remark.

“Not here, here the men would look at you and their thoughts alone would justify my actions” he says speaking from advise he cannot be in her presence for long without fantasising about how she felt inside.

“So these rules are typical of marriages here?” You ask, curious.

“No” Feyd- Rautha says.

“I cannot promise to try everything once or never lie, there will be times I will refuse things and there will be instances I am not forthcoming. To agree to that would be disingenuous and I can see you’re not holding back” you find your bravery and your voice.

“Your rules?” He asks but you can’t think of any.

“I have no rules, I’ve never given marriage any serious thought.” you admit.

“Hmm” he says displeased.

“Would you have preferred I lied?” You ask, it takes Feyd a moment to decide. He shakes his head.

“If you had your choice would you marry me?” He asks, trying to trap you in your commitment to the truth, watching as the white sun strips all pigment from you.

“My father thought you were right for me, he didn’t know the man you’d become but he trusted in you. I don’t have many memories but I know my father loved me very much. That’s why I haven’t run.” You confess honestly.

It’s a blow to his ego, Feyd-Rautha was revered. He was the heir to the wealthiest house in the empire outside of the emperor himself. He was a fierce warrior, respected and feared. His people chanted his name in all of his fights and women doted after him. Still after all the trouble he’d gone through to find you it was your late father, a dead man's wishes that meant more to you than him. He needed you to understand that he was it for you, that he was all.

“You could never out run me” he says with a venom laced tone. Looking away from the coliseum you meet his black eyes, the lower half of his face already devoid of colour from the sunlight. You look at him over recognizing the anger that’s creeped into him over your words. His jaw hardens and he turns heading back to the cylinder. Feyd steps out of your reach waiting before pressing the button to descend. The speed makes your hair rise above your head. He leads you back to your quarters without holding your hand. His blood lust is too high for physical interaction of any kind. His heart knew what you needed. You needed him of sound mind, capable of being gentle, capable of loving you, capable of withholding his urges and managing his anger. Capable of withholding punishments for unexplained infractions. His need for you is so strong it’s maddening. It’s taking everything in him not to toss you onto the bed, tie you up to keep you in place and claim you. He would empty himself inside of you, he would leave it in. He would be there day by day as your stomach grew. He would stand beside you with pride, leaving no question who you belonged to. He’d keep you smiling so everyone knew how content you were with him. He wanted you to look at his child with the same amount of adoration that your mother had for you. He wanted there to be nothing between you, he wanted to take you in the shower. He wanted to take you in the bed, in his chambers, in the great hall, everywhere. He needed to see the need in your eyes every time he looked at you. He needs you to miss him like he’s missed you all these years. Like he misses you from a room away. He needs your love and concern to match his in every way. He needs you to be just as besotted, just as unhinged.

Viewing the spread of food on the table you turn to him before sitting and he hisses a curse turning and storming out of the room without an explanation or another word. You stand there for minutes before realising he doesn’t intend to return.

———

Feyd-Rautha has been with his concubines all week. It’s very clear he’s a man of few words and not prone to managing arguments or disagreements. Nonetheless seamstresses have come by for the last few days capturing measurements of your body. They’ve been tasked with creating dresses for the wedding and his birthday celebration. His absence has been noted among his men and the whispers have been evident. There has been no reduced treatment among your immediate staff but some of the others have taken liberties the Mentat reminds them the na-Baron would disapprove of. It’s nothing comparable to the treachery of life in the academy among the Bene Gesserits. You sit in the grand library among the scrolls playing chess with Leia. The two of you have been practising your telepathic communication, but neither of you have been successfully able to manage the voice. You beat her in your final game of chess and look to see it's almost time for dinner. In spite of your abduction Giedi Prime proves to be far more free than you could have anticipated. Feyd-Rautha could have made you one of his pleasure slaves. Titled you wife but made you nothing more than the bearer of his children and a slave to his desire. Leia thought lowly of his abandonment of you following your last discussion but you have no frame of reference on how to feel. He hadn’t been rude. He hadn’t been mean - just distant. The hospitality of his halls hadn’t ever lessened, you were awarded every privilege. It could be far worse, you're aware of that and somehow that fact is settling.

Sane isn’t Feyd. Even in his absence you sensed him all around you, there’d be some periods of the day where you felt sure he was somewhere close, his presence surrounding and assessing your every move. Like he knew what you were up to. Perhaps it was your guards acting as secondary eyes, perhaps it was the Mentat but you got the feeling your freedom was being monitored. Charting through unknown territory you walk with Leia through an unfamiliar section of the palace. Holding your heads back you look up and the journey to the ceiling seems never-ending. Sun puddles coat the floor in an interesting pattern. Giedi Prime has many architectural feats misaligned with its brutalist architecture.

“Look at the windows” Leia smiles, taking your hand and the two of you look down into a courtyard. Looking down you watch soldiers and guards training, their fighting styles are rugged and brutish. You find yourself looking for Feyd among them but he is absent. You touch Leia to show her the makeshift trees when you're grabbed forcefully. It happens so fast you blink and the two of you have been separated. A fistful of your hair is grabbed and you rein back nailing the culprit in the nose. He groans and you kick backwards hoping to shatter his knee. Alarm fills you as you see Leia in the arms of a large guard. She manages to get him off and the two of you take off down the hall. You hear chatter from ear pieces but on the long stretch of hallway there’s nowhere to hide. Panic fills you as you try to make sense of what’s happening.

“The bitch is dead, '' one snarls and more come down the hall forcing you and Leia to take a sharp turn down into an unfamiliar dark corridor. More and more men join the procession giving chase and your fear peaks. Your voice is shot as you run faster pulling ahead of Leia. Slowing, you urge her to move faster down the hall. You're grabbed in an instant and hit in the face. Your head spins and you see triple. Instinct kicks in as you hear Leia cry out. Picking one of the spinning figures you hold onto flesh digging into eyes that grab your waist. The man screams out.

“A week after na-Baron discards them they’re ours” you hear as another soldier tries climbing on top of you. Squeezing you push his eyes in as hard as you can and he wails. Scrambling up you taste blood managing to grab a gun you have no idea how to use. The cowards stop just as your guards emerge with your Mentat among them you turn to see Leia lose consciousness. You scream going to her, large handprints are along her neck, she stops breathing and a guard gets on his knees to save her life.

“What have you done?” The Mentat asks the soldiers. Hysterics overtake your senses, you lose track of time and you're given a mild sedative to calm you.

Trembling in your room you wait for news regarding Leia’s stability. You have not been able to eat. You’ve been pacing for an hour contemplating the meaning of those brutes words. Was that a hunt orchestrated by Feyd himself? A twisted fantasy? Had he knowingly you were going to be brutally attacked? The doors open and you see your Mentat.

“She is stable, she has been given the best care” he says finally allowing you to breathe a little easier.

“What about Feyd-Rautha?” You ask just as the doors open revealing him in full combat gear. His eyes bulge and his chest rises. He’s furious, you can feel the heat radiating from him a few feet away. Removing his gloves he strides over to you, he’s angry but it can’t be mistaken for being directed at you. He looks away once he’s close.

“What happened!?” He shouts so loud it shakes the chambers. Turning he goes to the Mentat looking murderous. “What happened?” He snaps again pulling out one of his blades.

“They were attacked, they left the library without an escort. The men saw Leia touch the na-Baroness to be and tried to … enforce your rules and then …”

“Have their way with me” you finish the Mentat’s sentence. Feyd takes a step back, his head bowing as his hands tremble. His thumbs run over the tops of the blade as his frustration reaches its peak. Turning to you Feyd closes the space in two large strides. His eyes narrow and he looks at the slight cut on your lip. Lips he’d yet to kiss. Taking your hands he sees swollen knuckles, his hands hover over your waist on your left side before he touches and you wince from the soreness. He withdraws bowing to the hem of your robes, he pulls it up once the Mentat turns his back assessing the purple bruise. Swallowing hard, the veins all over him become prominent. His jaw clicks. He’s too furious to speak, he’s a livewire. Sighing he takes a step away from you and then to you again. Shouting in a fit of rage he throws decorative pieces across the room. It’s a stunning expression of anger and rage.

“Have her dressed” Feyd says and the healers are returned. He watches diligently as they gently apply flowing garments in respect of your injuries. He places a headpiece onto your head by himself walking you out using featherlight touches. A vehicle is waiting and you zip through the halls stopping outside a grand door. You hold Feyd’s hand tighter only to be unnerved at the fear in the brutal men’s eyes. There are nearly fifty of them and yet they tremble at the sight of Feyd-Rautha, a singular being.

“Which of these scum hurt you?” Feyd whispers against your ear. Looking up you scan the faces. It takes you a few moments to locate the one with a red swollen nose and the other who’d been on top of you. You point to them and they’re brought down by one of Feyd’s men. “Which hurt your friend?” He asks and you point to the two culprits, they two are brought down.

“Have them stripped and prepared for death by a thousand cuts” he snaps. “Have a cleaver brought in along with medics. We will have a few more eunuchs.” He says to men who nod. Feyd brings another featherlight touch to your waist guiding you out of the room. You sob, trembling, succumbing to the shock and he lifts you into his arms. The drive to your quarters is short and he carries you back into your quarters sitting on the couch with you cradled in his arms.

“I’m sorry” he whispers, holding you close. “This will never happen again, never. You and your friend fought well and you will never have to fight again” he says softly. The sound of your sobs is heartbreaking. Feyd-Ratha sits torn between his love for you and his eminent need for revenge.

“They said they could because you hadn’t come by in a week. They charged because Leia touched me” you manage through teary sobs remembering the night the mobs came, the screams of women being brutalised and the panic all around to get you in an escape pod. Your breathing quickens and your doors open. The head healer pauses bowing at the sight of the na-Baron.

“She’s stable, she’s awake and concerned for the well-being of the na-Baroness” the healer says and you stand. You will yourself to stop crying as Feyd removes your veil. His eyes search yours with apology. He raises a hand wiping away your tears and smoothing your hair. The bruise on your cheek is a haunting reminder of his failure. He takes your hand heading to the medical rooms. He ushers you in without a word standing back and you look at Leia, laid on the bed. Who would be so bold? You ask yourself as you get to her. It happens in a flash, your eyes roll and you get a flash of Rabban ‘The Beast Harkonnen’. He’s speaking to the man that tried getting on top of you, he’s giving the man instructions. You sense tremendous jealousy, you read his lips ‘I will be the heir’ he declares and then you come to. Leia’s awake, smiling up at you.

“It wasn’t Feyd, he cares for you” she says with telepathy. You respond with a knowing nod. “He told them that they’d die a most painful death if I didn’t survive” she adds.

“It was Rabbane” you respond without words, turning you look back into to see Feyd with a guard checking the sharpness of his blades laid across leather. His eyes find yours and you look to him, he nods with a knowingness, without humour but pure dedication.

“One moment” you say to Leia standing to go to him. You feel drawn to him, connected to him in your anger for what's transpired. It's like you're transfixed as you make your way to him. He looks you over with concern.

“You may leave me here, I do believe I am safe now” you whisper.

“Not until you’re safe in your chambers” Feyd responds unnerved by your state.

“Go now and don’t hold back” you say before pecking his full lips. He’s startled by the gesture but he’d saved you. He’d protected you through a mutiny designed to break you, there was no denying this was likely a plot by the sisterhood, a deal made with Rabban to usurp Feyd-Rautha’s Barony. The betrayal was too cunning and heartless to ignore or let slide. You had not sought Feyd out, they had to know that and still they would subject you to abuse and defiling at the hands of garish brutes. Feyd’s thumb brushes over your burst lip, his fingers pulling your chin in for another chaste kiss. Nodding he steps back for the first time regretful for the reason behind the need to use his blade.

Still even a thousand cuts wouldn’t be enough punishment.

He casts you a final look and you sleep peacefully knowing there’s a chorus from the torture Feyd is administering to the men who’d happily walked towards the opportunity to cause you pain and disgrace. A thousand cuts could be administered many ways, at sunrise you would begin sharpening your blades.

PART III - Charms

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Authors Note:

Thanks for reading, this is a super long one - twice the usual length. I really hope you enjoy it. Comment, reblog and like to support 🩶 Let me know what your favourite part of this story is thus far.

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x black reader #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #black authors #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha x reader #feyd smut #feyd x you #feyd oneshot #dune 2 #harkonnen

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