#baron has been around a WHILE...

[chubby-bun-bun]

heavy is the crown

As princess, you are bound by duty to marry the notorious and elusive Onichynus general, in exchange for his protection of your kingdom from an impending war. On the night of your wedding, tradition demands that you undergo the consummation rites, sealing the fate of your marriage—and your future.

tags: sylus x reader, NSFW, MDNI, royalty!au, general-of-powerful-nation!sylus x princess-of-kingdom-in-trouble!reader, first time sex (mc is a virgin), unprotected sex, afab!reader, fem!reader, slight voyeurism & somno & cockwarming at the end, lowkey breeding kink, gender-based stereotypes against women due to the time period, writing this has been a fever dream, word count: 2.7k~ worldbuilding and 5.5k~ smut lmfao

read on ao3

You dared to dream once upon a time.

You dreamt of crossing oceans beyond your shores, sailing aboard majestic galleons you’d only seen in textbooks. In the quiet solitude of your bedchambers, you imagined laughing with the townsfolk of distant cities, dancing in cobblestone streets to the melodies of traveling minstrels, and finding love in a modest man who'd want nothing more than to offer you freshly picked blooms every morning.

In the sanctuary of sleep, your dreams would lull you with visions of a simple life. A stone-walled kitchen warmed by the glow of a crackling hearth, a garden vibrant with blossoms and fresh produce, and a cozy reading nook nestled in an arched window. A loyal companion would sometimes join you—a slothful cat, a melodious songbird, a high-spirited pup, or a darling mare to carry you through grassy plains and wildflower fields.

"Do you take this man to be your wedded husband, to share in life's trials and joys, to love and honor, till death do you part?"

But such dreams have no place in the heart of a woman whose shoulders bear her kingdom's fate.

And so, as you take in the muted glow of the setting sun through delicate ivory lace, you finally put those girlhood fantasies to rest.

“I do.”

—

Being the youngest and only princess came with its fair share of trials and triumphs.

Unlike the elder princes, whose lives revolved around grueling expectations and fierce competition for the throne, your position spared you such burdens. Born to a queen who had long believed her childbearing years were behind her, you were nothing short of a miracle, arriving over a decade after your last sibling. This had earned you the undivided affection of the entire castle, leaving you thoroughly indulged and doted upon.

However, growing up without siblings near your age, you often grappled with bouts of loneliness. While you had fostered polite acquaintances among the daughters of many nobles, you found their company wearisome. The endless succession of balls and garden parties always seemed to revolve around the same gossip: politics, fashion, whispers about some baron’s sixteen-year-old daughter betrothed to a forty-year-old viscount, and, of course, the inevitable question: had anyone received a marriage proposal yet?

You naturally had many—to your dismay.

The idea of marriage filled you with profound dread. As a girl tagging along in your mother’s tea parties, you had often overheard the confessions and lamentations of the noblewomen. Stories of infidelity, neglect, and abuse spilled from their lips—duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses; women who stood at the very summit of high society. To you, marriage seemed less a sacred bond and more a cruel sentence—one far grimmer than the gallows.

At least the gallows granted the mercy of a quick death.

But as a princess, you were bound to uphold the ideal image of a young lady. One who radiated beauty, yet with grace and poise. Intelligent, but subservient to your intended husband’s authority. And, most important of all, fertile—to bear him strong sons who would carry on his legacy.

It sickened you. You would rather succumb to the plague than endure such a miserable life. But given your title, you could only try to delay the inevitable.

And so, life continued as it was—a never-ending cycle of social gatherings, fending off suitors, reading through your library, mastering languages, and nurturing a growing collection of hobbies. It was a life of privilege and routine—one that, despite its predictability, offered you a quiet sense of fulfillment.

Alas, nothing holds constant in the world, and change arrived in the form of a looming war from enemies across the sea.

Though small in size, your kingdom of Noir was a veritable treasure trove. With its abundant mountains and rivers, the island was never in short supply of precious metals, gems, and rare minerals. It was renowned for producing the finest artisans, who crafted the most exquisite jewelry, armor, and weapons. While modest in territory, it more than compensated with a thriving and prosperous economy.

The ultimate conquest for any conqueror.

Through the town streets worn smooth by centuries of footfalls, the bustling plazas lined with charming merchant stalls, the outskirt villages tucked among lush woodlands, and even the weathered stone walls of the towering castle, whispers had always flowed like an unrelenting tide—the most persistent being rumors of the neighboring kingdoms readying to seize Noir at any moment. But your father never addressed such hearsays, and life within the island always seemed as jovial and peaceful as it always did.

Until one night, as you sat engrossed in some book about Noir folklore, a series of sharp knocks on your chamber doors shattered the stillness, echoing sharply through the room.

It was your father, the king. Dropped to his knees, grasping your untainted hands in his rough, weathered ones, head bowed down at your mercy.

“Forgive me, my daughter,” he said in grief. “For the sake of the people—please, forgive me.”

For months, naval scouts had reported sightings of warships at the docks of two neighboring kingdoms, suspected of plotting to raid Noir and usurp the throne. Only a few weeks ago, those suspicions were confirmed when spies returned with dire news. The enemy militaries, vast and far stronger than your own, were preparing for a siege. Noir's true power had always been in the arts and commerce, not in its military might. Should your shores be attacked by an enemy nation—let alone two—the island would fall.

So on the very day the confirmation arrived, your father and the high court conspired to seek assistance from a nation on the mainland: Onichynus.

Conversations about the state were always hushed, spoken in whispers and laden with caution. It was rumored to be an immensely powerful dominion, even surpassing that of the hostile forces looming beyond your shores. Drunk sailors boasted of its staggering wealth, built on the spoils of their wars and ceaseless conquest. With an unmatched army of hardened warriors and mercenaries, it stood as a force to be reckoned with, its presence both feared and revered across the seas.

At its pinnacle stood their elusive general, a shadow whose name and true face remained unknown. Tales from sailors, traveling merchants, and tavern songs painted him as a ruthless figure, demon-like, who laid waste to rotten cities and beheaded corrupt kings. Some claimed he was a hero, purging the realm of wicked men in power, while others saw him as the embodiment of evil, leaving destruction and death in his wake.

Negotiations with Onichynus were a success. In return for their protection during the impending siege, Noir pledged to deliver three ships laden with its most prized metals, minerals, and gems—every year for the next century.

But to ensure Noir upheld its end of the bargain, their beloved princess would be bound in marriage to the general.

You could only keep your gaze steady, chin held high, as the king knelt before you, weeping, begging for your forgiveness.

You had your time to relish the pleasures of living as a princess. Now, it was time to fulfill your duties as one.

—

The night before the long-anticipated siege had arrived. After weeks of frantic planning and tense negotiations between Noir’s high court and the Onichynus war council, warriors and mercenaries had taken their positions across the island. Some blended seamlessly with the civilians, while the majority remained hidden in plain sight, their numbers concentrated along the docks.

In the king’s throne room, select members from both factions gathered for final preparations. Clad in his battle regalia, your father seemed a shadow of his former self—skin ashened, eyes hollow with exhaustion—yet his voice remained firm as he issued his commands to all present.

The Noir court members could hardly conceal their unease under the watchful eyes of the Onichynus war council. Towering and broad-shouldered, they seemed almost otherworldly. Their dark, burnished steel armor bore engravings of monstrous creatures, and many donned cloaks of crimson or black, their edges deliberately singed to resemble fire's touch. Helmets, adorned with jagged horns, cast grotesque shadows, while those who forwent them revealed faces with jagged streaks of war paint, as if to mimic claw marks.

Then, the heavy doors groaned open, spilling thick tendrils of black-red mist into the chamber. A hush fell as all eyes turned toward the towering figure that emerged from the haze.

The general.

For all the whispered tales of his demonic appearance—horns as tall as claymores, wings that spanned the heavens, and a tail that stretched like a river—you were stunned to find a face not of a monster, but of an angel.

Against the backdrop of his dark cloak, his striking silver hair stood out in sharp contrast. His features were sculpted with precision—high, defined cheekbones, a strong jawline, a straight nose, all framed by an expression that revealed little, save for full lips drawn into a tight line. The people of Noir gawked openly, stunned to finally see the man from the tales in the flesh. His gait was languid yet exuded confidence as he strode toward the throne where you sat beside your father.

His gaze found yours, and you stilled.

The deep scarlet of his eyes was piercing. You almost felt naked under it. Instantly, you straightened in your seat, fingers twitching to smooth the fabric of your dress.

“Expect the warships to be visible in six hours,” he said, his voice cutting through the room. The low timbre of it sent a chill racing up your spine.

“General, are you certain our forces are enough to handle their fleet?” your mother asked, voice quivering as she addressed him from your father’s other side.

The general's lips curved faintly, a low, rumbling chuckle escaping him.

“Rest easy, Your Majesty. By dawn, their remains will have joined their forefathers’ ghosts beneath the sea."

—

You had come to realize that Onichynus truly deserved the fear and respect it commanded. Just before daybreak, the gut-wrenching blare of Noir’s watchtower horns finally shattered the unnerving stillness of the island.

The enemies had fallen.

You had been locked away in one of the castle’s tower chambers, away from harm’s reach. As the kingdom’s key to securing this alliance, it was critical that no harm befell the general's betrothed.

After the second wave of victory horns, your door creaked open, revealing your maidservant—frantic, breathless from the long climb up the spiral staircase.

“Your Highness,” she gasped, voice trembling. “We’ve won.”

You could see the restraint in the way her nails dug into her apron, her blown pupils amidst her ragged breaths. She was restraining herself, her elation held in check, out of deference to you.

After all, Noir’s freedom had come at the cost of yours.

With a wistful smile, you turned toward the window, watching the flickering torchlights snake through the streets below. The chorus of jubilant cries and chants carried through the valleys, their voices rising to the heavens and echoing back from the mountain’s deepest crevices.

“It seems we have,” you murmured, voice barely audible over the chorus of celebration below.

You heard her hesitant shuffle behind you. "Several of the servants have been briefed already. They shall be ready tomorrow morning to begin preparations for the wedding."

You spun toward her, pulse pounding in your ears. "So soon?"

She lowered her gaze, unable to meet your eyes. "Onichynus wanted to complete the rites as quickly as possible, so they could sail for the mainland the following day."

You let out a slow exhale. "I see."

Your maidservant hesitated, her eyes flicking toward you, before she spoke again.

"If it offers you any comfort, ma'am," she said softly, head bowed, "you saved all of us."

You swallowed hard, forcing back the sting of tears threatening to spill.

—

Like your mother, grandmother, and all the royal women before you, you had always envisioned your wedding as a day of grandeur. You pictured riding through the town streets in the royal carriage, flanked by guards, waving to the cheering crowds. You imagined wearing a bespoke gown that sparkled in the light, a train so long it would sweep behind you like a royal procession.

You imagined trumpets announcing your arrival, their triumphant notes echoing through a hall packed with dignitaries and nobility from across the realm. And at the altar, a man of honor and equal standing would wait for you, his gaze warm with affection as you joined in a union built on love, not duty.

But now—the sun has nearly set, painting the grand temple in muted amber light. Inside, the space feels hollow, adorned only by a few hurriedly arranged flowers, their disarray a testament to the servants' exhaustion from cleaning up the siege’s destruction. Your gown, though lovely, is no custom-made masterpiece—just a window display piece hastily altered by the royal dressmaker. The pews stand mostly empty, save for your crestfallen family, a handful of somber faces from the Noir high court, and the ever-stoic Onichynus war council.

Your husband-to-be, still clad in his dark battle regalia, stands steadfast at your side, his expression an impenetrable mask as the archbishop intones the ceremonial rites. You had imagined him to be someone hard to look at—perhaps as old as a grandfather, his years as a general etched into every line of his face, and his figure weighed down by indulgent vices. Yet, to your quiet relief, he is nothing of the sort. Even if he proves unsavory as a husband or father to your future children, at least he’s pleasing to look at.

“By the will of fate, you are now bound in union,” the High Priest finally says, raising his palms toward you both. “May your allegiance to one another be as steadfast as the duties you carry, and may this union bring the future of your realms to prosperity.”

—

You wince as an elderly maidservant struggles to loosen a particularly stubborn knot in your hair, the pull jerking your head painfully. She pauses, her hand gently patting the spot in apology.

Your gaze stays fixed on the cold, flatstone floor, and you hardly notice the other maidservants bustling around you. One smooths out the faint creases in your satin nightdress, while another tugs at the neckline, pulling it lower to expose more of your cleavage and collarbone. Beneath the thin fabric, your undergarments have been removed, leaving you vulnerable to the biting chill of the room. You’ve been scrubbed clean, coated in the silkiest lotions, each scent more intoxicating than the last—all for your first night with your new husband.

“Are you nervous, Your Highness?” the elderly maidservant asks, her hands gentle as she brushes through your hair.

You pause, the question settling in your chest as you ponder how to answer.

“I can’t say I’m confident,” you say, twisting your fingers together. “I’ve never been with a man before.”

In the mirror, you catch the discreet glances exchanged behind you, their pity and concern barely hidden. You force yourself to look away, but the weight of their silent judgment lingers.

“The Onichynus general… he seemed like such a massive man,” a younger maidservant whispers, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I do hope he treats Her Highness with kindness.”

Another maidservant scoffs, her tone sharp with bitterness. “All men are beasts, driven only by their lust for control—and for anything with a pair of breasts.”

There’s a collective hiss of disapproval from the others, but the harsh words still echo in your mind. You fight to keep your face composed, though your heart aches with fear.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” the elderly maidservant says, her voice light. “The men from that state may be known for their ruthlessness, but with your likeness, the general will surely find himself a changed man.”

You can only hope the same.

Soon after, you begin your walk to the matrimonial room. The maidservants fall in step around you, their presence a quiet shield.  The lively chatter from your earlier preparations has faded, replaced by a tense, almost somber silence. Despite the considerable distance between rooms, the walk feels too short, each step too swift. Before you can fully gather your bearings, you now find yourself alone, sitting on the bed, the weight of the night settling in around you.

You shouldn’t feel this nervous. Women across the realm are bound to face this, especially those of royal blood. Consummation on the wedding night is an expectation, a duty. No matter how much you’ve dreaded or tried to avoid it, you’ve always known it was inevitable. All that’s left now is to steel yourself, strive to please your husband, and to embrace your role as a future mother—for Noir’s sake.

The doors swing open, and you flinch. The general steps inside, his damp hair clinging to his face, a clear sign of a recent bath. His attire for the evening is simple: loose trousers and a tunic that, despite its modesty, does little to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the strong lines of his chest. Your gaze betrays you, lingering longer than it should, tracing the way the fabric shifts with his movements. His towering height seems to diminish even the vast expanse of the room, making the high ceilings feel incredibly small.

His ember-like eyes catch yours and you suddenly feel too exposed.

“Good evening, princess.” 

“General,” you greet, wincing at how weak it sounds as it leaves your lips.

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders beneath the delicate straps of your ivory nightdress, the soft swell of your breasts pressing gently against the neckline. The fabric cinches at your waist before flaring out around your hips, emphasized by the way you sit at the edge of the mattress. Your posture is rigid, hands clasped in your lap—a result of all the etiquette drilled into you from childhood.

He notices the tension in your form and lets out a sigh, turning toward the couch at the far end of the room.

You blink.

“Where are you going?” you blurt out, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Your Highness,” he drawls, settling into the couch with a lazy grace. “We don’t have to do this. You look like a kitten with her hackles raised. We could ruffle the bedding, spill some oil on the sheets, and pretend we had a night worthy of the chamberlain’s inspection.”

A flash of panic rises within you. You stand, words tumbling out in a rush. “Nonsense! Marriage is not recognized before the temple unless consummated on the night of the ceremony.”

He tilts his head, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Such peculiar customs you have here on Noir.”

You had imagined a thousand ways this night could go, a thousand versions of the man you’d just married. Not one of them prepared you for this.

You flush, frustration building in your chest. “General, I would appreciate it if you respect the customs of Noir. We are a proud people, and we honor the traditions passed down to us by our forefathers.”

He rolls his eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate pace, he stands and makes his way toward you. For every step he takes, you fight the instinct to hunch your shoulders, to shrink away. Next thing you know, he’s standing before you, his imposing size forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain your gaze.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, gently cupping your face. The heat of his touch burns through your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You finally avert your eyes. “I’ve never been with a man before,” you manage to say with as much indifference as you can muster, nails digging into your palms.

“Really? Not even a stolen kiss in your youth?”

You clench your teeth. “There are far more pressing matters to focus on than indulging in childish flirtations.”

He laughs, a rich, deep sound that resonates through the air, stirring an unexpected warmth low in your belly.

“Alright,” he concedes, his finger tracing a slow path along your cheek. Without warning, he grips your jaw, the touch both commanding and tender, pulling your gaze back to meet his. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. None of those absurd rules from your royal handbook.”

You pull back slightly, brows knitting in confusion. “The act is the same, is it not?”

“Do you agree, Your Highness?” he presses, lips grazing your ear ever so slightly. The warmth of his breath against your skin is unfamiliar, and the rush of heat that sweeps up your neck sends electrifying pulses deep within your core.

“Yes,” you grit out.

After studying your expression one last time, he lowers himself slightly, then grips the back of your thighs and lifts you with ease. You gasp, scrambling to find your balance. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, fingers digging into the firm, broad muscles of his shoulders. With a smooth shift, he adjusts your position, the inside of your thighs pressing against his hips, before carrying you to the vanity desk at the center of the room.

You struggle to speak, words caught in your throat as the sensation of being so high up in the air makes you dizzy. He finally sets you down on the desk, his large palms slowly dragging down your legs, gently pushing your knees apart.

“G—General,” you stammer, eyes wide as he pulls his tunic over his head, revealing a tanned expanse of skin and the hard, defined muscles beneath. “The bed is over there—why are we here?”

A flicker of a smile plays at his lips as he tosses the fabric carelessly to the floor. “Trust me, princess. Now close your eyes.”

You want to argue, remind him that asking you to trust the most notorious figure in the realm—whom you’ve barely known for a day—is no small request. But the gravity in his scarlet gaze quiets any protest. With a reluctant breath, you close your eyes.

There’s no movement at first. Then, his calloused palms find your knees, the rough calluses a stark contrast against the smooth stretch of your skin. Heat blossoms under his touch, searing its way upward as his hands glide along the curve of your hips, the taper of your waist. You fail to suppress the shudder coursing through you when his touch pauses just below the swell of your breasts, lingering for a heartbeat before sliding to your sides, his broad palms more than spanning the width of your back.

Then, you feel the faint brush of his breath against your mouth, a fleeting warmth before his lips capture yours in a tender kiss. The hot, wet sensation has your back arching instinctively, your hardened nipples pressing through the thin fabric of your nightgown against his hard chest. A deep, throbbing ache pulses at your core, and you clamp your thighs together in a futile effort to suppress the damp heat pooling between them.

The overwhelming rush of sensations draws a whimper from your lips, your trembling hands clutching at his shoulders for stability. His response is immediate—a low, guttural groan before he deepens the kiss, his mouth returning to yours with even more fervor.

You’ve read about kissing in your sparse collection of romance novels, tried to envision the mechanics behind the act. But the mental images always fell short, awkward and unappealing, leaving you unconvinced of its charm. You’d dismissed it as unnecessary, even pointless—especially when it came to something as pragmatic and straightforward as sex.

But now the general is sneaking in the hot, wet glide of his tongue between your lips and you panic, not sure what it is he’s doing and what you’re supposed to do. He must sense your uncertainty, because his large hand moves to steady your jaw and nape, holding you in place. When he feels the accidental brush of your tongue, he wastes no time and sucks at it, the lewd sound echoing in your ears, forcing soft, strangled sounds from your throat.

You no longer feel the seeping chill from outside the castle walls, body now feeling like it’s on fire, the wetness dripping from your entrance sliding down your inner thighs. You feel like you’re drunk and about to pass out, so you push his chest back with a gentle palm.

“General,” you say, heaving through swollen lips. “What… what are we doing? The bed…”

He takes a moment to steady his breath, eyes squeezed shut, palms pressing firmly at your waist. Then, a low, rough chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“You’re infuriatingly naive,” he mutters, his sweat-damp forehead resting against your shoulder. “You must be the only woman of all arranged marriages eager to crawl into bed with a man she barely knows.”

You flush, indignant at the implication behind his words. “What are you trying to say?” you demand, mouth unconsciously forming into a pout.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip. “What I’m saying, princess, is let me take care of you. I don’t know what your upbringing has taught you, but there’s more to this than just... getting it over with.”

You’re not used to being told what to do and deviating from the rules, so you force out a sharp “fine”—an unintended display of bratty defiance, considering the man before you. But he only laughs, and to your dismay, the sound makes him even more handsome than he already is.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, lifting you by your bottom this time, pressing you flush against his chest. His hands on your backside—so close to where you’re throbbing and wet—has you flinching forward. You suddenly feel the brush of something firm against the sensitive nub above your slit, and you jerk again in surprise.

He chuckles, before gently lowering you onto the soft expanse of the mattress. His lips find your collarbone first, then trail down to your nipples, where he suckles through the fabric. A soft whimper escapes you, your fingers curling into the sheets. You can feel his smile against your skin as his tongue sweeps over one of your sensitive buds, before continuing its journey down toward your abdomen.

But then he hovers his face above your groin that’s barely concealed by the bunched-up hem of your nightgown. Alarm jolts through you, and you prop yourself up on your elbows, torso rising instinctively. You attempt to close your legs, but his hands hold them firmly apart. 

“General—”

“Sylus,” he interrupts, lips brushing along the inside of your knee. “We’re married now, sweetheart. Use my name.”

A twisted sense of pride coils within you, knowing you hold both the name and face of the most infamous man in the realm.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat before continuing. “Sylus,” you echo, the name oddly satisfying on your lips. “Not that I’m… doubting your expertise, but is all of this really necessary?”

He exhales heavily, saying nothing at first. Then, he takes your hand—its size utterly lost in his grip—and guides it down your body. His movements are deliberate, stopping only when your palm meets the undeniable hardness of his cock, straining against his trousers.

You struggle to contain the jumbled stutters tumbling from your lips. “What are you—”

“I’m a big man,” he states matter-of-factly, his gaze unwavering. “And this is your first time. As you are now—you won’t be able to handle me.”

You don’t fully understand what he means, but the statement silences you nonetheless.

He chuckles, letting go of your hand, and you immediately pull it back to your chest. “May I?” he asks, his voice low as he hovers below you once again.

You flash a glare, before nodding reluctantly.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans back, his gaze shifting downward to the space between your legs. Slowly, he lifts the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until the cool air brushes against your exposed skin. You watch, eyes heavy, fighting the tremors rushing through you, as his hand moves along the inside of your thigh. When his fingers brush against your folds, a sharp exhale escapes you, and your head falls back onto the mattress.

“You’re so sensitive, princess,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his words.

“Shut up and get on with it,” you snap, covering your eyes with your forearm.

You hear a quiet laugh escape him before two fingers press against the sensitive nub above your folds, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively as he slides his fingers up and down against your entrance. The motion, slick and sinful, leaves you gasping, and you struggle to keep your legs open, body trembling from the unfamiliar pleasure.

Sylus’ eyes darken, flicking between the way his fingers tease your slick folds and the way your breasts strain against your dress. His breathing grows heavier as he reaches up, pulling the neckline down to expose your chest. A soft whine escapes you when his hand cups one swell, firm yet gentle, while the other continues its relentless ministrations below.

“I’m pressing one in, alright?” he murmurs.

You barely register the words before he pushes a thick finger past your folds.

“Wait—it feels—ngh—it’s strange,” you stammer, voice hitching on a whine.

He stills immediately, digit only halfway in. “Does it hurt?”

“I… kind of? I don’t know…”

You’re panting. The pressure is peculiar, and quite unpleasant. Your body tenses at the newness of it, the unfamiliar stretch bordering on discomfort.

He remains patient, finger unmoving. Then, you feel his thumb press on your nub, drawing gentle circles against the sensitive lower hood of it. The obscene sound of slickness fills the space and you’re mortified, toes curling at the wave of arousal soaking his hand.

“This better?” he whispers, drinking in every detail—your heaving chest, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the tremor in your thighs, and the glistening mess pooling between them.

You can’t respond, overwhelmed by the spiraling pleasure.

A chuckle rumbles from him, low and pleased, as he presses the rest of his finger inside. This time, it slides in smoothly, and the high-pitched moan that escapes you is muffled by your trembling palm. Now knuckle-deep, he gently strokes upward, pressing on a rough spot that makes you jerk in his hold.

“I’m going to try something, alright?” he says softly, breath brushing against your knee as he plants a tender kiss.

“Okay,” you croak, struggling to process the pulsing sensations building deep inside you.

The circles on your nub stop, and you almost whimper at the loss. But before you can voice your complaints, something warm, wet, and utterly foreign replaces his thumb. Your head snaps back, a raw, choked cry tearing from your lips.

“General—hah—Sylus… What are you—?”

He doesn’t answer. Dazed, you prop yourself up and the sight before you is almost too much: the most powerful man in the realm, kneeling between your legs, his mouth worshiping you with unrelenting fervor. His tongue laps at your folds, drags it languidly up to your engorged nub before closing his lips around it, sucking in a way that sends sharp, electric pulses straight through your core.

Panicked by the unbearable pressure building inside, you try to push his head away. “Stop—it’s strange, I feel like I’m going to—”

Before you can finish, he slides another finger inside, stretching you further. His fingers curl, stroking that spongy spot with unrelenting precision. His mouth works in tandem, alternating between suckling and lapping at your overstimulated nub.

Tears blur your vision as the intensity peaks. You scream into your palms, hips bucking against his mouth and hand as you feel yourself tip over the high he brought you to.

Sylus watches, entranced, as your legs open wider, cries muffled as your body convulses under his ministrations. Even as you shatter under him, he doesn’t let up, prolonging your fall at his mercy. And when you’re finally sent over the edge, your release flooding his eager mouth, he drinks in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, and utterly spent.

He presses his cheek against your inner thigh, feeling the delicate tremors rippling through your body as you struggle to steady your breathing. His eyes trail over your folds, soft and swollen, slightly parted as your essence continues to glisten and drip. Unable to hold back, he dips his head and presses a slow, deliberate kiss, groaning as your intoxicating taste lingers on his lips.

Your cry pierces the air, hands flying to his hair as you tug with desperation. “W—Wait…! I can’t… it’s too much… please…”

He only chuckles, low and teasing, before placing a final kiss on the sensitive nub above your folds. Then, he moves upward, settling his weight against you. His chin rests between your breasts, arms locking yours in place as his eyes meet yours, heat and satisfaction dancing in his gaze.

As clarity slowly returns, the enormity of what just happened hits you. He—the Onichynus general, a man who strikes fear in nations across the realm—had just laved at your most intimate area with his tongue. Such an act is nowhere to be found in the guides you’ve read on sex, not even as a distant suggestion. And yet, you enjoyed it. Far more than you care to admit.

An embarrassed huff escapes you as heat blooms across your face. You throw your hands up to cover it, unwilling to meet the insufferable smugness you can practically feel radiating from him below.

Suddenly, you feel the neckline of your dress being tugged down again, catching beneath your breasts. Then, you feel the flat of his tongue gently press on a nipple, circling it with the tip before pulling it into his mouth to suckle. His hand slides up to your other bud, palm brushing over it in slow, deliberate motions. Breasts are meant to nourish, to sustain future generations—mere vessels for the creation of life. Yet the hairs at the back of your neck raise on end as you feel the return of the persistent pulsing deep within you. You bite your lip, stifling the sounds threatening to escape, back arching as you desperately chase the sensation of his mouth on you.

“We can stop now if you wish, Your Highness,” he murmurs against your skin.

Fighting the heaviness taking over your body, you grab his jaw, forcing him to meet the fire in your gaze. “Do you have a problem with consummating with me, general?”

He responds with a particularly sharp suck at your nipple.

“Ngh—! Sylus! I meant Sylus!” you cry out, correcting yourself with a gasp.

He smiles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before moving to the soft curve of your breast. His mouth alternates between harsh sucking and teasing bites, leaving a trail of bruised blooms in his wake.

“While intercourse may be a mere formality to you Noir people, in Onichynus, it’s an act of passion and love,” he says, voice low as he shifts to giving attention to your other bud. “I wish to ensure that Her Highness, my wife, has a memorable first experience. So, if you feel spent for the night, we can always stop. At any time.”

His words settle deep inside you and you feel warmth spread in your chest. Perhaps Onichynus is more than the tales of its ruthless reputation, after all. Hesitantly, you caress his cheek, heart aching at the way he closes his eyes and nuzzles into your palm. He almost seems like a clingy pet feline.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I want to finish the rites,” you say softly. Then, you flush, struggling to find the right words. “And, um, I didn’t expect things to be this… good. I don’t mind experiencing more, if it’s alright with you.”

It takes a moment for your words to register, and when they do, Sylus smirks—a slow, predatory curl of his lips that sends heat coursing through your body. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue brushes your bottom lip, and this time, you grant him easy access. You mimic what he did to you earlier, tentatively wrapping your lips around his tongue and sucking gently.

Immediately, a low, visceral groan escapes him as his hips press forward, grinding his restrained arousal against your soaked folds. The rough fabric of his trousers drags against your sensitive nub, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through you. You whine into his mouth, arms winding around his neck as you pull him impossibly closer.

Sylus seems barely in control now, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he adjusts his movements, angling his hips so that the ridge where his shaft meets the head rubs directly against your overstimulated nub.

Without warning, he breaks the kiss, leaving you on the verge of a whine as a string of spit bridges the space between you. He steps back, tugging his trousers down in one swift motion. Your gaze drops instinctively, and your breath catches at the sight of him.

Broad shoulders taper into a lean waist, and every inch of his sculpted body radiates strength. But it’s the thick, throbbing length between his legs that holds your attention. He notices the starstruck look on your gaze and he chuckles, walking closer to you until you're face level with it. Taking your hand, he gently wraps it around his girth. The sheer thickness overwhelms your grip, and your breath catches at the realization.

“Feel free to take a look,” he rasps.

You’ve never seen a cock before, but instinctively, you know this one is massive. The shaft is thick,  with prominent veins that seem to throb faintly, and the soft, rounded shapes below it look heavy and full. The bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip is flushed, beads of some kind of white, translucent fluid glistening at the slit. For some reason, you feel the urge to lean in and taste it.

Sylus takes your hand, shaping it into a loose 'O.' “This is you,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers to glide along his length, spreading the slick fluid. “And this…” He pushes through the circle you’ve made, the thick head sliding in and out. “…is how it’ll feel when I’m inside you.”

Slowly, he begins to move, sliding his shaft through your grip. The sensation is intoxicating, and you’re mesmerized by the sight of him—his cock pumping in and out of your hand, each stroke leaving it sticky with his arousal. You don��t even realize your lips are parting until you lean forward, your tongue darting out to flick against the leaking tip.

Sylus lets out a guttural moan, one hand tangling in your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. His taste—salty and slightly bitter—is heady, and the heat of him against your tongue heightens your arousal. He bucks into your mouth, and though you gag slightly, you fight to take more of him, desperate for the connection.

You feel too empty.

“Princess—fuck—this is torture,” he groans, his deep voice rough with restraint.

You can only moan in response, lips stretched around his cock as he begins thrusting into your mouth. His large hands steady your head, guiding your movements. You peek up at him through fluttering lashes, and you feel your folds quiver at the sinful sight of the Onichynus general panting, eyes shut, sweat-covered muscles taut as he pistons in and out of you.

You are Noir’s beloved princess—revered and envied for your beauty, grace, and intellect—yet now you’re barely coherent, delirious over the addictive taste of your husband as he fucks your mouth over and over.

One particularly deep thrust hits the back of your throat and you gag, tears springing to your eyes. Sylus curses under his breath and withdraws immediately.

“Princess, I’m sorry,” he pants, taking in the sight of you—tears streaking your cheeks, saliva glistening on your lips, thighs pressed together in a futile attempt to relieve your ache.

“It’s okay,” you croak, voice hoarse and small.

Sylus pauses, taking a moment to steady himself and pull back from the frenzy consuming him, before climbing onto the bed, positioning himself against the headboard. His hands grip your waist, lifting you effortlessly to straddle his lap. Movements frantic and barely restrained, he aligns your slick folds against the length of his shaft. His lips find yours again, urgent and demanding, while his hands grip your hips, guiding you to rock against him. The friction against your sensitive nub draws a cry from you, and he groans into your mouth.

“Let me have you, princess,” he practically begs against your lips between heavy breaths.

You barely have time to process his words before he lifts you slightly, the broad head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. Then, you feel an immediate, sharp stretch as he breaches your folds, pushing deeper until the full length of him fills you to the hilt.

A strangled cry escapes you and you collapse against his chest, burying your face in his neck with stilted sobs. Sylus remains still, large hands massaging your rear soothingly, coaxing your body to adjust.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple. “Just breathe. Let me in.”

“It hurts,” you gasp. He shifts slightly, and a sharp sensation makes you wince, like he’s hitting a spot that feels too far, too much. “T—Too big…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, breath hot and uneven against your ear. His hands move carefully, gently parting the delicate skin of your folds in an attempt to ease the stretch and make it more bearable.

Keeping his hips as still as possible, he reaches for the hem of your now sweat-soaked nightgown, lifting it with as much gentleness as he can muster. His eyes trace the path of the fabric as it reveals the slick mess of fluids dripping from where you're joined, the soft curve of your belly, the delicate bounce of your breasts freed from constraint, and finally, your tear-streaked face—beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly his. Guilt flickers through him as he feels himself twitch and grow even harder inside you, despite your pained whimpers.

After tossing the fabric aside, his lips find your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to the spots that make your walls flutter around him, drawing soft, helpless sounds from your lips. 

“Once you’re settled in our home on the mainland, you’ll have everything you could ever desire,” he murmurs, hands gliding up to rub gentle circles over your hardened nipples.

“You’ll have servants at your beck and call, and you’ll be free to do whatever you please. No one will dare defy you—no one will even think to.”

The vivid imagery of his words wraps around your mind like a spell, pulling you deeper into him. The sharp discomfort of being stretched begins to ebb, replaced by a dull ache that shifts to faint blooms of pleasure.

“And when you finally swell with my child,” he breathes, tone thick with promise, “I’ll find endless delight in claiming you over and over, until the first light of dawn touches us.”

You flush at the picture of him taking you like this, with your belly round and full with his heir.

He chuckles low against your ear, the sound dark and rich. “Oh? You like that idea, don’t you?”

You huff, landing a light smack on his chest. “Do not tease me,” you protest, voice carrying a hint of authority despite your half-lidded gaze. The sight of you perched on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, while you fix him with a stern, regal expression befitting a princess is enough to have his hips bucking up to you.

With a strained groan, he crashes his lips against your neck, his cock throbbing almost painfully within your tight walls. “I need you, princess,” he rasps against your skin, barely holding back the urge to thrust up into you.

The pressure of the stretch still lingers, but the sharp pain has melted into pulses of pleasure. You place your hips back, grinding your sensitive nub against his groin, desperate for more. “Please do something,” you plead, hips moving in frantic, clumsy circles, chasing a bliss you don’t know you’re craving.

Sylus doesn’t hesitate. He lowers you back onto the mattress while still buried deep inside you. Propping himself up on his elbows, his gaze locks onto yours as he slowly draws his hips back, leaving only the tip nestled at your entrance. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he sinks back in to the hilt, filling you completely in one long, unrelenting stroke.

You cry out, this time in response to the delicious friction of his cock dragging against your walls. Driven wild by your reaction, he pulls back again, then thrusts deeply into you with another slow, deliberate plunge. A hiss escapes him as the head of his cock presses against your deepest depths.

“You’re doing so good,” he groans, lips brushing over the bruises left by his earlier kisses on your neck. “You’ve been such a darling for me, haven’t you?”

To his twisted delight, you remain incomprehensible, helpless sounds pouring from your kiss-bitten lips as you scramble to steady yourself by gripping his shoulders, nails digging painfully into his skin. He’s almost feral at the way your flesh ripples from the impact of each thrust. The princess of Noir, coveted by men all over the realm, now lies beneath him, sweat-slicked, legs spread, and taking his cock so wonderfully.  But beyond that, he sees the most perfect queen—one whose unparalleled intellect and sharp wit can stand beside him in his pursuit for power.

Suddenly, he pulls out, and you whine, tears staining your cheeks at the dizzying emptiness. He merely shushes you soothingly before gently turning you over onto your stomach. Before you can garble out a question on what he’s doing, he plunges into you once more, hitting a spot against your front that has you curling your toes and screaming into the sheets.

“I—It feels s—strange again—!” you manage between broken whimpers, each word punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his movements against your sore walls.

“Wanna feel good again, princess?” he murmurs against your ear.

Your answering sob is all the reply you can muster.

Suddenly, you’re hoisted up on your knees, his strong arm wrapping around your waist as his other hand grips your jaw, holding your face up. His thrusts quicken, erratic and desperate, and you gasp as his tongue traces the outer shell of your ear. Then, his hand slides lower, fingers finding the swollen nub above your abused folds. The sudden burst of pleasure at the rubbing motion has you crying out, body tightening as a familiar heat coils low in your belly.

You begin to thrash in his hold at the overwhelming sensations. “Sy—I think—I think I’m—”

“Let it happen, princess, I got you.”

With those words, your hands tangle in his sweat-damp hair as a violent shudder wracks your body, exhausted sobs escaping your lips. His relentless pace doesn’t falter, eyes locked on the harsh bounce of your breasts as he pounds into you from behind, chasing his release. The tight grip of your walls and the slick heat enveloping his cock finally push him over the edge, his thrusts turning shallow and frantic before burying himself deep with a final, forceful motion, spilling his seed inside you.

Sylus takes a moment to catch his breath, pressing soft, chaste kisses along your shoulders.

“You alright, princess?”

You don’t respond.

Confused, he gently tilts your head back, only to find your peaceful, sleeping face, soft snores escaping your lips. He huffs a small laugh. How adorable.

Carefully, he shifts against the headboard, settling you onto him with his half-hard cock still nestled inside, twitching faintly. Draping your legs over his knees, he starts massaging your inner thighs, soothing the soreness he knows must be there.

A series of sharp knocks echoes through the room.

“This is the chamberlain. I must confirm that the consummation rites have been fulfilled for your marriage to be deemed legitimate by the Grand Temple.”

Sylus scowls, eyes scanning over your sleeping form. “Can’t this wait in the morning?”

“This is necessary to eliminate any possibility of deceit in performing the rites.”

“Damn uptights,” he mutters. Then, a smirk plays at the corner of his lips. “Well, come in then.”

The door swings open, revealing the old chamberlain in his faded temple robes, his attention fixed on his ledger. He mumbles the schedule for the following day as he approaches the bed. When he finally looks up, expecting to see the usual ruffled, soaked sheets, he freezes, almost stumbling backward in shock.

You—the cherished Noir princess, known for your beauty and headstrong grace—lie exhausted, nestled against the imposing form of the feared Onichynus general behind you. His scarlet eyes glint as he sucks a mark onto the side of your neck, and beneath you, his impressive girth disappears into your swollen, intimate folds, generous amounts of your combined essences coating his base.

“This is evidence enough, no?” Sylus taunts, sneaking in a shallow thrust up to you, drawing a soft, breathless whine from your throat.

The chamberlain stammers, his words fumbling as he backs toward the door.

“Y—Yes, the rites are confirmed. Good night,” he rushes out in a single breath before slamming the door behind him.

Chuckling, Sylus pulls his sleeping wife closer, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You’ll need the rest for the long journey ahead, and for whatever adjustments await you back on the mainland.

But, in the end, none of that matters.

He’s just grateful to have found his beloved kitten again.

check out my other works!

[misstycloud]

Isekai’d yandere x f.reader

We’ve all heard about reader getting isekai’d into another universe and bonding with the characters, but what if it was the opposite and the yandere was isekai’d while reader’s just a background character.

————-

You were the mere daughter of a baron. You were pretty, yes, but nothing to gape in awe at. To summarise, you were nothing special. Then how come the heir of a grand duchy followed you around like a puppy seeking its masters attention? Especially since it was only the day earlier that he smitten with another young miss, who he’d declared with his actions was to become his future fiancée.

Yandere! Noble who suddenly approached you out of nowhere one day. You weren’t friends and had hardly ever spoken; to ask directions or work in pairs, perhaps. He was way too cheery speaking to you. It was completely out of character for him. Where did the normally stoic and unphased young man go? He was certainly not to be found here. No, this man chatted your ear off and did not understand that you wished to be left alone. It didn’t feel very safe anymore when all his admirers glared daggers your way. There was one you were especially afraid of. He was head over heels in love with her before. What has changed? You always saw them together and she was the only one he’d smiled at genuinely. Now he didn’t even spare her a glance.

Yandere! Noble who sought you out whenever he had free time. He wanted to accompany you in breaks between your classes at the academy, he wished to escort you to town and he even showed up outside your estate. His change in behaviour was puzzling, but not as much as the shift in his speech. What were these ‘bruh’, ‘sigma’ and ‘I’m cooked’? You didn’t understand any of it, no matter how much he used it around you. You suppose you were thankful he did turn it down a notch when in others company. You already had a hard time with it, you didn’t think it was necessary for others to suffer as well.

Yandere! Noble who had been shocked when they died and woken up in the world of their favourite romance game. They had read a lot of isekai novels but never once thought the thing was actually real. Wait, if this was their favourite game, then wouldn’t that mean that you were there too? Yes! Maybe they should thank Truck-kun for hitting them on their way to work. This was much better than any ordinary life a citizen could have. At first they thought they’d be stuck in the body of a villain or a side character, but they were pleasantly surprised to find themselves being the male lead of the game. He was rich, noble, influential and devilishly handsome. He had everything.

Yandere! Noble who immediately went to the academy to find you. When playing the game, they never found themselves attracted to the female lead, despite the fact she was modelled after the general population’s preferences. It just didn’t work for them. No, they liked you. Loved you even! It didn’t matter that you were nothing more than a simple background character. You were way better and cuter than any other love interest! You kept to yourself and didn’t have many friends, however you were still very kind and modest. On top of that, you were also an animal lover- exactly like them! The two of you also shared one other interest. They wanted to know if you shared more, but unfortunately the information on you was limited(not created because you’re not important).

Yandere! Noble who wrote an email to the game developers about how they should make extra content that should only feature new information and updates on you. They insist it would sell well(no one except them would buy). Sadly they never got a reply back. Rude ass company. Maybe they should’ve claimed mental health damage because the love interests were bad, so they could sue.

Yandere! Noble who couldn’t care less about the female lead. Unfortunately they got isekaid to at the point of the game where you’d have to enter a relationship with the female lead, that you could break off eventually if you wanted to chase after someone else. And sadly for her, you were the only option. The look on her face was laughable as they told her they could give rats ass about her and how they’ve found someone much better than her in all ways.

Yandere! Noble who then realised they were not bound by any rules. In a lot of isekai the person would have to follow some original rules at least in the beginning, but there was no system or points you needed to collect. They could do whatever they wanted. They had the power, the looks, the wealth and what they wanted was you.

There is no way you’d ever say no to a future grand duke, right?

[sh1-n0bu]

so,,,, despite being a monsterfucker for a while, i never really got the love for yautjas. until i was forced to watch killer of killers due to the rampage going on my feed and uhhhhh im pretty sure there are at least a handful of monsterfuckers out there who wants to top/dom a yautja like myself. also this isnt much of a fic. its just a sudden little thought i had after going thru the rule 34s tag of yautjas. no yautja in particular, take it as you will, imagine whoever you like. i dont know anything about yautjas or how this all works. im just horny and freeballing it. feel free to correct me

so… yautjas huh? what an alien species and mind you, this is my first impression of these guys. despite the majority of the killer or killers tags thirsting over the warlord — as we all should — i found myself liking the viking predator a lot. the goons are cute too. the three predators of the movie parts even have names too. jotun, oni and baron in the order they appear. of course, the guy in the pic above, the last one everyone is thirsting over, is warlord predator, also called ‘Grendel King’ by one of the characters

anyways, enough geeking over the yautjas of the movie, time to move on to my actual brainworms

yautjas are alien species and just as they are humanoid, some parts of them are indeed humanoid. and some parts, not so much. i have seen a decent amount of yautja smuts on the yautja tag — haven’t read them yet bc i prefer to be the one to fuck rather than get fucked — but one headcanon answer had me thinking multiple things

yautjas — male, female doesn’t matter — have two dicks and a vagina as well as an asshole. bigenital, if you will. every yautja can therefore sire their young, but the female yautjas tend to sire them and grow them in their bellies due to their stomach having more padded muscles, serving as a protective meat shield for the babies. the male yautjas carry them as well, but it’s more common to see the females carry them

i can’t find the author but one author here on tumblr had given their thought that yautjas never knew about blowjobs and lemme add to that — fingering as well. look at their mouths and hands, full of claws, fangs, mandibles and shit. truly a creature meant for hunting and killing rather than feeling fleshly pleasure. yautjas don’t really care about it either, they’re more of an animal mating ritual type of pleasure seekers. find a yautja who shakes your fancy, court them, knot them full and have a few strong, next generation of young’ins. simple and straight to the point like an animal mating ritual. no need for foreplay, fighting and wrestling to see who will knot who is a foreplay enough for their species

blowjobs? never, unless one is trying to bite off the dick of the other one. their mandibles stretch and open, sure. but they will never stretch big enough to take the other’s dick into their mouths. even if they do manage to painfully keep their mandibles open at all times, their fangs and canine sharp teeth will lead to bleeding and injuries soon enough. so even if their two dicks are weeping at the tip, untouched, and their pussy is glistening wet, the easiest way to just get it done with is to fuck their cocks into the other’s folds. it’ll be full of yowls, cracks, chirps and even growls because i personally like to think that the yautjas have a ribbed dick with a spliced tip. not that their tips could open up like their mandibles, but it definitely gives odd sensations. add the constant bumping and ribbing feeling of the scales and folds of their cock and the mating session between yautjas are usually always loud

so what happens when a ‘ooman is thrown into the mix? a great fighter, a blooded one who has been marked by one of their kin (like lex in avp), a recurring champion from the gladiatorial combat? yautjas are impressed, respectful and some are even vying after your attention on the few occasions you’re allowed awake from the cryo sleep and wandering around the strange, deserted, hot world of theirs. their kin usually has a bias against ’oomans due to their race being resourceful and cunning. they’re just as smart as the yautjas, if not, even more. able to use whatever is around them for survival and able to keep going even after multiple injuries (bc adrenaline). they’re an annoying species and yautjas tend to stay away. a little bit less with you, though. they want to be in the presence of the undefeated champion of the gladiatorial combat, size you up and see if you are truly worth the heavy title you bear upon your meager ‘ooman shoulders

maybe one thing would lead to another or one had gotten interested in your strengths in the bedroom as well and that leads to a yautja receiving their first head and fingering. the moment you drop them to the ground and settle between their legs, the yautja is tempted to wrestle. it is a foreplay between their kin after all. but no, he was dealing with a ‘ooman right now and as excited he was about getting to the fucking, he was also curious. how do ‘oomans show affection? how do they mate? how do they carry their young? so many questions, so little time

they would stay down and obedient, an occasional curious thrills and crackles leaving their throat as their mandibles click and clack softly. mutually curious as well, you finally manage to take off their intricate and annoying loincloth like thing, dropping it to the ground. and the hum that escapes you is equally returned by the yautja as they watch, the soft clicking of their ever moving mandibles filling the silent room. a slit like opening. two of them, even, with what you assume is an asshole underneath them. rubbing the back of your finger’s knuckle over the one on top, you hear the slight rumble from their chest like a purr, taking it as a good sign

the slit on top is bigger than the one underneath. they’re much more harder and covered with protective shells and scales as well, rather then the second one underneath that seems more softer and gummy like a vagina. messing with the scaled one, you watch with an ever growing interest as the slit opens more and more before a cockhead is pushed out, followed by a second cockhead which was a little bit smaller. so, the yautjas have both anatomies huh? like certain animals and how their two cocks are kept inside a protective slit like some reptiles and lizards’

it’s bumpy, it’s ribbed, it even has little round shaped ribs on its sides too. such curious beings, how alike they could be to your kin but also so different. of course, there was much needed poking, prodding and an eager snooping around. two large uniquely shaped cocks and a vaginal opening as well as an asshole. interesting

hearing the impatient hisses of the yautja, you merely grumble under your breath, hissing back at him with annoyance upon being cut short of your little experiment. what do yautjas even do for pleasure anyways? do they fuck like humans do? must be it, right? at least they had the anatomy for it

the moment you get down on them, head between their strong, tight thighs and restless shifting body, a sound like a warning growl was heard before it was swiftly replaced by some soft noises like the purring of a cat. yautjas don’t know what blowjobs and fingering meant after all, their bodies prevented from such types of pleasure. so when your soft, small ‘ooman mouth took in the head of the bigger cock, the warmth around it felt like the yautja was melting in the fiery chasms of the many volcanoes of the yautja prime. it was soft, it was hot and it felt good. way too good to the point the creature was growling, groaning and even letting out odd hitched noises that you guessed was the closest to a moan

and when you put their entire dick into your mouth — with much anticipated gagging, choking and the constant wild bucks into your open mouth — deep throating the bigger cock while gently stroking their smaller cock using the slimy substance the tip oozed, the yautja has basically experienced heaven. the urge to just let go of ‘honor’ and ‘instincts’ and knot inside your warm, tight throat was strong. a deep, gurgly sound escaping them as their mandibles shook all over, unknowing of what to do when your free hand slipped further down and pushing your finger into their softer slit

if you thought the yautja was loud before, they were even louder now. constant, short little noises leaving them, rattling their huge body and even causing you to shake alongside as well. strong legs kicking and clawed hands tearing off the poor floor into shreds. it was a good feeling, the very best, even more than having a clan leader recognize them or hunting down the most honorable prey. ‘oomans’ hands and mouth felt good, they were amazing at fleshly pleasures and had the yautja acted on their interest in you a little bit earlier, they would have. they honestly should have because whatever you were doing to his poor life time long neglected dicks and gushing pussy were making the yautja feel odd. so so very odd. a tight coiling in their stomach, and they for a moment, thought you infected them with something

and then, the tight coils of his stomach is gone within a moment. a loud roar leaving the beast as their body went rigid like a spring, dreadlocks slipping into the floor in a heap as their legs even gave a little tremble. the tip lodged inside your throat twitched and shook, a thick substance filling up your mouth before you could pull it off, causing you to hack and cough out the strange liquid. it didn’t take long until their smaller dick was following along, spilling a smaller load into your jaws and chest, second slit tightening around your fingers as a soft, more thinner liquid like the one from his bigger cock coat your palm. all because your little ‘ooman fingers delved inside their cunt a bit further and seemed to have found a soft spot, loud roars and short breathy growls being switched to little cat like yowls. so, they were just as sensitive as humans, huh?

safe to say, the rumor of ‘oomans being extremely amazing at fleshly pleasures spread across yautja prime swiftly and before you know it, more and more yautjas are interested in a little endurance test with their longest reigning champion

[beloveds-embrace]

(The awaited regicide addition! A huge thank you to @sun-daddy-yoriichi and @thegreyjoyed for reading this beforehand and giving me their thoughts and pointing out the typos I missed! To @nightunite and everyone else, I hope you all enjoy!)

Original Post

Dukedom masterlist

The halls of the Palace were as oppressive as they were grand, a suffocating testament to a monarchy that, to you, had long since lost its soul. Towering columns of alabaster rose toward impossibly high ceilings, their surfaces carved with scenes of divine rulers ascending to eternal glory. The frescoes above- gold-leafed and luminous- depicted gods bestowing crowns upon mortal kings, and with those crowns, the right for greed.

It was a vision of power untouched by humility, a stark and painful mockery of the kingdom that groaned under its weight. Under its own monarchy’s weight.

You moved through the opulence with the practiced grace, your silks whispering softly against the cold marble floors. The jewels at your throat sparkled, but they felt like chains around your neck. No amount of finery could shield you from the oppressive weight of those walls- or the eyes of the man who ruled within them. You couldn’t wait until you could leave at last.

King Edgar, on the other hand, sat upon his throne of carved ebony and gold, draped in garments that spoke of wealth beyond even your imagination. But the man beneath them was a creature of cruelty. His gaze was sharp, predatory, as though he were dissecting those before him for weaknesses to exploit. Edgar wielded his authority like a weapon, each word carefully chosen to cut deep.

And you had made the mistake of challenging him. You and John both.

When Edgar imposed brutal taxes to fund yet another palace wing for a Queen never satisfied, for the concubines he keeps, John spoke out in the council chamber. When he refused aid to the starving eastern provinces, you arranged for secret shipments of grain. Neither defiances were ever bold enough to be declared treason, but it burned like an ember beneath his throne.

For this, you both earned Edgar’s ire.

But it wasn’t just ire. You wish it had just been ire.

Edgar’s disdain for you, specifically, had taken a far more personal turn. At court functions, he would find reasons to draw near on the now-rare chance you weren’t close enough to John, his presence impossible to ignore.

His hand would rest on your shoulder, his grip firm enough to press a message into your skin: I am in control. His words were always mix of thinly veiled insults and mocking observations, the look in his eyes something that made your stomach twist.

This last court gathering had been the worst yet. Edgar had been in rare form, seated at the head of a long banquet table while nobles competed for his favor. You had been seated nearby, as was customary for a duchess of your rank, but unfortunately, proximity to the king was a double-edged sword not even John could outright protect you from.

“You look radiant tonight, Duchess Pricee,” he had said, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the room. John’s hand landed on your thigh, squeezing lightly, comfortingly. “Tell me, do you think your husband appreciates your beauty, or is it wasted on him?”

The comment was met with nervous laughter from the assembled nobles, their eyes darting between you, John, and the king. You forced a tight smile, keeping your voice measured. “The Duke has always been a man of great appreciation, Your Majesty. For beauty, and for substance.” You turned to look at John then, finding safety in him.

Edgar’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened. The conversation moved on, but the tension lingered like a storm cloud. Later, as the banquet ended and the guests began to disperse, Edgar found you near one of the towering windows while you waited for John to finish speaking with a Baron. The light of the full moon was beautiful, but there was nothing serene about the way he cornered you.

“You should know your place, Duchess,” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear as he leaned in far too close to be proper. The scent of his perfumes was so heavy it made your head swim unpleasantly. “Perhaps I’ll remind you of it one day. You’d make a good teacher, at the very least, for my other women.”

The implication behind his words froze you to the core. You felt his hand graze your arm- light, but too close-before he turned and strode away, leaving you trembling with suppressed fury and fear. Queen Vivian, the only witness to this encounter, merely cuts you a dark, nasty look before she leaves as well.

You hated him. You hated her. You hated both of them.

You tell your men as much later that night, after Kyle helped you shower and kisses every inch of your skin until you could no longer think about the way Edgar had touched you.

John’s face darkened as you spoke. He sat by the fire, his broad shoulders hunched, his hands gripping the arms of his chair like he was holding himself back. Across from him, Simon’s jaw ticked, eyes unreadable beneath the flickering shadows of the room. Johnny paced the room, his usual good humor replaced by a simmering rage, while Kyle stood in the corner, his expression calm but his hands tight while he held yours.

“He’s a bastard,” Johnny muttered, accent thick with anger. “I’d love ta wipe that smug grin awff his face.”

“He’s more than a bastard,” John said, low and dangerous. “He’s a threat. To her. To the kingdom.”

Simon leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “This isn’t just about his treatment of her. The people are starving, dying in the streets while he and the Queen feast on their labor. They are desperate, and will grow more desperate as winter fully comes…” he trailed off, but you had always been sharp enough to read between the lines.

And still, you hesitated. “…are you saying that-?”

John looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “We are saying it’s time for a change. If this continues, we are looking at a kingdom that will fall.“

He stood up, striding until he was pulling you into his arms and Kyle easily let you go. “But if we stop it now… we are looking at a kingdom that will prosper under new rule.”

And so, the plan was born in that room.

But still, plans and results take time. In that time, you still do your best to help your people:

The smell of smoke lingered in the air, heavy with the scent of charred wood and burnt houses. You stood at the edge of a village that had been reduced to rubble by one of the king’s careless decrees- his soldiers had come through a week ago, demanding supplies the villagers couldn’t afford to give. When they refused, their homes were set ablaze, leaving them with nothing but ash and grief.

And now, you were a witness to it. But you wouldn’t be a bystander.

John stood beside you, his face carved from stone. His shoulders and back were set straight, but his eyes softened when he turned to the group of villagers huddled nearby.

They looked up at him with a mix of awe and apprehension, as though they weren’t sure whether to trust the tall, battle-hardened man who had appeared out of nowhere with promises of help, and he couldn’t blame them. He likely reminded them of the same soldiers that ruined their lives, but he hoped your presence would soothe that animosity just a little.

Simon moved silently among the wreckage, not a Duke; masked and armoured, he had no identity in this moment. Yet, when a small child stumbled toward him, soot smudged across her cheeks and her eyes teary, he knelt without hesitation even when he could see her father and mother rushing towards them.

“Easy now.” he said, his voice low but gentle as he handed her a chunk of bread from his pack. The girl blinked up at him, her tiny fingers clutching the food as though it might vanish if she let go. Simon stepped back when her parents reach them, nodding his head towards them.

“Got the last of the grain sorted,” Johnny called, his arms loaded with sacks of provisions like the other servants. His coice carried a warmth that drew the attention of the villagers. “We’ll get it distributed fair and square- no one will be left hungry, aye?”

And Kyle was already speaking with the village elder, his calm, measured tone putting the man at ease. He had a natural way of connecting with people, one you were so fondly familiar with, and soon, the elder was nodding, gesturing to the scattered remains of what had once been homes. “We’ll help you rebuild,” Kyle said firmly. “But we need to know if any of the king’s soldiers are still nearby.”

They weren’t worried about repercussions or punishments; the King and Queen would just likely use this as an opportunity to boast about how they convinced John Price and his lovely little wife to help those in need.

As the men worked, you found yourself among the women and children, offering what comfort you could. You knelt beside an older woman who was cradling a young boy with a bandaged arm. “You’ve done well to keep it clean,” you said, inspecting the makeshift dressing. “But it needs proper tending. Let me help, please.”

She hesitated for a moment before nodding, tired eyes brimming with gratitude. As you worked, the boy looked up at you, his small voice breaking the silence. “Are you the Queen?”

The question startled you, and you glanced at John, who had overheard. He smiled faintly, his expression softening as he turned back to the villagers he was helping.

“No,” you replied, brushing the boy’s hair back gently. “I’m just someone who cares.”

Though you still heard the older woman sigh quietly. “… should’ve been you the Queen.”

Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the village settled into an uneasy calm, the five of you gathered around a fire with the villagers, everyone now with coats and blankets to fight off the chilly night.

“They will likely not come back.” John told them, easing them more. “But even if they did- the Duchess and I will help. The Price and Riley duchies will never turn you away.”

You glanced at the men surrounding you, their determination. They were the hope these people desperately needed. Not a greedy King and an impassive Queen.

Your plans had to succeed.

Late at nights, you all sit together. Tonight, you were pressed to Johnny’s side, finding comfort in the soft smell of sugars and cinnamon and his arm warm and heavy around you.

John spoke, his voice a low rumble. “The army’s discontent is no secret. Edgar’s burned too many bridges, especially with this recent village raid, and Simon and I still have allies who’d follow us.” His blue eyes met yours, steady and unyielding. “But we’ll need more than soldiers to topple a king.”

Simon nodded. “That’s where Kyle comes in.” He said, squeezing Kyle’s hand. “His network runs deeper than the king realizes. Servants, merchants, guards and soldiers- they all talk. We’ll plant the seeds of truth, let Edgar’s reputation rot from the inside out.”

Kyle leaned against Simon, squeezing back. “I don’t need to do much. People are already whispering. About the taxes, the famine, the soldiers running unchecked. Give them a reason to believe the king can fall, and they’ll push the rest of the way.”

Johnny grinned, his usual lightheartedness sharpened into something fierce. “And that’s where I come in, eh? The common folk already hate him. They just need a spark. I’ll give it to them- allies, stories, newspapers, whatever it takes to light the fire.”

Then all eyes turned to you.

“You want me to be the face of this,” you said, more a statement than a question. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you… weren’t afraid. You trusted them fully and unabashedly.

“You’re more than the face,” John said firmly. “You’re the reason, beloved. The people already call you the People’s Duchess. They trust you. They have reason to trust you.”

Simon leaned forward, his gaze locking with yours. “They need someone they believe in. Someone who cares about them more than titles or power.”

“You don’t have to be ready,” Kyle added, gentler. “You just have to lead. We’ll do the rest.”

Johnny kissed your cheek, raising your hands to kiss your knuckles. “They see you as hope, lass. And hope’s a powerful thing.”

Such a big responsibility, and yet…

If they believed you could lead this, maybe you could.

Another night, weeks into the planning, spreading and investigating, John found you in your study. The room was dimly lit, the fire casting warm light over the worn leather of the armchairs. You sat by your desk, going over the latest reports from the villages who were slowly and steadily understanding, when you felt his presence behind you.

“You shouldn’t have to carry this alone, my Duchess,” he said softly, leaning over you to brush a kiss across your bare nape, jewelry forgone for comfort.

You turned to face him, smiling. When he cupped your cheeks with such gentle hands, you leaned into his touch right away. “I’m not alone. I have all of you, no?”

John stepped closer, his fingers brushing your skin. “We’ll protect you. From him, and from anyone who dares to harm you.”

His words, the protectiveness that laced each letter, carried a weight that made your breath hitch. When he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair as the kiss deepened, his hand sliding to your waist to pull you up and closer.

When Simon walked in moments later, he froze. Then, with a low chuckle, he closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” John said, voice husky as he straightened, his hand still on your waist. You were trying to catch your breath, butterflies fluttering in your stomach and a slow, curling heat between your thighs.

Simon’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the air grew thicker and warmer. Your dress felt like too much on your skin- you wanted to take it off. “You’ve no idea how much you mean to us, do you, darling?”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and when he stepped closer, his hand cupped your cheek with surprising tenderness. He leaned in, his kiss slower, more deliberate than John’s, but no less consuming.

When the door opened again, it was Johnny and Kyle who entered, their expressions shifting from surprise to something far more intense as they took in the scene. What followed was a night of you being adored, their touches and whispers a vow, a promise to make you Queen, a devotion that words could never capture.

Eventually, in due time, it happened.

The coup began with the precision of a blade, honed by months of preparation and carried out by hands both steady and ruthless.

Under the cover of night, John and Simon led their soldiers into the Palace, moving like shadows through the grand halls. Years of military training were evident in every step, every silent order given and every hand waved. John’s voice cut through the tense air as he directed his men, his commands sharp and decisive.

Simon reminded everyone why he had earned the respect he was given.

Kyle’s network of informants worked in perfect synchronization with the military strike, just as they’d predicted. Loyal (to the people) servants within the palace dismantled its infrastructure from the inside- locks were jammed, gates sealed, and secret escape routes collapsed.

What had once been a fortress of power was turned into a cage, leaving Edgar and Vivian trapped within their own walls.

Beyond the palace, Johnny roamed the streets, igniting the people’s fury like sparks to dry timber. His words were a rallying cry, weaving tales of justice and liberation that resonated with a populace crushed under Edgar’s rule. Crowds gathered in the streets, their anger swelling into an uncontainable wave and further encouraged by Johnny.

By dawn, the city was awake, and its people were ready to reclaim what had been stolen from them.

Inside the estate, you paced the length of your study, the minutes dragging by like hours. The room felt stifling despite the cool night air, your thoughts a cacophony of fear and hope. You had wanted to be there, to stand beside them in the heart of the action, but your men had insisted you remain safe and sound. The helplessness clawed at you, but you trusted them.

You had to.

The doors burst open, and Johnny stepped inside. His clothes were disheveled, streaked with blood and soot, but his grin was feral and triumphant and you could feel a matching grin forming on your face. The fire in his eyes was unshakable. “It’s done. The palace is ours, lass. It’s time.”

The throne room was a battlefield, its previous grandeur marred by the evidence of the rebellion. The alabaster columns still stood tall, but the golden trim was tarnished by smoke and blood. Soldiers that did not join the rebellion lay bound and defeated across the marble floors, their weapons scattered.

And at the center of it all knelt Edgar, expensive robes torn and stained, his crown discarded and dented, all glory stripped from him. Vivian clung to him, her once-perfect facade crumbling into a mask of fury and fear.

“This is treason!” she shrieked, her voice piercing the heavy air. “You’ll hang for this, all of you! Guards! Guards!”

Edgar ignored her, and raised his head as you entered, enraged. “You dare to challenge me?” he spat, blood his voice trembling despite his bravado. “You think you can rule this kingdom? You’re nothing but a woman playing dress-up, a woman with too much freedom-“

You stepped forward, the sound of your heels- Simon had bent down himself, kissed your ankles and placed them on your feet by his own hands- echoing through the chamber. The weight of your fury steadied your voice as you replied. “And you’re nothing but a tyrant who will be forgotten. You will not be remembered for your glory, or achievements. Just… a simple speck of dust.”

At your signal, Simon hauled Edgar to his feet with ruthless efficiency, his gloved hand gripping the torn fabric of Edgar’s robes.

Edgar’s sneer faltered as his gaze flicked to John, then to Kyle, whose cold, measured gaze spoke of a resolve that could not be broken. Finally, his eyes landed on Johnny, who leaned casually against the throne, his dagger spinning idly between his fingers, his grin sharp as the weapon itself.

“You’ve surrounded yourself with traitors, John-” Edgar hissed, but his voice wavered, betraying the fear he couldn’t suppress. “This bitch-“

“Watch your words.” John shoved his sword right in front of Edgar’s face, a scoff falling out of his mouth, while Simon chose to grip Edgar by the roots of his graying hair, pulling tight. “The mud at the bottom of her heels is worth more than you’ll ever do, Edgar. Do not speak of treachery when you, your wife, and your family had betrayed this kingdom first.”

The weight of John’s words hung heavy in the air as Edgar’s sneer crumbled, and for the first time, you saw fear in his eyes.

It made you… happy.

It made you happier to know what their fates were, watching Simon and Johnny drag them away. You’d have to kiss them extra hard later… including some other things, of course.

When the throne room was finally cleared, John ordering the soldiers and Kyle speaking to the palace servants, you lingered near the grand windows overlooking the celebrating city. The adrenaline still coursed through your veins, leaving you trembling.

The men found you there, the tension of the night giving way to a quiet that was almost more overwhelming.

Johnny reached you first, his usual teasing grin tempered with a softness you rarely saw. “You were bloody brilliant in there, sweetheart,” he said, warm and fond. “Never seen a tyrant look so small.” His hand brushed your arm, and his voice dropped, the edge of his accent rougher now. “You’ve got more fire in you than half the men I’ve known.”

Before you could reply, John stepped forward, his presence grounding you. He cupped your chin with surprising tenderness, tilting your face. “You’ve had more done tonight than Edgar’s done in all his miserable life.” He’s quiet, filled with pride.

Simon appeared at your other side. His gloved hand settled on your waist, unyielding. “You’re ours now,” he murmured, low and rough. “Our Queen. And no one- not a king, not an army- will ever lay a hand on you again.”

Kyle joined you last. His fingers brushed yours, as gentle as a whisper. His eyes were on the celebrations and songs, then on you. “You’ve given them hope,” he said softly, admiration shining through. “You’ve given us all hope, love. Let us retire for the night, hm? Everything else can wait until the morning.”

“For now,” Simon cut in, shaking his head, and his eyes were alight and alive. He looked at you in such a way that made you shiver, cheeks warm. His hands settled on your waist, squeezing. “I’d like to see our Queen on her rightful throne.”

No disagreements rang out.

And in the morning, the sun rose on a kingdom reborn.

Standing on the palace balcony, a crown on your head, you looked out over the gathered crowd. Their cheers rang out, echoing through the city with a fervor that sent pride up your spine. The people had come not just to celebrate the fall of a tyrant but to welcome the dawn of a new era.

As the golden light bathed the kingdom, you felt the weight of your new crown. It was heavy, but you were not alone; you had John, your King. Simon, Kyle, and Johnny. All of them were with you, supporting you.

You’d never want for anything else.

[sansaorgana]

— STILL PURE

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — Feyd yells at his daughter for interrupting him at work. His wife confronts him about his behaviour as she tries to explain to the little Countess that her father was never taught how to express love.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Feyd is already the Baron in this fic but I assumed women cannot inherit on Giedi Prime so the daughter is "only" a Countess while her younger brother is a Na-Baron. I used my headcanon that if half-Harkonnen children have hair, then they're white because they lack pigment. I also wanted her to have big black Harkonnen eyes so badly... Basically, I wanted Feyd's daughter to look like this:

WORD COUNT — 2,990

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

STILL PURE

Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was circling around the big table in the conference room where the huge orb of Giedi Prime had been replaced with Arrakis’ one as one of his advisors was explaining the difficult situation regarding the spice production. The new wave of Fremen rebels who worshipped the long gone and deceased Muad’Dib decided to continue their idol’s legacy as they sabotaged the spice production controlled by The Harkonnen forces. The Governor of Arrakis was slowly losing control over the situation and Feyd would rather avoid going there himself. He was needed on Giedi Prime – especially now when The Emperor was on his deathbed. He had to be around in case something important would happen and everyone knew The Baron had his eyes set on the Imperial Throne. Feyd had to choose a new Governor of Arrakis or provide the current one with good advice, hoping for the Fremen problem to disappear soon. It was worrying him because it was giving him a bad reputation at the moment for having problems on Arrakis – it could make some leaders of the great houses to think he was not worthy enough to become the next Emperor.

Feyd’s hands were clasped behind his back as he circled like a shark and all his advisors looked down, taking a step back whenever he approached them. They knew his temper would only rise when he was angered whenever he would experience problems of such nature when it came to reigning over The Harkonnen properties.

“What does the Fremen leader say? Stilgar? That was his name?” Feyd barked at one of the scared advisors.

“Stilgar says he has no control over the cultists. He does not support their actions. He wants nothing but peace, my Lord,” the man bowed his head.

“How bad is it? The most important thing so far is to keep the problem on Arrakis a secret,” Feyd hummed to himself.

“Five percent of the decrease in the spice production income,” the other advisor answered. “Not bad, but can be noticeable in the amount we export.”

“We shall export some of our own private reserves to cover the loss. In the meantime, we have to deal with the cultists,” Feyd decided, already annoyed at the fact he had to sacrifice his own supplies just to cover up the careless governing of Arrakis which was not his fault. “Send more troops there, the operation should be classified confidential. Threaten Lord Volonov to take care of it. He’s got a month before I replace him with someone more capable…”

Quiet pat pat pat sound coming from the corridor was becoming louder and louder until the black doors finally opened slightly and the guard standing by them spotted a pair of two big black eyes staring up at him. 

“My Lord,” he tried to catch The Baron’s attention but Feyd had his back turned on him as he angrily explained the details of the operation to his advisors.

Little Countess Sevina Harkonnen gave the guard puppy eyes as she struggled with the heavy doors. She wanted to come inside and he didn’t know what to do. He was aware that his Lord Baron did not want to be interrupted but he didn’t want to close the door in the girl’s face either. He peeked outside but there was no servant around and The Baroness was not there either. He decided it would be better for the girl to come inside instead of letting her roam around the fortress alone.

She smiled widely at him and jumped inside the room happily as her white hair bounced. She was lucky enough to inherit most of her mother’s looks although her skin was paler, her hair lacked pigment and her pupils were nothing but two completely big black orbs – those were the eyes even her father did not have but they were a result of the pollution her mother’s body had been exposed to on Giedi Prime at the time of her pregnancy.

Not realising how tense the atmosphere in the room was, she approached her father as all the advisors and servants were making wide eyes at her. She stood behind The Baron and pulled on his shirt to make him turn around.

At first, he flinched at the odd feeling of someone pulling him. Who would dare to do that? He turned around quickly with an angry expression on his face but then he looked down and spotted his little daughter. She startled a bit at the sight of his annoyance but she kept staring at him with her big black eyes filled with love and excitement.

“What are you doing here?” Feyd barked at her.

“Can you play with me, daddy?” She pleaded with a big grin.

A few lords smirked at that and Feyd’s jaw clenched. Not only had she interrupted him but also humiliated him.

“Can’t you fucking see that I’m busy?!” He lashed out at her and she took a step back as her eyes filled with tears and betrayal. “Get out of here!” He pointed at the doors.

They opened at that very moment as the nanny entered the room and looked around, surprised at the sight of scared faces and the little Countess being in the centre of attention.

“There you are!” She opened her arms at the sight of the girl. “I’ve told you not to interrupt your father, he’s in the middle of a meeting,” she reminded nervously as the girl ran up to her and hid her face in the folds of her skirt. “Forgive me, my Lord,” the nanny bowed her head at Feyd-Rautha.

“You’re useless,” he drawled. “Get out.”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” the woman held Sevina’s hand and walked out as quickly as possible.

You left the nursery where your son na-baron had just fallen asleep. On your way back to your chambers, you passed by the doors leading to your daughter’s room and you froze at the muffled sound of sobbing. Concerned, you decided to enter without knocking.

Little Sevina was crying on her bed as the scared nanny tried to calm her down by rubbing her back and shushing her.

“What is going on?” You asked as the doors closed behind you.

“M-my Lady Baroness,” the nanny stood up and straightened herself to bow down slightly.

“What happened? Why is she crying?” You asked her in an accusing tone.

“I… I lost her out of my sight when we were playing earlier today, I’m sorry… I found the young Countess in her father’s conference room. She had interrupted The Baron during a council… I think he lashed out at her, my Lady…” the woman tried to explain nervously as her hands shook.

“You’re useless,” you sighed and she widened her eyes. “Get out, I’ll deal with that myself,” you pointed at the doors and she bowed down once again before leaving quickly.

You approached the bed and sat on the edge of it as Sevina raised her head to look at you. Your heart squeezed in your chest at the sight of her cheeks covered in tears.

“What happened, sweet darling?” You asked her gently while you caressed her back.

“Why doesn’t daddy love me?” She asked with so much pain and sincerity in her tiny, shaky voice that you nearly cried yourself.

You knew it wasn’t true. Feyd-Rautha loved his daughter. Even though he had been a bit disappointed she was not a son in the beginning – he had only said not to worry about it much; that the boy would come next. He had been treating Sevina as if she was made of glass in the first months of her life, so scared of accidentally hurting her because hurt was all he knew.

“Oh, Sevina, don’t think that…” You sighed and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Daddy loves you so much,” you assured her but of course she wasn’t convinced. “He would kill and die for you, little girl,” you added.

“I don’t want him to kill and die for me, mummy,” Sevina sobbed as those were the concepts she was too young to grasp. “I just want daddy to play with me.”

“He doesn’t know how to play, Sevina,” you fixed her ruffled hair while trying to explain calmly. “He didn’t have a mummy or daddy when he was your age. The way I kiss you or hug you and play with you… He has never had it, darling,” you felt a few tears streaming down your cheeks. You were angry at your husband for yelling at your daughter and making her feel unloved but you were also angry at all the suffering that he had gone through in his past.

There were scars and damages that could never be undone, no matter how much you loved someone.

“And you’re big enough to know that daddy shouldn’t be interrupted when he’s working. You know that he tends to get angry more easily then,” you reminded her. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wanted daddy to play with me,” she snuggled closer to you and you kissed the top of her head, rubbing her tiny arms with your thumbs and cradling her softly to calm her down.

Feyd had been back in your chambers already when you entered. You froze at the sight of him, irritated. However, he seemed to act as usual.

“Five percent,” he snapped at you, although not angrily. “We will have to replace the loss with our own supply so the other lords don’t realise we are expecting problems on Arrakis. That stupid son of a bitch Volonov can’t handle a few cultists and…”

“I don’t care about any of that,” you interrupted him and turned your back on him to approach your vanity table and sit by it, pretending to be more interested in reapplying the powder.

“What?” Feyd was visibly surprised as he watched you in disbelief. You had always been a support for him, especially in difficult times. You both had been plotting on how to take over the Imperial Throne and now you weren’t interested in something as important as the problems with harvesting spice on Arrakis? It didn’t make sense to him.

You ignored him and focused on brushing your hair now, watching him from the corner of your eye in the reflection of the mirror of your vanity table. He approached you, hesitantly.

“What do you mean you’re not interested?” He tilted his head as he leaned in, trying to intimidate you but you didn’t even flinch.

“I’ve just spent an hour calming down Sevina. You yelled at her,” you eventually looked up to look deep into his eyes. He took a deep breath in, irritated.

“She should have learnt by now not to interrupt me,” Feyd straightened his back and walked away. “She’s spoiled,” he added. “Knows nothing about discipline. It’s your fault.”

“She’s a little girl,” you turned around. “You can’t expect military habits from her. She’s your daughter, Feyd.”

“She’s lucky I only yelled. If I interrupted my uncle as a child like that, I’d be punished!” He raised his voice at you, frustrated that you were defending your daughter and making a problem out of something that he considered to be normal.

You hated it when he would raise his voice at you. You stood up angrily and yelled as well.

“Oh, so you think she should be raised the same way you were?!” You asked. “Alright then! Go to her room, grab her by the neck and flog her back with a whip just because she wanted to play with her father!” You pointed at the doors furiously as your eyes were burning with wrath. “Go on! I dare you.”

But Feyd didn’t even move. His jaw was clenched as he was staring at you speechlessly.

“Go. What are you waiting for?” You kept pushing him. “Go on.”

You kept looking into his eyes with so much intensity he eventually gave up and looked down, awkwardly as the guilt started to creep in. You won.

“You rejected her. She thinks you don’t love her,” your voice calmed down but it was still vicious. “And I was assuring her that you do but it felt as if I was assuring myself, too,” you added, just to hurt him. “I can’t stand to look at you, Feyd-Rautha,” you drawled and approached the doors to leave him alone but not without striking the final blow. “I can’t believe I wanted to give you children so badly,” you turned your head to look at him as he looked up, surprised at your words, “because you don’t deserve them.”

The doors opened in front of you and you walked out to go back to your daughter.

You were sitting on the black fluffy carpet in the middle of Sevina’s room. She was on your lap, with her tiny arms around your neck, cuddling you. There were toys scattered all around the floor but she wanted to take a break for the loving cuddles. She was very unusual for a half-Harkonnen and you were very aware of the fact she was making most people around feel uncomfortable.

Not only her father but everyone in the fortress were stiff around sweet little Sevina who was so full of life and curiosity, always wanting to hug everyone – even servants and guards. Wherever she went, there was a sound of laughter and a sudden feeling of warmth. Countess Sevina Harkonnen was the very first little girl living in that fortress in a long time and she was so different from all its inhabitants. She was too young to know that she was a daughter of Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen – a man feared all over the Empire. That her bloodline was cursed with death and violence. She was still pure and innocent. Perhaps she was a living proof that The Harkonnens were not born this way after all – but they were made in the endless cycle of abusive upbringing. You did not want the same fate for her. You knew she would have to get rougher with time but you hoped she would still remain gentle, too.

The doors to her room opened and you looked up. At the sight of your husband, you protectively put your arm around your little girl. You doubted that he wanted to do what you had angrily suggested before but you wanted to make sure he wouldn’t anyway. Sevina stiffened at the sight of her father and clung to you. It brought you pain to realise that at that very moment she was afraid of him.

“Sevina, we have to talk,” Feyd stood above you two as he started in a serious tone. You gave him a scolding look and your little girl hid her face in the crook of your neck, hiding. “You know perfectly well not to interrupt me while I’m working.”

Long silence occurred. You could see Feyd’s struggle as he had no idea what to do to fix this situation between him and his daughter.

“Sevina, apologise to daddy,” you looked down and she looked up with tears in her big black eyes. “You shouldn’t have interrupted him and you know that, darling,” your voice was soft and calm and she sniffed.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” Sevina turned her body around to face him but she refused to look at him.

“Now, you apologise to Sevina for being mean,” you looked up at your husband and you spotted panic in his eyes. “Now,” you insisted sternly.

“I’m sorry for being mean to you,” Feyd crouched down to be on her level. She hesitantly looked at him. “Can I get a hug, too?” He asked and his voice broke a tiny bit. 

Slitting someone’s throat open was less awkward and unusual to him than to ask for a hug. Your heart ached for him but you were an adult capable of understanding his patterns. Sevina was not. 

Her heart was big, though, and she loved her father, so she would forgive him everything. She nodded her head with a happy smile and ran into his arms to squeeze him tight. Tears pricked your eyes at the sight.

“I love you, darling,” Feyd whispered quietly with his cheek pressed to the top of her head. “I would kill for you. I would die for you,” he confessed.

“But she doesn’t want any of that,” you explained. “She just wants you to spend time with her.”

“Is that right?” He looked down at his little girl and she looked up with her puppy eyes as she nodded. Her tiny hands reached out to cup his face.

“I love you, daddy,” she assured him. “Can you play with me?”

“I don’t know how to play, I’m sorry,” he admitted with guilt in his voice.

“I will teach you,” she hugged him again.

Feyd put his arms around his little girl and pulled her closer. You crawled on the carpet to give him a hug, too. You could feel that he was slightly trembling, so you leaned in to place a kiss on his temple as your hand caressed his head soothingly.

“It’s not weak to show affection,” you reminded him in a whisper. “I’ve never loved you more than when you are like this.”

Feyd laid his eyes on you. They were filled with a mix of pain, guilt and relief. At the end of the day, the only approval he was seeking was yours. You had him wrapped around your little finger.

“So, how do you want to play?” He asked Sevina as he caressed her white hair with admiration. She clapped her hands cheerfully.

“I want to be a Princess,” her eyes sparkled. “And you’ll be my guard.”

Feyd chuckled at that, showing off his black teeth. Sevina giggled as she had never found them scary.

“Soon enough, my darling one, you’ll be a real Princess,” he assured her.

MASTERLIST

[seresinhangmanjake]

An Heir: Part 3

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You and Feyd intend to be together forever--marry, have children, lead Giedi Prime side by side--but your plans are disrupted when the Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit reveals Lady Fenring is pregnant and, to Feyd's utter shock, the baby is his.

Notes/Warnings: Based on a request from @tgmreader. Pregnancy.

Words: 3300

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2

When you agreed to be kept on Giedi Prime, you had a plan. You knew what to tell your parents: that you were ill and wished to return home before the House meetings concluded. Three more days of meetings were to take place on Giedi Prime, and once they finished, it would be two more days of travel back to your planet before your parents would discover you were not home. That seemed enough time for Feyd to remove Lady Margot and bring you out of the shadows. But when he went to have her arrested, she was gone. Vanished, as if she had never set foot in the fortress.

Feyd only became more determined to keep you well-hidden. The Baron had not yet been informed of your pregnancy, and not until your safety was guaranteed would Feyd reveal the truth to his uncle’s court. If the Baron knew, it would quickly reach the Gene Besserit, and that would only make it harder to protect you. Not worth the risk, Feyd had told you. He didn’t trust that the Bene Gesserit were not lurking about somewhere.

But days passed, so many that you had no choice but to send a transmission to your handmaid back on your home planet, asking her to imitate your handwriting in a letter explaining that you had gone to Corrino to spend time with the Princess. Your parents would find it upon their return, and while there was a chance of confusion on their part, you and the Princess had a bond, and it was unlikely they would be so distraught at your sudden departure to feel the need to verify your whereabouts. 

Since then, two more weeks have come and gone. Feyd has found nothing from his search for Lady Margot; his men have returned with no clue as to her whereabouts on Arrakis; his spies have not sent word of her presence on Wallach IX, and you are getting restless, struggling to find the difference between yourself and a prisoner within a room once built for royal concubines. 

You know why he chose the room for your cell. Only the Harkonnens are supposed to know of its location. But still, something bitter fills your belly whenever you rehash the fear you had at ending up in this very space when you learned Feyd had impregnated a Bene Gesserit.

I was not going to be your concubine, is what you’d said. Yet by not being permitted to leave, you’re hidden more than any concubine ever would be. While Feyd is preoccupied day and night with the hunt, you dine alone, you sleep alone, you read stories to your unborn baby alone. 

Just a bit longer, you tell yourself. Then surely, you will have the freedom you crave, the freedom that allows you to join him at his side. 

—

Freedom does not come in the form you expect. There is no open door for you to step through. No light of day. No fresh air. Freedom from your room comes in the form of a gag shoved between your lips as you sleep, a bag thrown over your head, and two thick arms around your waist, lifting you from your bed. 

You scream for Feyd, but you can hardly hear your own muffled voice. You thrash in the grasp, but the arms holding you are locked. You’re hanging over a shoulder for what feels like hours due to the panic that rises with each step away from where you are supposed to be, and you can’t think clearly long enough to focus on where you’re going. You don’t count the steps. You lose track of the turns through hallways. 

Then suddenly, the air is different, stifling. You’re set on your feet. The grip on you is replaced by a hand on your back, shoving you forward. You stumble and catch yourself before you rip the bag from your head and the gag from your mouth, tossing them aside.

Another room encases you. One you’ve never seen, empty of all furnishings and windows. The walls and floors are the same shade of black, shiny and smooth like sharpened metal, and their sameness makes them appear blended together. It’s a hollow cube. And you’re trapped.

Your nerves spike. Your baby kicks, but it’s unlike the kicks you’re used to. This one is sharp, quick, as if in warning. 

“Be still,” you hear. 

And then you feel it, the way it weaves through the sections of your brain and latches on with the pointed fangs of a serpent. The way it settles deep into your gut. The way it spreads through you, infecting every motion and function of your body.

You imagined many times what it might feel like, but in none of your imaginings did you suspect such…pain. You never imagined that your heartbeat would no longer feel like your own, or like your lungs and your bones and the blood in your veins might betray you at any moment. 

Is this what Feyd felt when she had hold of him?

You hope not. 

Another stabbing sensation pierces through the shell of your skull as you uselessly fight and struggle to gulp more than a molecule of air down your throat. Your arms throb from the heavy pressure that is holding them down at your sides. 

“Turn” is an echo bouncing between your ears, and before you can even process the word, your legs are complying. Your body twists, bringing you face-to-face with the only other souls in the space. 

Her expression is blank, though her downturned lips leave her in a permanent frown. A hood is draped over her pulled-back blonde locks. Her hands are clasped, resting at her stomach where a baby should be, but a bump is missing from under the compressing corset of her black dress. 

She nods to the man at her side—a Harkonnen guard. You try to memorize his face for later. You’ll tell Feyd and he’ll have the man dealt with. But then again, if he is allowing his face to be shown at all, it’s unlikely he believes you will survive through the night. 

“Leave us,” Lady Margot says, and with a grunt, the guard does. 

As the door closes behind him, she watches you, expertly prying, skillfully examining. Her eyes trail from your face down your body. They stop at your stomach. Your hands push against their invisible bindings in an attempt to protect your unborn child, but the power over you is too strong. 

The Bene Gesserit moves forward, her heels clicking with each languid step. As she comes to a halt in front of you, a long breath leaves her nose.

“You’re ruining him,” she then says. Blue eyes flick to yours. “You know that, don’t you?”

Her lips thin and her brow pinches, but her gaze softens, almost as if remorseful over what she has to do to you. But you know better. You know an act when you see one, and you see sliminess behind those irises, violence tapped into. She’s like Feyd, willing to do what she must to get what she wants, unashamed about what that may be. 

“You’re interfering with destiny,” she continues, a gentle, unsettling tone to her voice. “Our child has been seen to have great potential. She will be a leader. She will change our worlds. Why would you want to meddle in something so significant?”

Even if you could respond, you’re not sure what you would say. That Feyd wants your child? That the love you share should be what determines his fate? It would not be enough to sway her. No one of power cowers to love, certainly not a Bene Gesserit, one of many women who live by mission over morals. 

Her head tilts. “You’re young. I understand this. But you’ve made a mistake.”

Lady Margot looks down and slides her left hand's fingers into the right sleeve of her gown. She pulls something free that you immediately identify once catching a reflective glint in the lower edge of your vision.

“This must be done. You decided so the moment you permitted him to keep you,” she says. Her open palm holds the small knife out to you. “Take it.”

Your arm thrusts forward and your fingers wrap around the hilt. Dread fills your gut. 

“Place it at your throat.”

A tear forms, trickling down your cheek as the sharp edge of cool metal settles against your skin. You close your eyes. You picture Feyd, your baby, what could have been, what was so close to being, and another droplet squeezes out from under your lashes. 

Lady Margot’s Voice infiltrates the beauty of your thoughts. “Now, cut your–”

A deep wail of fury forces her words to surrender to a gasp. Your eyelids snap open to find Feyd’s arm slashing horizontally toward Lady Margot’s neck. She trips out of the way, narrowly missing the edge of the blade in your lover’s hand. Feyd practical growls. He lunges for her once more, but again misses her small frame, her body skittering to the side just in time. 

Ever so slightly, the intangible strength holding you still loosens. Your fingers twitch. Your arm feels the weight of being held up for too long and your elbow dips an inch. 

With her back to you, Lady Margot retreats a step in your direction, then another, slowly, as if subtle movements might blend her into the walls like a small prey concealing itself within the grasses to avoid its predator. But it’s a wasted effort. Feyd is honed in, tracking her every motion. Her hands fist into the skirts of her dress as if preparing to lift them to better aid her escape. 

“Guard!” she then shouts. 

Your lungs take in the air they’ve been craving.

“Dead,” Feyd responds, and another strike of Lady Margot’s panic finally tips the aura of the room. 

She continues her cautious attempt at fleeing, her head turning from left to right and back, searching for a second exit unimpeded by Feyd’s monstrous frame. He continues to descend upon her, the distance between them closing. Your limbs begin to regain their own power as the tendrils woven into your brain unwind and recede. 

“S-Stop,” her Voice tries, but it only results in a moderate jerk of Feyd’s head and a tick in his jaw before his sights are targeted back on her. He takes another step. As does she. Your arm falls to your side. The blade nearly drops from your grasp, but you grip it tighter, keeping it firmly against your palm.

Then she is within reach. 

You act on instinct.

The gurgling you hear first, a sound that breaks through the ringing in your ears. Crimson is what you notice next. The color seeps around the edges of the metal. Then it’s the disgustingly unique scent of iron, and the feel of flesh almost gripping the blade in desperation to keep as much blood in the body as possible. When you pull it free, a waterfall drains down the side of her neck. 

Feyd watches, his expression unchanged, as Lady Margot’s knees give out and her head slams against the floor. A puddle forms beneath her, but you’re too stunned to move away from its rapid growth. Blood touches your toes, breaking into rivers around your feet. 

Both your blade and Feyd’s race to the floor as you feel his gaze latch onto you. You don’t meet his eyes, your own wide and stuck to the wall ahead.

He rushes forward. Your wrists are encased and he pulls you from the body’s reach. With his hands planted on your cheeks, he tips your head back to get a good look at your neck. You can sense a light, warm droplet running down your skin that he brushes away with his thumb. An expelled breath coats your face as he rests his forehead on yours. You haven’t blinked, and your eyes are going dry. You start to quiver as the reality of what you’ve done sinks in. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

“I-I didn’t–”

Feyd pulls back and forces you to look at him. “You protected our baby.”

You protected our baby. You protected the baby. Your baby. His baby. Yes, you protected. 

That statement sinks in, allowing you to finally blink. You take in his face—the worry, the pride, the relief. Your nod is shaky and unsure, but he nods with you. 

“How…How did you know?” you ask. 

“You weren’t in your room,” he tells you. “I found the guard away from his post. He squealed after one stab.” He wraps your arms around his waist and presses your head against his chest and holds you.

You hug him, his form in your embrace being the one thing that can keep you sane in this moment. “What do we do?”

“You do nothing. I will handle it.”

—

It wasn’t nothing that Lady Margot’s life had been taken. You both knew that. But Feyd had a way of working around the truth when he needed to. So he told the Baron and Reverend Mother that a guard had killed her, thinking she was an intruder at the late hour, and that he had killed the guard for the mistake. 

To the Baron, that detailing of events was accepted as an unfortunate incident. Any emotion on his part was subtle and driven by the disappointment of losing an heir. The Reverend Mother, however, appeared much more skeptical. 

Not once during Feyd’s twisting of the truth did the Reverend Mother’s stare drift from you, or more specifically, from your slight bump of a stomach that was hidden under your dress. You wanted to shrink away from her, that desire doubling when Feyd officially revealed both your pregnancy and that Lady Margot was at no point bearing his child. A flicker of surprise set in the Baron’s eyes, but nothing altered the Reverend Mother’s expression. Nothing said changed the frown etched onto her face. 

It was a look of silent, composed frustration for ruining the stability of their plans, and it reminded you so much of Lady Margot that it wreaked havoc on your nerves. You recalled the light that left her eyes, the warmth of her blood at your feet. Your hands began to shake. Your throat went dry. What you had done was a stain on your conscience, unforgivable.

For many months following the meeting, you expected retaliation to come at any moment. Feyd assured you otherwise, claiming that all of Giedi Prime knew of your pregnancy and so the Bene Gesserit would not unleash devastation on the planet’s people by murdering the Harkonnen heir and the woman who would birth him. 

Still, you were unsure. 

Not until many weeks of their silence passed did you start to entertain his explanation. But only once it was brought to attention that the son of Arrakis was due to have an heir, a child carried by a Bene Gesserit, did you stop looking over your shoulder.

They were done with you for the foreseeable future, and that was enough.

Regarding Feyd, you never gained the strength to ask if he had somehow discovered the truth before he’d pointed a blade at Lady Margot. But deep down, you knew the answer. The day he attacked her for attacking you, you could see in his eyes that truly nothing would have stood in the way of protecting you, that no circumstances would have severed his determination to keep you safe. He was and always will be unstoppable. And you know the only guilt he has felt is for failing to end her life before she could threaten yours. 

He didn’t want this to be your burden. You were meant only to worry about your health and the health of your child. It was for your baby that Lady Margot had to die, and there should be no shame in that—so he claimed—not for your actions or his. 

“You must let this go,” he’d often say. Those words never did much for you in the way of alleviating your own guilt. But then he would follow it with, “All you were in that moment was a mother,” and it was that which eventually unknotted the remainder of the coils in your muscles. 

He was right. You had acted as a mother. You had not shoved a blade into Lady Margot’s neck to protect yourself; you’d done it guided by the need to preserve the life growing inside you. And reminding yourself of that is what saved you. It kept you from inflicting stress on your body and child for the final months of your pregnancy. You were finally able to focus on the health Feyd was so desperate for you to conserve. 

—

He takes after Feyd in nearly every available physical aspect: the outline of his face, the tone of his skin, the puffiness of his lips. It is his eyes that differ. The shape and color match yours so closely that peering into them is like looking in a mirror. But you thank the gods that those eyes in their youth and smaller form have not seen what you have seen; that he did not have to witness the events that brought him here. He will only ever know that his parents did their job in safely bringing him into the world, as parents are meant to do, and no other detail deserves to reach his ears.

As you run the tip of your finger down your son’s tiny nose, Feyd comes up behind you. 

“Are you ready?” he asks. 

Cradling your baby, you turn to face your husband. “Are you?”

Feyd reaches up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes along your skin. He lightly smiles. He smiles more now than you have ever seen in the time you’ve known him, and it’s a sight you’ve quickly and happily adapted to. 

“I’ve been ready,” he says. “For months.”

You snort. “There was no baby to show for before last week.”

Feyd hums and wraps his arms around your waist. You grin at how your son fits perfectly between you. “That doesn’t mean I couldn’t eagerly await this day.”

A soft kiss touches your forehead, and you settle into the peace of the bubble around your small family. This is all you’ve wanted, all you’ve desired from the first night you were pulled under Feyd’s sheets. And though it may have required a fight through obstacles to be where you are, at least the universe gave you the opportunity to right the wrong and join you with Feyd as you were always meant to be. You’re not so naive as to believe everyone is granted that chance. 

“My Lord,” you hear, the bubble popping. You both turn your heads to the guard. “Everything is in place.”

Feyd returns a sharp nod, then, meeting your eyes, awaits your own nod of agreement. When you give it, he slides his hand into your free one. His palm is warm against yours. Your fingers intertwine, and together you walk out onto the balcony of the fortress. 

Your body is coated in a wave of heat and the light of the glaring sun blinds you, but you can hear the cheers, the many voices shouting your husband’s name as they await their moment to meet the Harkonnen heir. 

---

A/N: thank you for following this short series. If you enjoyed it, let me know. It always makes my day :)

[kasagia]

Right Hand IV

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: This is the first time you plan to do something completely behind Feyd's back. You must tread carefully with him to ensure that your plan is not exposed until it is fully implemented. However, you begin to have doubts about the role you want to play in Na-Baron Harkonnen's life… and you don't like it at all. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART III ~•♤♤♤•~ PART V ~•♤♤♤•~

You return from the harpies as the sun begins to rise over Arrakis. It took you a little longer than you thought to come to terms with them, but to your surprise, they turned out to be very cooperative.

The first stage of your plan has begun. The easiest one. Now you have to deal with the next part of it.

You reach your bedroom and close the door quietly. You lean against it and sigh, allowing yourself to rest for a moment. Thoughts race through your head as you reconsider your plan.

Killing the baron and making it look like a Fremen kidnapping and execution would be child's play. It will be much worse to convince the emperor to protect his bloodline in the face of sudden tragic events. And what's a better solution to that than marrying his daughter to the new, young Baron of Giedi Prime?

Feyd would be, by this marriage, a sure successor to the emperor. He would also probably leave you alone and take care of his new wife. If you were lucky, he would make you governor of Arrakis.

A sharp knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. You almost fall over, being able to take only a few steps forward before the door almost flies off its hinges under the force of whoever opens it.

You take a deep breath, ready to scream at anyone who dared to invade your private space like that, but you freeze when you see Feyd-Rautha at your doorstep. Very pissed off, Feyd-Rautha. 

"Where the hell were you?" He asks in a cool, controlled tone of voice. It is surprising considering he has the blood of probably hundreds of people on himself.

"Well, I guess I should be the one asking you about it. It's not every day that you're dripping with so much blood. What happened? Instead of entering the disinfection chamber, you fell into the prison drainage system?" You scoff at him and turn your back to him, taking off your black robe.

You gasp as he reaches your side in a few quick steps and turns you to face him, his hand tightening around your throat as he is looking at your eyes. Surprisingly, his hand doesn't cut off your air; he just keeps it wrapped around your throat, pressing his fingers against your pulse point. You wonder if this is a warning for you or if he's checking to see if you are real.

"Where. Have. You. Been?" He speaks hoarsely, not raising his voice at you but demanding an answer to his question, completely ignoring your mockery of him.

"With your harpies. Someone had to feed them. Ask them if you don't believe me." You answer confidently. If he's surprised or thinks you're lying, he doesn't show it. His eyes move from your face to your torso, more specifically to the place where you were bleeding profusely a few hours ago.

You shiver as he slides his hand down your throat, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach. He gently lifts the fabric of your nightgown and reveals the bandage on your side. He stares at it for a while in complete silence.

Suddenly, he takes a step towards you, pressing his body against yours. You feel the blood from his armour slowly seep into the fabric of your nightgown, but that's not what makes you suddenly hold your breath.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, Na-Baron, an heir to Giedi Prime and Arrakis, a psychopath, probably a future emperor, a man hungry for pain, suffering, and blood, rests his forehead against yours and holds you tightly to him, cuddling you. You are afraid to take even the smallest breath. You just stare stupidly at the man in front of you. His eyes close as he inhales your scent and basks in your warmth.

"What happened with you? You weren't with me when I woke up.” You whisper, keeping your gaze on him, examining every last inch of his face as you try to read the reason for his strange, soft behaviour.

"Did you want me to be there?" He asks in a whisper, still not opening his eyes. His closeness overwhelms you. His tender treatment makes you feel more vulnerable than when he held a dagger against your neck.

But what terrifies you more than that is that you really wanted to see him waiting by your bed for you to wake up—just like in those hopeless romances hidden in Giedi Prime's library. But you knew too well that your life would never be like one of these love stories. More like textbooks about the history of their family—a very bloody story full of intrigue.

"I didn't care one bit. What worries me is that you clearly had fun without me. Whose blood are you staining my clothes with?" He sighs at your question. He reluctantly pulls away from you and looks at you carefully. He places his hand on your bare shoulder and plays with your hair, twisting it around his finger.

"Fremen's. As soon as the medic assured me that you were in stable condition, I joined the units that started chasing them. We caught three sandworms and people on them." He reports to you dispassionately, with no emotion in his eyes. For a moment, you think he might be exhausted from the events of the day, but ever since you became his right hand, you never remember him showing any signs of tiredness.

"I see." You say, swallowing. Lately, his proximity has been giving you a strange feeling. It's been like this ever since he ordered you to kneel in front of him. You feel a faint blush rising to your cheeks as you remember that day. He hasn't touched you since then. Something you weren't extremely happy about.

"The Reverend Mother asked about you. The one from the Corrino." He says this and moves away from you. He slowly starts to remove his bloody armor. You look away from him as he removes his breastplate, revealing his muscular, pale chest.

His partial nudity almost makes you ignore what he said. And it annoys you that suddenly staring at his fit, well-built body seems more interesting to you than listening to the important message he's telling you. After all, that was what you were afraid of—that the Bene Gesserit would start looking at you more closely.

"What exactly did she want?" You ask, directing your gaze to your black nightrobe. As you suspected, the blood from his clothes soaked yours. You wrinkle your nose, realising you'll have to change.

"Take you away from me. I clearly explained to her that this was not an option and never would be. You're mine. They gave you to me themselves." You hold your breath as he's a few inches away from you again. Only a black loincloth around his hips covered his... intimate parts. He reaches for your cheek, tracing your cheekbones with his thumb. He pulls you towards him, pressing his body against yours again.

"Technically you took me yourself. And I never gave in to you." You remind him, watching him closely as he wraps his other arm around your waist, making sure you don't run away from him. Your heart beats faster as his fingers slip under your nightgown and trace the edges of the bandage wrapped around your waist.

"Irrelevant details." He growls, tangling his hand in your hair. He pulls you closer to him, making you rest your chin on his shoulder as he buries his face in your hair. "What happened? After you used the voice. Why were you bleeding..."

"That's irrelevant. It worked. Atreides got scared, and we bought ourselves more time before his next attempt... to make a move against us." You interrupt him before he asks a question.

The story of this particular wound and your... incredible skills was something you promised not to reveal to anyone. It was the darkest memory of your past, one that haunted you more than your memories of Arrakis. It was selfish of you to forget about the poor people you had to kill to survive, but you had worked with Harkonnens for too long to be even ashamed of it. Everyone had to look after themselves. Only monsters equal to them survived among them. Apparently, you were one of them.

He interrupts your thoughts, moving away from you. His eyes burn with a vivid, burning anger that sends shivers down your spine. You lift your chin, enduring the stern look that he wanted to intimidate you with. He scowls even more when he sees that you don't take much notice of his silent admonishment.

"You almost died."

"You're exaggerating this. I thought you of all people won't be afraid of the sight of a little blood." You respond dismissively, which only makes his mood worse. In a few steps, he walks over to you and pins you against the wall behind you. His chest rubs against yours with each deep breath. But you are calm. Unlike you, he doesn't have daggers attached to his body... unless he has them under his loincloth...

"I simply don't enjoy holding your almost lifeless body in my arms. I much prefer it when your heart beats strongly against your chest... like now." He whispers hoarsely, his nose brushing against your cheekbone. His lips are dangerously close to yours; if he leaned a little closer to you, he could brush the corner of your lips with his. You sigh shakily, closing your eyes as you are trying your best to deny this strange, sick desire for him that suddenly rose in you.

"Maybe you shouldn't hold me at all?"

Your question was met with silence and no response from him. And just when you think he's actually going to pull away from you, he grabs your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your throat to himself. You sigh as his full lips descend on your neck. He sucks on your skin, licking it before his black teeth sink into you. You gasp, reflexively placing your hand on the back of his head. You know you can't pull him away; all you can do is place your hand on the back of his neck and dig your nails into his skin as he leaves his marks on your soft neck.

You gasp when he suddenly grabs your hips and lifts you up. His hardness rubs against your clothed core as he grinds his hips into yours. You bite your lip, holding back a small moan as you feel him so close. He breathes shakily against your neck, staying there for a moment. Never in your life have you seen Feyd-Rautha Harkonne refrain from taking what he wants. That's why you're shocked when he suddenly lets go of you and walks away, turning his back on you.

"It was a very long day and I believe there is an even longer one ahead of us. So shut up, lie nicely on the bed and wait for me. I'll come over in a moment and you better fucking be there because this time I'm gonna tear down this planet looking for you, are we clear?" He asks, turning around to look at you. You nod, swallowing thickly, with your cheeks still a little blushed and your heart beating madly fast. "Good girl." He mutters and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a loud bang.

You stare at the closed door for a good while. Only when the sound of water reaches your ears do you manage to snap out of this strange state.

You place a hand on your neck, tracing with your fingertips the spot his greedy lips marked. You shudder as you hear his soft grunts from the bathroom, knowing full well what... impressive problem he's dealing with there. You blush and run to change before he comes out of the bathroom.

Your head lay on the pillow just as the bathroom door opened. You try not to stare at him as he towels off. He throws the towel on the chair next to the desk and turns off the lights in the room. You sigh shakily, listening to his quiet footsteps around the room. He locks the door with a loud click. A cold chill runs through you, and your heart beats faster as you hear him approaching the bed.

You stiffen as you feel him sit down on the bed next to you. You hear him hide something under the pillow, probably one of his daggers, before laying down next to you.

His arm slips under the covers and wraps around you, pulling you closer to his chest as he takes on the role of a big spoon. You're pressed against his naked body; only a piece of the duvet and the fabric of your nightgown separate you two. You feel your heart speed up rapidly as you feel his toned chest muscles against your back.

"Is something wrong, little witch?" He asks mockingly, as if he didn't realise how uncomfortable you felt when he fell asleep and cuddled up to you while being fully naked. Only this time you felt a completely different kind of discomfort...

"You'll be cold, Na-Baron." You say, trying to convince him to get dressed. However, Na-Baron has completely different plans. If possible, he moves even closer to you, his length brushing against your ass as he leans close to your ear.

"You can always warm me up." You snort at his suggestion and say nothing more. His lips brush against your earlobe as he presses a feathery kiss there.

His grip on you tightens, and he rests his head just behind yours, nuzzling his nose into your hair as he inhales your scent. You feel like his private stuffed animal, favourite blanket, or other cuddly toy. But you know he didn't have the privilege of having such a thing—a normal childhood with toys and so on. Just like you.

So you delude yourself that this is the reason why you put your hand on his—the one with which he hugs you—and lean more on his chest. You were doing it only in search of the rare feeling of comfort that you are both unaccustomed to and that you both silently long for, however, your rational explanation doesn't include the reason why you feel the warmth rising in your chest when you hear his soft snores before you fall asleep.

It will be better this way. — You try to convince yourself as you watch Princess Irulan and Feyd dancing on the dance floor from the corner of the room. — You never wanted him. Sure, there were... some nice moments between you two, but that's all. It wasn't even a crush. Just a few irrelevant conversations and heated meetings—nothing that you haven't experienced before with someone else.

So why the hell did you want to pierce the heart of the emperor's daughter with your dagger?

A few days have passed since Atreides attacked. Harkonnen troops cleared the area and ensured that further celebrations of Na-Barone's birthday would proceed without further incident. Meanwhile, you watched as Irulan approached Feyd as well as how the Emperor and the Baron communicated about the possible marriage of these two. And although you were happy with this turn of events, it really bothered you to look at the blonde, who was obviously flirting with your Na-Baron.

You shouldn't care. Not at all. You should be happy that the burden imposed by the Bene Gesserit has been lifted from you and passed to someone else—that another woman has been assigned to carry their fucking powerful child. But you couldn't help the burning feeling of jealousy, anger, and regret when his eyes were on the emperor's daughter and not on you.

You shake your head at your stupidity and take the glass from a passing servant. You take a huge gulp and cough, unaccustomed to the burning sensation of the strong alcohol running down your throat. But you take another sip anyway. Fuck the patriarchy and the Bene Gesserit. You're not going to give birth to any Kwisatz Haderach, so you might as well ruin your liver with alcohol.

"I see you still don't absorb alcohol well, my sweet death. It's surprising, considering how many years you've been living among the Harkonnens." You freeze when you hear a familiar voice behind you. You put your glass down and turn around in shock.

"Fevas?" You ask, shocked to see a familiar man with dark hair standing in front of you. A smile forms on your face when you see his signature mischievous smirk and the twinkle of amusement in his night-dark eyes.

"The one and only. What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost." He says it, laughing, and walks over to you. He takes you into his arms without asking, trapping you in a tight embrace. You wrap your arms around him and let yourself breathe in his familiar scent for a moment.

"Aren't you one? You didn't come to haunt me for all the times I kicked your ass in front of your friends during training?" You ask with a cheeky smirk, moving away from him. He rolls his eyes at you dramatically and gives you a nudge in the side.

"No, but if I die first, know that it's the first thing I'll do as a ghost." You laugh, shaking your head. Looking at his wide smile, you realise that you haven't felt so carefree around someone in a long time. With the Harkonnens, you always had to keep your guard up, but with Fevas... it was natural to lower your barrier a bit.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm responsible for protecting the emperor and his daughter. Since our fateful trip to Arrakis with you, Harkonnens, and the Atreides, things have been quite... boring. It's the only exciting trip I've been on since then. And a few days ago... you were amazing. I even saw the baron staring at you in pure horror. You don't know how long I will remember this picture. My people almost shit themselves with fear when you controlled us all."

"You too?" You ask with a mischievous, teasing smile, completely ignoring your surroundings.

"I admired… but I was worried about you. I went to the hospital wing, but those bald idiots wouldn't let me in. Na-Baron's order or some other shit."

"Yeah… he can be quite a pain in the ass." You nod, shifting your gaze to Feyd. He danced with Irulan. You try to ignore the pang in your heart, and without thinking much, you reach for two glasses, handing one to Fevas. The two of you make a quick toast, and you're relieved to feel the burning sensation of the alcohol masking the unexpected bitterness you feel.

"Well, since he's busy... will you allow me the immense honour of having my toes trampled by you?" You look briefly at the harpies, considering his proposition. It wouldn't hurt anyone if you will have a one dance with your old friend, right?

One of the harpies nods at you while the other two stare daggers at Irulan. And in that very moment, you decide that you will not allow yourself to become another of Na-Baron's harpies. You'd rather die than become the other jealous woman.

"I am better dancer than I used to be. You can get very surprised." You respond flirtatiously, offering him your hand. You giggle, rolling your eyes as he leans down and plants a kiss on it.

"Really? Impossible. The last time you danced with me, I had to go to a medic to heal my poor, trampled toes."

"And yet you still want to dance with me..." You reply teasingly as he leads you to the dance floor. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you a little too close to him for comfort. But neither of you care.

You think it's nice to feel seen and desired. It was certainly better to have a charming man like Fevas than to prop up the walls at a party. Sometimes being in the shadows bothered you. And even though Fevas was... too lively for you, right now you wanted to break out of your comfort zone for a moment. You knew he was perfect for this.

You didn't realise that the blue eyes of a certain Harkonnen were piercing your companion with a hateful look, which especially intensified when Fevas wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and leaned towards you to whisper in your ear.

"Guilty. But I haven't seen you in so long that it doesn't seem like such a crime, does it? We did... much braver things in the darkness of our tents, remember, my sweet death?"

"In a blur... maybe I need a reminder?" You reply in an equally suggestive tone, licking your lips. Fevas's eyes drop to your lips. He chuckles throatily, pulling you even closer to him.

"Oh, you look like you really need one. Maybe even more..."

"Exchange." A familiar, hoarse voice reaches you. Before you know it, arms wrap around your waist and pull you away from Fevas. You gasp as Feyd pushes you onto his chest, holding you tightly against him. But he's not looking at you. His gaze is fixed on the man you were dancing with a few seconds ago.

"Who is it?" He asks coldly, assessing Fevas with his eyes. You see him staring at him dispassionately, but you know from the way he tightens his grip on you that Feyd isn't even close to being calm.

"I... It does not matter…" You stop as soon as his eyes meet yours. You swallow, seeing the pure, unbridled rage.

You hiss as his grip on your waist becomes painfully tight. Feyd frowns and loosens his grip on you a little, remembering how a few days ago you were bleeding out onto the floor in this same room. And in his arms. He ordered his servants to destroy the armour he was wearing at the time. And your dress. It's a pity he couldn't erase the memory from his mind in the same way.

"I think you've forgotten who I am to you, little witch. Say it."

"I… you are the Na-Baron." He hums dissatisfyingly, shaking his head at your response.

"Try again."

"Future Baron of Giedi Prime." Your answer was again unsatisfactory to him. You shiver as you feel him press the dagger against your chest, the tip of the blade playing with the strings holding the corseted bodice of your dress together. If he used a little bit of the dress, it would expose your breasts to his view.

"Don't play stupid, or I will punish you in front of everyone. And I wish that dirty, walking pile of muscles that had his hands on you didn't see me slapping your beautiful, little ass red. In fact, I'd rather be the only one enjoying this view, so be my good girl and tell me whose remains I'll throw to my harpies tonight?"

You hold your breath at his words. Feyd couldn't visit his harpies tonight. Not when they were supposed to be busy... getting rid of the baron's corpse. You think quickly, trying to find the best way out of the situation without condemning Fevas to a certain death. Feyd's intense, urgent gaze makes you blurt out words in an act of pure panic and thoughtlessness that you have probably never said to him before.

"No."

Your words are followed by silence from him. The chatter of the guests around you and the music make his reaction a little less terrifying, but you know him too well to think he'll take your refusal to follow his orders in stride.

"What?" He asks hoarsely, staring at you in shock.

"Nobody. He... he is nobody Leave him alone. He didn't do anything." You try to quickly correct your mistake, but one look into his eyes, and you know how screwed up you are. You gasp as he pulls you to a more secluded spot, shielding the two of you from any potential onlookers.

"Since when are you the one to judge what other people deserve and what they don't? Since when do you decide for me? Since when do you oppose me? Is this your lover? Did he have you? Tell me kindly, or I'll throw you on this floor and fuck you in front of everyone until you tell me." You're trembling, not because you're afraid he'll follow through on his words, but because you WANT him to claim you in front of everyone. In front of Irulan...

"What will your princess think of you?" You ask defiantly, raising your eyebrows. His nostrils flare as he sighs. He closes his eyes and tightens his grip on your waist and his dagger. You wait patiently for his reaction, ready for anything, even for him to stab you, piercing your stupid, rapidly beating heart.

"I don't fucking care. You're mine. Should I mark you? Carve my name on your chest? Maybe it would be better if I put my heir inside you? Then no one would have any doubts about who you belong to."

"Feyd..." His name leaves your mouth faster than you think. His heart beats faster when he hears you using his name instead of his title. The madness in his eyes slowly gives way to something else. A feeling you don't recognise. "Please. Leave him."

"Who is it?"

"Old friend. Nobody important." You assure him, desperately trying to convince him that it really wasn't someone he had to worry about.

"You slept with him?" The question catches you off guard. You blush slightly, knowing full well that you can't lie to him right now. You curse alcohol for reducing your ability to come up with lies and fake stories on command.

"I... It does not matter."

He growls, staring at you intensely, as he don't want to let go of the topic. You know that the moment you give him his name, your friend will die a tragic death. It bothers you, but you're much more worried about Feyd foiling your plan by going to his harpies tonight. You thought Irulan would distract him... enough for you to finish your job. As you can see, you had to take care of Na-Baron completely by yourself tonight.

So the moment Feyd turns to find the man you were dancing with in the crowd, you grab his hand and pull him back to you. Before he says a word, you lean forward to whisper suggestively in his ear:

"He can't compare to you." You brush your nose against his cheekbone. You smile teasingly as you hear him catch his breath at your sudden, unexpected closeness.

"No?" He asks, turning his head towards you. Your noses brush against each other, and his mouth is mere inches away from yours. You lick your lips unconsciously, completely by accident. However, this does not go unnoticed by him. His pupils dilate slightly, and his breathing quickens as he waits for your response.

"No." You whisper without looking into his eyes, too scared of what you might find there. He doesn't like that you're avoiding his gaze, so he wraps his hand around your throat, forcing you to look at him as he leans over you.

"Were you planning to run away with him? Fuck in one of those hallways?" He growls furiously, trying to intimidate you and overwhelm you with his closeness.

You swallow, carefully looking at him. Your hand wanders over his armour, moving to his neck and gently wrapping around it. You pull him closer to you, so you both can feel the others breath on your lips. You stroke the skin of his neck with the pad of your thumb, still holding it in your grip.

"I just... wanted your attention." You whisper, looking into his eyes. You feel the muscles in his throat tighten as he swallows, his pupils dilating to the point that you can see only them as he stares at you, completely surprised by your behaviour towards him.

To say Feyd is shocked is an understatement. He's dazed and confused to the point that all he can do is stand in front of you and let you do whatever you want with him. He should be used to you constantly surprising him, but even in his wildest fantasies, he didn't expect that you would be so eager to press your body against his to tease him in the same way he teased you. Feyd is not stupid. He knows your actions have a purpose—an ulterior motive that he honestly didn't care about as long as you had your hands and mouth on him.

"So what will you do now? Once you have it?" He asks, licking his lips as you look up at him through your eyelashes. His heart skips a beat when he sees your gaze linger on his plump lips for a moment. You both take deeper, shorter breaths, slowly closing the distance left between you.

"Come with me and see for yourself, Na-Baron." You whisper against his lips. Feyd growls at how cruelly you are teasing him. He had never wanted to pin someone against a wall and kiss them hard and deep as much as he wanted to do it with you now.

"You didn't answer the question. Who am I for you?" He asks, moving his hand from your neck to the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulls your head back and starts placing kisses on your jaw.

You tighten your grip around his neck and press him against the wall. Feyd blinks at you in surprise, but before he can say anything, you place a finger on his full lips and shush him. He trembles as you trace the bone of his jaw with your tongue, biting into it.

"My lord. My Na-Baron... my master." You whisper against his pale skin, effectively stripping Feyd of any little inhibitions or patience he had left for you.

You moan as his lips crash against yours. Your nails dig into his neck as he grabs the sides of your chest and pulls you onto the balcony. The metal door closes behind you with a loud bang. You gasp as you feel the cool, rough metal against the bare skin of your exposed back. This feeling quickly disappears under the sensations you feel thanks to the lips and tongue of your Na-Baron, who took advantage of your moment of surprise and sneaked into your mouth, exploring it eagerly.

You wrap your tongue around his, fighting him for dominance, moaning as he presses his body against yours. His hands deftly untie the strings of your dress at the back, loosening your corset. He pulls the fabric aside, moving his lips from yours to your neck, collarbones, and breasts. You groan, leaning your head against the door and digging your nails into the back of his head.

"Your princess is probably waiting for you." You mumble, closing your eyes as his tongue curls around your nipple. He sucks on it, biting it every now and then, making you squeal loudly as he cups his hand around your other breast and massages it, teasing your other nipple at the same time.

You're completely fucked under his touch—well, not so much that you don't remember how much fun the bastard was having with the princess just a few moments ago. You scream as he suddenly slaps your breast in a punishment.

"I only have one princess I want to please. And it's definitely not Lady Corrino." He says this before pressing his lips against yours. You moan as his hands tangle in your hair, and he tilts your head to give him better access to your mouth. You kiss him back with an equally burning passion, feeling the fire of desire ignite inside you with each of his touches.

"Lady? Since when have you been a gentleman?" You ask mockingly as he moves his mouth to your neck, nipping at it and littering it with hickeys.

“Would you prefer it if I called her a whore? Maybe I should really claim you right in front of her... Would that calm down your beautiful, burning jealousy, my little witch?” You growl at him, moving your hand to his hardening length and squeezing him painfully. He groans against your neck and bites into you in retaliation, making you let out a hollow scream.

"I'm not jealous. I can always go to Fevas for pleasure if you're too fascinated by the princess to notice anything else." You huff, not wanting to give him any satisfaction by letting him know that his closeness to Irulan bothers you. But why do you feel envy while watching them two together? That was your plan. He was supposed to finally leave you alone. So why is it that when the opportunity presents itself for him to become interested in someone else, you desperately cling to him and pull him towards you?

"Hm... so this is your mysterious man? Fevas..." You tense up when you hear him repeat your friend's name. You cup his cheeks in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"Don't kill him." You ask him, knowing full well that he will refuse. But despite everything, you cling to this stupid hope, not knowing why you care so much about keeping Fevas alive.

"Why?"

"Because I ask you. Please." For the first time, you look at him desperately, knowing full well that all you can do is beg him to change his mind. Because if Feyd Rautha Harkonnen decides that someone is going to die, then even the Grim Reaper won't be able to save the poor man from him.

"Do you love him?" You know the answer to his question perfectly. However, it scares you too much to say out loud what you think and to admit to him and to yourself what you have been running away from for so many years. Apparently ineffective, since your first response was supposed to be:

No. I love you. And it's ruining my life.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, you weren't stupid or brave enough to say it to his face.

"I am a Bene Gesserit. I don't love anyone." You answer coldly and without emotion. He stares at you for a moment before pushing you away from him. He no longer looks you in the eyes, though his eyes are still glued to your half-naked form. He stays in silent reverie for a moment, then breaks it with a bitter, hoarse laugh, shaking his head.

"And I am a Harkonnen. We don't obey anyone." He growls impassively and pushes you away to get to the door. He returns to the party, closing the metal door behind him with a loud bang.

You shiver as you are left completely alone on the balcony. You try to swallow your humiliation and hurt pride and tie your dress to gain back some of your dignity. Once you've improved your appearance enough to show yourself to other people, you decide to leave to join Feyd's harpies in the dungeons. Along the way, you try to ignore how Feyd flirts recklessly with Princess Irulan.

It will be better this way.

You repeat it to yourself like a new mantra or slogan. Or at least that's how you try to drown out the cries of your wounded heart, which desperately begs your mind for a little mercy.

But if you learned anything from Feyd Rautha, it was that mercy was an overrated thing.

And if you've learned anything today... it was that you have truly become Feyd Rautha's fourth harpy.

If it wasn't a sign of weakness, you would have covered your nose to avoid inhaling the disgusting smell that lingered in the dungeons. You might have expected that the harpies would show no mercy to the baron. You weren't here to save him yourself. Just the opposite...

"The little witch looks angry…"

"The little witch was right, we are having a lot of fun."

"Does the little witch want to join?"

You give them a sadistic, proud smirk when you see the baron's condition. You shake your head and address them as sweetly as you can.

"Maybe in a moment. I don't want to take away all the fun from you. Can you leave us alone for a short while?" The women nod at you and slowly leave the room, keeping a close eye on the barely surviving baron. You wrinkle your nose as the door closes behind them. You take a few steps towards Harkonnen and stop right in front of the large pool of blood that has formed from all the wounds inflicted on him.

"So it's you… I thought my nephew was responsible for this. Ironic… get rid of me with one of my gifts to him."

"I think we both can agree that Feyd would be more than capable of it. After everything you did to him… I'm surprised he didn't try this ages ago." You reply indifferently, taking great satisfaction in seeing him like this—on the verge of death.

"You don't know our ways, witch. You may have studied and lived with us for years, observing from the shadows, but you know nothing about the Harkonnens." You tense up, offended, and angry at his words, but you do your best not to let it show. You came here to enjoy the death of the most disgusting man you have ever met. You won't let him spoil this solemn moment.

"Possible. But I know enough to convince the court and the great houses, and even the emperor himself, that the Fremen are behind your sudden, unfortunate death. Besides... I doubt anyone would cry over you."

"The same goes for you, witch. My nephew did well to make you his right hand. I'm sure he'll get rid of you as quickly and suddenly as he took you in. Harkonnens don't take wives. We have no equals. Whatever you think, you are living in pathetic delusion. You'll end up just like me. Or the boy will hand you over to these old women when he gets bored of you." A cold shiver runs down your spine at his words.

You had considered such a scenario several times, but the Baron and your interaction with Feyd today made you realise that you had to consider this turn of events to be... the most likely to happen. You guess you have to prepare for suddenly leaving Giedi Prime... and Feyd's side. Your heart clenches painfully just thinking about it.

"That's very possible. But at least I survived you." You answer and take out the dagger that you managed to steal from Fevas. You take aim and, with a small smirk, throw it, hitting the baron's throat. You were too disgusted to lay even a finger on him, in order to hurt him. You turn away and leave the room without giving him a second glance, knowing full well that Feyd's harpies will take the revange for anything he did to his nephew better than you. "Ladies! You can finish now." You announce this to the harpies as you leave the cell.

They scream excitedly and almost rush back towards the baron. You walk forward, but a sudden pull on your hands stops you. You raise a questioning eyebrow at the oldest concubine.

"The little witch shouldn't listen to this old man. The master likes the little witch very much. He threatened to kill us if we did anything to her." You frown at her sudden confession, but you don't question why she's doing it. You decide to brush it off.

"I think we both know that he... likes to break his favourite toys only by himself."

"But not a little witch. When the little witch was bleeding, the master became furious. The master almost killed his uncle when he ordered him to kill the little witch. The master watched over the little witch until the doctors said that the little witch would survive. And he told us to guard her door while he went away to kill the people who hurt her."

"I… I really appreciate you telling me this. Join your sisters. I'm sure you don't want to miss the feast."

"Little witch." She calls after you. You turn to look at her. "We can share the master with the little witch, but not with the princess." A smile creeps onto your face. Hearing that from her is the best compliment she can give.

"I'm afraid neither of us has any say in the matter."

"The little witch is smart. The little witch is too smart to think like that. The little witch has to know that the master is crazy about her from the begining." You blush at her words, your stupid heart speeds up, and your too vivid imagination presents you with various scenarios of what could have happened if Feyd... had claimed you at the very beginning. But you couldn't turn back time. You didn't want to.

"Desire makes us weak."

"Maybe. But it is also very pleasant." You smile and nod. She responds in kind and disappears behind the cell door. After the baron's scream, which is muffled by the door, you come to the conclusion that he is clearly saying goodbye to this world. Just as he should. Alone. At the hands of women whom he mentally destroyed to make them good pets, whose task was to arouse his nephew's cruelty and bloodlust.

While walking through the corridors, you come across one of the servants. He tells you that the Na-Baron requests your presence in his chambers. You frown, convinced that the last thing Feys wants to do today is to have you close to him, but you head towards the familiar rooms.

After a very short walk, you reach his chambers and open the door. You stand frozen in his doorway at the sight that greets you.

Fevas is chained. His hands are chained to the ceiling as he is hanging above the floor. His chest is cut multiple times, and his blood drips onto the white fabric placed beneath him. You tense up as Feyd's hands are on your shoulders, holding you firmly in place as you stare at the unconscious, bloody man who is either dead or within a whisker of death.

"What the hell is this?" You growl angrily, trying to turn to look at him. Feyd, however, holds your waist tightly and grips your jaw, making sure you keep your eyes on Fevas.

"I thought you'd appreciate seeing your secret lover after I brutally separated you. Where have you been? Looking for him? Maybe you were supposed to run away together, but he didn't come?"

"I leave you alone for a few minutes, and you start creating absurd stories and tormenting a poor, innocent man?" You mock him. His grip on your waist tightens as he gets more furious with every passing second.

"A man who had the privilege of enjoying what was not his." He corrects you, growling hoarsely into your ear.

"I'm not yours either. Will you kill Irulan's former lovers too?" You ask sarcastically, struggling against his grip. He growls in your ear, shaking you gently but keeping his grip on you firmly.

"I don't care about that royal bitch."

"You should. After all, she is your future wife. The mother of your heirs..." He doesn't let you finish. He tightens his grip on your throat, preventing you from speaking, and pushes you against the wall, pressing your body against his. You shudder as you see him gasp in rage, glaring daggers at you.

You tremble as you feel his fingers spread Frevas' blood on your neck. He breathes heavily, tightening his grip. He leans forward and presses a bruising, aggressive kiss on your lips. You know this is supposed to be a punishment for you, but you can't help but moan and clutch his arms as he kisses you so intensely, pulling all the oxygen out of your lungs.

You gasp, noticing a strange ache in your neck as his lips continue to caress yours, but you choose to ignore it. For a moment, you forget about anything other than him. Even the metallic smell of blood lingering in the room fades away with the feeling of his lips on you.

His other hand moves under your skirt, his fingertips gently caressing your thigh, avoiding the dagger attached there as his hand slowly climbs up your leg. You moan into his mouth as his fingers tease your pussy through the fabric of your wet underwear.

He breaks the kiss, kissing the line of your jaw. You breathe heavily, whimpering softly as he continues to work on your clit, peppering your face with kisses at the same time. You dig your fingers into his arms, desperately holding onto him as you grind against him, chasing the release he's denied you for days.

His fingers wander under your underwear, making you moan louder. Your forehead leans onto his shoulder as you gasp as he ruthlessly pushes his three thick fingers into you.

"My little witch is so quiet and obedient when full of fingers. I'm sure if I impaled you on my cock, if you had kept it deep inside you day and night, you wouldn't even dare to think about letting someone else take your place, right? Maybe that's what I should do? Maybe I need to breed you and fill your lower lips so that the other ones will shut up and stop talking nonsense?"

"Feyd..." A needy moan of his name escapes from you before you can bite your lip. All you can do is hold on to him for dear life, wrapping your legs around his waist as he keeps you pinned to the wall and on his toes.

"You make such beautiful sounds... it's a pity you've been acting like a brat lately instead of like my good girl. You understand that, in this situation, I cannot reward you." He mocks you, pulling away from you moments before you reach your peak.

You growl at him angrily and reach out to finish what he didn't want, but he grabs your wrists and pins them to the wall, grinding his crotch against yours, teasing your desperate, abused pussy even more. You scream, trying to fight him. He effectively silences you, kissing you hard, chastisingly, and biting your lower lip until it bleeds. You are at his complete mercy. And dear Lord, you would let him do anything if that meant that he would let you cum.

He presses his body against yours and holds your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. He leans down and licks the tears of frustration from your cheeks, sloppily licking your face at his discretion.

"Can you think for a moment or have I finally made you think with just your needy pussy? Is this what you want? For me to take another woman? For me to treat her the way I treat you? For me to leave you on this damn desert? Because I can, Y/N. I can fuck the other women, become emperor the easy way, and give you damn Arrakis, but you have to look me in the eyes and tell me that's what you really want."

You stare at him in shock as he continues to hold you close to him. This is what you wanted—exactly that scenario and turn of events. You could have been finally free—free from all of Bene Gesserit's prophecies and plans.

"I... You would let me stay here? Would you let me be the governor of Arrakis? You would marry Irulan?" You ask, disbelieving that he would ever let you go from his grasp, convinced that he would rather kill you than let you leave his side.

"If that's what you want."

"It... it is..." You say this, feeling a lump growing in your throat. Your heart beats insanely fast as you desperately try to convince everyone—you, him, and your stupid heart, which is begging you to change your mind—that this is exactly what you want.

But you had definitely come too far to slip into his arms at the end and become his wife, concubine, or whatever he wanted you to be, just because you were horny for him. Desire makes us weak. But was it just lust that connected you with him?

"No. Not like that. Look at me and tell me exactly what you want me to do, my little witch." He orders, looking at you defiantly. This is a very small payment for what he offers you. Your dream future is within your reach; all you need to do is say these few words.

"I... I want you to... to marry... I..." The lump in your throat grows. You can't say anything as you look into his icy blue eyes, which pick up on your uncertainty. But she's not the only one thing holding you back.

You physically can't speak. You can't lie to him and say you want him to marry another woman and forget about you, to leave you alone on Arrakis—a place that should have swallowed you up years ago. You just can't. Your eyes widen as you realise what he's done to you.

"You son of a bitch… Which Bene Gesserit witch gave you the truth serum?!" You ask, furious, realising what he injected into your neck during your little hot session.

"This is of little importance. I was going to use it on you and ask you about your secret lover, but he himself told me a bit about your past. With a bit of pressure from my side, of course. Now, before this miracle product stops working, look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me. I dare you. Reject me like you did countless times before, my little witch. And I will gladly leave you alone."

The smirk on his face grows with every second of your silence. Your blood boils, and you feel immense rage, pursing your lips as you glare at him with hate. What's more, the bastard has the nerve to laugh at you.

"That's exactly what I fucking thought." He growls and kisses you. His lips caress yours, tasting you as if you were the only thing that could quench his thirst. He holds you tightly as if you were the most precious thing in his possession that he is afraid to let go of, even for a moment, for fear of someone stealing you from him.

You place your hands on his shoulders and pull him closer to you, letting your lust for him take over all of your senses. There was no turning back. Not after he found out that you are not indifferent to him at all and that the future with him does not seem as scary and terrible to you as it was at the beginning.

"You had no right to treat him like that." You say this as he manoeuvres you around the room and past where Fevas is still hanging from the ceiling. He pushes you deeper into his chambers and closes his bedroom door behind you.

"As if you wouldn't do the same to the emperor's daughter, if you could…" He responds sarcastically, stripping off his armour and not wasting a moment, as if he were afraid you would change your mind and start fighting him again.

"Shut up." You use the voice on him with a cocky smirk. He lifts his head, staring at you in surprise. You step back, sitting on the bed, keeping your gaze on him the entire time. "On your knees." You order in a low, suggestive tone of voice, not hiding your smirk as he is forced to obey your command right away. "Come to me." You command him, your eyes glistening dangerously as you notice his length twitch beneath his loincloth. "Good boy." You say teasingly, stroking his head as he kneels between your legs.

"Are you aware of what kind of dangerous game you are playing right now, my little witch?"

"If I were still a full-fledged Bene Gesserit, I would probably put you to the gom-jabbar test of humanity right now. You put your hand in the box, and you feel unimaginable pain until you prove that your awareness is stronger than your instincts. I'm sure Irulan or another Bene Gesserit was assigned to do this to you. I barely managed to stop one of them from giving you... a drug that would make it easier for her to convince you to extend your bloodline through her womb. Back to the topic... we both know how this test would end for you, right? How quickly would you get horny? How quickly would you tremble for release? How quickly would you show me that you love it when I hurt you, my Na-Baron?"

"Don't torment me, witch. You've been doing this for too long." He growls, moving his hands to your legs and pushing the fabric of your dress higher as he exposes your legs to him.

"You're right… why put your hand in a box when it can be useful elsewhere? Undress me." He laughs hoarsely, having no choice but to obey your command.

"You don't have to use the voice on me to make me follow this kind of orders."

"I thought the Harkonnens did not obey anyone?" You ask defiantly, raising an eyebrow at him as he licks his lips, carefully examining every inch of your (finally) exposed skin.

"I thought the Bene Gesserit didn't love anyone?"

You did not answer. You lean down, cupping his cheeks in your hands, and kiss him passionately, finally allowing yourself to express all the feelings and desires you had been hiding deep inside for so long.

"I need to feel you." He growls, pushing you onto your back. He climbs up you, placing kisses all over your body until he's hovering just above your face. He stares at you for a moment, spreads out beneath him, ready to finally take him in, and decides that his fantasies are a poor comparison to the real thing.

You both moan, resting your foreheads against each other as his pre-cum, leaking hard length, rubs against your wet entrance. You wrap your legs around his hips. You run your hand down his spine, sinking your nails into his neck as he abuses yours, kissing, nipping, and marking it as his property.

And when he is finally about to unite you and get rid of the tension between you for good, someone knocks on his door. He groans in protest and leans in to kiss you to shush you when you let out an uncontrollable laugh at his reaction to the sudden interruption.

"You should go." You say as you manage to place your hand on his chest and gently push him away from you. "This could be something important."

"Woman… how much patience I spent on you…" He growls, pressing his forehead against your temple. The knocking on the door is more insistent. His brother calls out to him furiously, and you can't help but smile as you watch his internal struggle.

Seeing your amusement, he spanks your pussy. You scream, trying to block out the sound against his shoulder so that only Feyd can hear it and not his brother, who is banging on the door. He chuckles, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling your scent.

"Stay here. Don't move an inch. I will be right back. If I don't find you in this bed naked and ready for me, I will beat that ass of yours red. You won't be able to leave these chambers for a month." He gives you a threatening warning. You roll your eyes and pull him into a kiss, teasing him and pulling away from him in a moment when he wanted to deepen it.

"I'll be waiting." You promise, out of breath after the kiss. "On the way, tell your servants to take Fevas to the infirmary."

"Next time I will kill him without hesitation. Or any other lover of yours."He promises as he puts on his clothes. You crawl to the edge of the bed and help him put his armour on faster.

"I am very aware of this, my Na-Baron." You reply snidely, still kneeling on the bed and dressing him. He rolls his eyes at you and smirks mischievously as he reaches up to pinch your nipples. You squeal, punching his shoulder. He laughs and cups your cheeks, pulling you in for one last kiss.

"I'll be back in a minute." He promises and leaves, making sure to close the door behind him quickly enough so that no one has a chance to look inside and see you naked in his bed. After all, this was a view reserved only for him.

You fall onto the bed, giggling stupidly like a teenager, as you wonder what his reaction will be to having the opportunity to fuck you as the Baron of Giedi Prime.

A cold chill runs through you as you hear footsteps in the main room. You downplay it, thinking that it was the servants who came to clean up the mess Feyd made, but too much silence starts to make you suspicious. You stand up and put on some clothes before reaching for the knife attached to your thigh.

You open the door and slowly leave the room. Fevas was gone, but something was still bothering you, giving you a strange feeling of being observed. You could feel someone's presence on your back.

You avoid a sudden attack from behind and quickly cut your attacker's throat. Before you can turn around, you receive a powerful kick in the back. You stumble and fall forward, but quickly get back up, taking in your surroundings. Three women dressed entirely in black slowly surround you, each of them armed to the teeth. You tense up, ready to use the voice, but just as you're about to, you're grabbed from behind.

You only manage to stab your attacker before a cloth is placed against your nose. You struggle, trying to fight the women as hard as you can before the sedative takes effect. After a few moments, however, darkness enveloped you. But before you lose consciousness completely, you notice the familiar Bene Gesserit symbol tattooed on the women's wrists.

What catches your eye most before you hit the floor is the familiar skirt of Princess Irulan's dress.

To be continued...

Taglist: (I REALLLLY hope that everyone who wanted to be here is here...😅 I;m sorry if I missed someone <3) @skymoonandstardust @prettybubblesintheair @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13 @vaf24 @dacreshoney @emrennoll-blog @tian-monique @slightlypossessed @celestialadrift @lauramooij05 @flaps200 @chixnugg22 @aaaaaamond @marvelfangirl04 @sw33tsnow @emeraldsgirl @imyourbubblegumpop @tempt-ress @harkonnin @k1swass @alana4610 @cloudroomblog @lotus-888 @lowlyloved @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @w3ird11 @kythefangirl25 @hobobobo-fett56 @nj452896 @oneandonlybbygrl @noirecatt

[moonstruckme]

Prince Sirius plz? 🥺 only if you want to

Thank you for requesting!

prince!Sirius x princess!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’d thought originally that the dinner was set remarkably early, but three hours in, when everyone had finally stood from the table after the fourth course, you finally understood why you’d sat down to eat midafternoon. You’re beginning to worry you’ll be here all night. You wonder if princesses are allowed to fake headaches. 

“Yes, of course,” you say, relieved that the baron whose name you can’t recall seems to be exiting the conversation. “It was really lovely meeting you.” 

He inclines his head, smiling in a way you can’t decipher. (Is he onto you, or is he just being kind? He’s been perfectly friendly while you’ve spoken, but for all you know he could go and snitch to the Queen about what an embarrassment you are straight away.) “You as well,” he says politely. “I hope we’ll have a chance to get to know each other better soon.” 

“Oh, I’m sure we will,” you reply, though of course you’re sure of nothing. For the life of you, you can’t even conjure an idea of who this man is. But thankfully, he’s backing away without seeming to have noticed your ignorance. “Nice speaking to you!” 

You take a breath once he’s gone, glancing around to be sure no one else has set their sights on you for the moment. The atmosphere in the dining room really isn’t as intimidating as it feels in your head. The decor screams old money, but the dark wood table and chairs make things feel a bit more cozy, and a gas fireplace at one end of the room keeps you all warm while casting a natural, orangey light on the people closest. You’d gravitated towards it instinctively, not realizing that of course everyone else would do the same. You cover a yawn with your hand, somehow at once on edge and exhausted.

“Well done.” You jump at the smooth voice behind you, only to recognize it a second later. Your head turns just as Sirius comes around you, a brief touch to your elbow serving as an apology for startling you. He’s smiling, that practiced, extra-suave one you’ve become familiar with seeing at these functions. 

“That was good,” he tells you. “Did you know who that was?” 

You shake your head, smiling too in relief at seeing him. “No clue.” 

Sirius inclines his head like suspected. There’s a sparkle in the corner of his eye as it catches the light, and you realize he’s wearing an almost imperceptible amount of glittery makeup. Your lips give a tug. You’ve noticed that whenever Sirius is with his family, he’ll do anything to set himself apart from them—whatever he thinks he can get away with. He slouches, or he talks to someone his parents appear to be shunning, or he wears a dark gray just slightly distinguishable from their pitch black. You can’t help but admire his boldness; stepping even an inch out of line with any of the royals you’ve met terrifies you, and from what you’ve gleaned Sirius’ parents aren’t the most forgiving of the bunch. 

“Well,” he says, “you passed it off rather well. You know he was flirting with you, right?” 

You feel your mouth drop open before the tilt of Sirius’ lips reminds you to close it. “He was not.” 

“Oh, come on.” Sirius raises a brow. “He wasn’t being subtle about it, don’t tell me you didn’t notice. He asked for you to show him around the grounds.” 

“That seems normal.” 

“Doll, you’ve been at the palace less than a month. Everyone here tonight knows these grounds better than you do. He obviously only wanted to be alone with you.” 

The reminder of your newness doesn't sting because you know Sirius doesn’t mean for it to. Your ignorance, however, is like a bruise that keeps being pressed every day you’re here. 

“Oh god,” you close your eyes, laughing despairingly. “What am I supposed to do about that?” 

“Don’t worry.” Sirius gifts you with another smile, one of his real ones. “Word will get out that we’re courting soon enough, and anyone who has less-than-professional intentions will know to keep away.”

“Right. Okay.” The idea of yours and Sirius’ fake courting doesn’t frighten you as much as it did at the conception of the plan. At the moment, you actually find it rather reassuring. You catch yourself covering another yawn. 

Sirius tuts. “Long night, hm? Poor thing.” 

Warmth tickles your cheeks. There’s teasing in the bent of his voice, but Sirius’ expression is tender, genuine. His eyes hold an increasingly familiar kindness. 

“This has gone longer than I thought it would,” you admit. “This dress isn’t super comfortable, either. When you said it would be nice, I was thinking I’d be wearing a nice sweater, not anything as formal as this.” 

Sirius shrugs, the shoulders of his suit jacket moving stiffly. “I know; it’s a lot of posturing. You look stunning, if that’s any consolation.” 

You bite down on a shy smile. You’ve learned the best way to endure Sirius’ compliments, since he won’t stop giving them, is simply to brush right past. He doles them out like candy anyway. “Do women always have to wear dresses to these things?” He nods, and you grimace. “It seems a little…” 

“Elitist? Pompous? Misogynistic?”

“I was going to say old fashioned.” 

Sirius grins. “You’re kinder than I am, gorgeous.” 

You almost roll your eyes, but stop yourself when you remember you’re not alone. 

Sirius glances around, lowering his voice. “If you want to leave,” he says, “we could always say you’re showing me around the grounds.” 

Your lips give a tug. “Didn’t you just say that was an obvious excuse?” 

“So what? We’re supposed to be courting anyway. Our families will probably have a toast the minute after we sneak off.” 

You shake your head at him, still fighting a grin. “You are going to absolutely entrench me in scandal, aren’t you?” 

Sirius’ eyelid sparkles as he drops one in a wink. “Sooner or later.” 

“Fair enough. Let me show you about the grounds,” you say, voice just barely loud enough for the courtier lingering nearest you to hear as you loop your arm through Sirius’. His brazenness must be catching. He puts on a good show of looking pleased and eager as you lead him towards the door. You lean over, murmuring, “Do you think we can change, too? I’m desperate for my cozies.” 

Sirius grins at you as though you’ve said something wonderful. He fits his arm around your waist, drawing you close just as you exit the room. 

“You’re adorable,” he says, the pretension gone from his voice now that you’re alone. “Of course we can. You’ll have to lend me your sweatpants again, though; I won’t be left out.” 

[help-itrappedmyself]

Liminal Jason part 6

This part feels like a lot of exposition. My bad, but the Batfam does not know how Danny and his life works.

You can find the earlier parts on my masterpost

“And in this scenario, you three count as dead?” Red asked, hoping to get some clarity on this, quite frankly, annoyingly impossible scenario playing out in front of him. Because as much as he can see that they clearly have a way to communicate that is beyond him and knows that they have all died, his brain does not seem to want to compute this information into other conclusions. A glance from Tim to Bruce shows that while he may not be struggling as much with the logistics of this situation, he is still struggling.

That may be because of all the children in front of him that- regardless of current status- all did die at some point. 

“Sort of,” Danny shrugs. “What you have to understand is there are a lot of different kinds of beings from what you would consider the land of the dead, which I call the Ghost Zone, and is more formally known as the Infinite Realms. There is a lot of diversity, and It would be a real sit-down kind of lesson to try and explain them all to you guys. The important bit for right now is that the three of us,” Danny gestures to Red Hood, then himself, then to Robin,”are three different beings, as related to the Infinite Realms, and I am the only one that technically counts as dead.”

Danny is very good at ignoring the side glances being thrown around. “But Ghost Speak can be spoken by any denizen of the Infinite Realms, who falls under any of it’s categories or rulers.” 

“Rulers?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny does another hand waving motion. “You know, Hades and Pluto, Lucifer and the Devil, the Ghost King, and other various religions and beliefs rulers. It's all very monarchist. The Infinite Realms are all technically under the control of the Ghost King, but the Infinite Realms are infinite and that’s a lot for one person to control. So various religious leaders all  make up what is essentially Dukes and Lords and Barons and other random titles, and they all control their little Realms and make up what could be considered a council or a parliament or Congress or what-have-you that is technically under the rule of the Ghost King. But the Ghost King really only takes care of the really big stuff most of the time. Unless there’s a tyrant on the throne, like with Pariah Dark. He was a terrible ruler, very controlling.”

Danny was rambling. He was aware of this, but the others seemed too shell-shocked to be able to stop him, and he has never really been able to talk about this with anyone so now that he is he doesn’t think he can stop himself either. 

“He’s not on the throne anymore, luckily. Technically the right to the throne is transferred through single-combat, very old-fashioned. No one could beat Pariah Dark so they locked him in the Coffin of Forever Sleep for a really long time instead. I don’t think the Infinite Realms really need a King all that much, they got by just fine for millenia without one. But now we’re getting into politics. Unimportant. Death Speak, language of the Infinite Realms, totally natural, not at all bad.”

Danny forces himself to take a very long, slow breath. By the time he is done, the others seem at least semi-recovered. 

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I would like that sit-down lesson at some point.” Red mutters, fingers twitching as he pulls out his tablet to start writing down this information. Bruce grunts in agreement.

“If it's all the same to you,” Hood snaps, “I would like to get out of this cell now.” 

“If we let you out, will you stay until we have the results from all of the tests?” Bruce asked. “They’re currently running so it won’t take long.” 

“Why the hell do we need to stay for that? You-”

“Did you take my blood?” Danny interrupted, seeming very concerned.

“It was a precaution, we had to test it. We took some of Hood’s too.” Red tried to explain. It didn’t seem to be helping, Danny’s breathing was getting kind of fast. “The tests are running now, just to look for influences of mind control or magic. And to test for dimensional distortions and integrity, if you were telling the truth about being from a different dimension. And to see if you have an alternate in this dimension that we need to be concerned about you running into.”

“I don’t really care -well, yes I do, breach of privacy, and consent, and-” Danny took a deep breath. “That is not my main concern at the moment. You were safe when handling my blood, right? You used gloves and it didn’t get on you or anything? I don’t know where we are and what you people are like, but just tell me you were safe around my blood.”

The real concern and fear in Danny was starting to get everyone else.

“Don’t worry, we are very safe here. We all have training and we know and use lab and medical safety procedures.” Damian spoke softly, aiming to calm.

“What is wrong with your blood, Danny?” Hood’s concern for him came out in underling Ghost Speak, and between him and Damian, Danny was able to calm some.

“It may be… not radioactive. Not contagious either.” Danny’s voice trailed to muttering for a moment as he figured out how to word what he said next. “My blood has a contaminant in it. Just don’t let it touch you, and definitely don’t let it get inside you somehow. It can also be dangerous if you have prolonged exposure, so make sure to get rid of any samples as soon as possible after the test and keep it away from other samples. And for the love of everything that is holy, try to keep it away from anything that will ever be ingested. Keep it away from food!”

“It can contaminate other samples?” 

“It can contaminate anything given enough time, technology included. But it spreads way more easily when it’s cold for some reason, so really anything put in a fridge with it should be tossed immediately.”

“You said it’s not contagious?” There was concern in even Red’s voice now.

“You’re not ill are you?” Damian eyes Danny warily.

“I’m fine, It’s part of me being what I am. Just,” Danny sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before cupping the back of his neck with both hands and looking towards the ceiling. “Think of it like a transforming agent. I’ve already been exposed, my DNA is altered, the harm is already done. My body actually needs that substance to survive now. Hood and… I’m sorry I don’t know what to call you.” Danny swung his hands back down to his sides as he glanced at Robin. 

“Robin.” Damian stated bluntly. 

Danny nodded and continued. “Hood and Robin have already been exposed so they’re fine for low to medium amounts of exposure. You two,” Danny pointed a finger at Red and then Batman, “Have not been exposed and therefore should avoid it as much as possible. Even a little bit can cause lifelong effects.”

[nxtaliaistyping]

Need Baron Zemo to fuck me with the mask on :(

Authors note: omg i'm not really into the mcu anymore, but nothing can stop me thinking about this man I need him so badddddd (and daniel bruhl in general tbh)

18+ nsfw, villain kink, mask kink, fingering, rough sex, brief mention of killing

Thinking about being his girl, his pretty thing that sits in his lap while he drinks the most expensive wine in his expensive penthouse (just because he's on the run, doesn't mean he can't be in style)

You know who he is, the things he's done, but you just don't care. Not when he caresses you so gently, cooing soft words in your ear of how beautiful and enchanting he finds you, how much you fill the empty void left within him after Sokovia fell and everyone he loved was wiped out.

And if anything, he's too gentle. Not wanting to frighten you, the poor little lamb that you were, cuddling up to such a dangerous man every night. So he attempts to shield things from you, what he's done and what he's capable of.

But that changes one day, you feel the compulsive need to find out more about your lover, or at least see what he's like when he's the ruthless and strategic criminal that you've been told about. This leads you to following him, not an easy task, but you see how readily he is able to get his hands dirty. Tracking down some old HYDRA agent that has information that is useful to him, and you watch in slight horror and slight awe how he interrogates the man.

Although you have to look away at certain parts, hearing presumably the agent's body hitting the cold ground with a soft thud. While you try and leave quietly, you underestimated how much planning had went into his operation, because on your attempted escape you feel a large hand grab your upper arm, yanking you towards him with force and the start of a threat before he stops.

"dragă? what are you doing here?" he asks, his tone still slightly deeper than usual as you stare into his brown eyes; the only facial features visible while he wears the dark purple mask.

As you stumble over your words, telling him that you wanted to see the real him, he can't help but notice the slight flush of your skin, the way your chest rises and your lips part. In that moment he finally understands.

"Oh...I think I understand now. My little girl likes that i'm so dangerous, hm?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk behind his teasing lilt, his head cocked to one side as you nod, embarassed.

Soon enough, he has you pinned to the wall, hand stuffed between your thighs as he fingers your tight cunt from under your skirt. You whimper and whine at his treatment, and he revels in the fact you're so depraved, so naughty, and all for him.

"Do you like this, hm sreco? I was going to take this mask off, but I have a feeling that isn't what you desire." he rasps against your ear, and you nod breathlessly at how right his assumption was. All you can do is look up at him, clenching and making a mess around his fingers as you whine.

When he pulls his fingers away, he doesn't give you time to recover before you find yourself bent over a wooden crate and his cock is forcing its way in your pussy. He's never treated you as roughly as this before, but something about his girl loving how ruthless he is, wanting him to keep his goddamn mask on, flipped a switch in him as he starts a rough pace. The echoes of his hips slamming into your ass make you flush with embarrassment, gripping the edges of the surface for dear life, pretty nails he paid for digging into the wood.

"So filthy for me, my little girl is nothing but a slut." he groans out, squeezing your ass before giving it a harsh spank. The rhythm of his cock railing you has your eyes nearly crossing, as you try not to think about the fact you're fucking an older man after he's literally just killed someone.

When he cums, he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, feeling the way you tighten around him and squeeze every last drop out. As his breathing returns to normal, so too does his headspace as he rips the mask off quickly, pulling out to shush you gently and hold you in his arms.

"There we are dragă i'm here, i'm right here. I'm sorry for being so rough."

Taking you home, he'd spoil his good girl with a bath and food, but in the back of his mind he's already planning out how he can fuck you like that again.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

[nervousd]

The Redemption of Earl Nottingham

#SYNPOSIS . Unable to stand your husband any longer you decide to flee from him

#WARNING(S) . Controlling husband, possessiveness, character death, arranged marriage, violence, brief description of blood.

#CHARACTER(S) . Earl Nottingham

How did it end up like this?

Being confined to your own chambers like a child while your husband belittled you for entertaining the advances of men. You were innnocent and yet your husband believed the words of others. As a woman of virtue and a married one at that— it appalled you that your husband would dare think of you as a harlot. At the end of your argument you were left with a ghostly complexion and your husband seething in rage.

You cried and yelled for him to let you out or for anyone to release you. But there was no response, only the echoes of your own pleas bouncing off the walls. No one would help you, having no source of companionship— not that you had any before. Seeing as how your husband has refrained you from attending any social events. It was just you and the various amount of books stacked in their shelf. When your had ran out of tears only a simmering fury threatened to erupt underneath your skin. You had vowed there and than, to refuse and be kept as a prisoner. How dare he act like a husband! For years he had ignored your very precense in this manor and now he believes he has some say over you?

And so what if you did entertain that mans advances?! He was kind, handsome and an honorable man. How could you not? When your husband could barley hold a torch against him. And now— he dare to act in such a manner? You raged— oh how you raged. You had been treated unfairly your whole life you couldn't bare it any longer. You would leave this manor and forsake this accursed marriage. It was a scandalous decision— but not one you would think twice.

The soft tap on the door broke your sense of thoughts, creaking open revealing a maid holding a tray, “ I have brought you lunch, madam “ the maid announced, her voice was devoid of any warmth. Before the maid could offer the tray, you had pushed her aside. Startled, the maid stumbled back, bewildered by your act of aggression. You hurried past her without a word, leaving the maid standing in the corridor. Your footsteps echoed loudly against the polished floor— not that you cared. You were leaving this mansion and for good. Suddenly, your husband appeared at the end of the corridor where they connected with the stairs leading down towards the front door— towards freedom. His eyes were ablaze with anger as he intercepted your path.

Your husband— Ian Nottingham, stood tall and imposing. His dark disheveled hair fell slightly around his angular face, framing his green eyes with an ominous look. His scar traced a jagged path on his left cheek— a reminder of the battle he fought and the wounds that have left him scarred. In the years, you've been married to him not once did you fully look at him. He was a terrifying man— with unpredictable behavior; he would throw fits of anger that shook the manor whole. His brows were furrowed into creases, adding into the intensity of his gaze. His jaw was set in a firm line, betraying the conflict within him.

“What?” His voice rumbled with venom. “Do you find me even more repulsive up close? Hmm?” Fury twisted his face as he spat the words. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, causing you to cry out in pain from his rough handling. His imposing frame loomed over you, the flickering candles casting ominous shadows on his face. He was terrifying, “Is that why you were unfaithful? Was the baron so charming? Did that snake promise you eternal love?” he snarled, shaking your wrist violently.

With tears in your eyes, you shouted, “Think of it however you want!” You pulled at your wrist, struggling fiercely against his grip. His jaw locked, “No matter what you do to try to change this, dearest, you are still my wife in the eyes of both men and heaven, and I your husband “

It felt as if the world was shattering around you. Husband? How dare he call himself that? He had spent an eternity ignoring you—the same man who took you to the altar and made vows. “My husband? Do you really have the right to call yourself that? You never treated me as a wife! This marriage is over!”

Anger twisted his face into a contorted mask of rage, his green eyes flashing with a volatile mix of fury and jealousy. His jaw clenched so tightly it seemed like it might shatter, and his nostrils flared as if struggling to contain a storm within. His brows drew together into a dark scowl, the muscles in his forehead bunching in a way that made his anger almost palpable. Every line in his face seemed to deepen with the intensity of his emotions, reflecting not just a burning anger but also a bitter, jealous hurt that cut deeper than any physical blow. The very air around him seemed to crackle with his overwhelming sense of fury and resentment.

“Did you truly love him?” he demanded, his voice cold and harsh. It felt like speaking to a wall; his rage was the only thing driving him now. His grip on your wrist tightened to the point of pain, and you could feel the bruising pressure already forming, “ Ow! Let go!” you cried out, struggling against his unyielding hold, “ You cannot escape me! Even in death you shall not leave! Even if this cursed manor collapsed around us!”

Straining to free yourself from his iron grip, you felt a deepening frustration with each desperate tug. “Why are you doing this to me?!” you demanded, your voice breaking with a mix of anger and hurt. “What did I ever do to you?!” The resentment in your voice was palpable, each word a testament to the pain and bewilderment of feeling so unjustly targeted. You managed to break free from his grasp, quickly gathering the sides of your dress in your hands as you hurried away. Glancing back over your shoulder, you shouted, “I refuse to stay here any longer! I can’t spend the rest of my life trapped here like a ghost!”

“You can’t keep me her—!” you yelled, but as you rushed down, your foot had slipped on the edge of the stairs. Instantly, the world tilted as you lost your balance. A cold dread filled your chest as time seemed to stretch, and you felt yourself falling. Each step hit with a jarring thud, and the sharp, unforgiving edges of the stairs seemed to blur together. Finally, you crashed onto the floor below with a heavy thump, pain radiating through your body. The force of the impact left you gasping for breath, your vision momentarily darkening as you lay sprawled, disoriented and bruised. The room seemed to spin around you as you tried to regain your senses, each breath coming in ragged gasps.

A warm trickle of blood began to flow underneath your sprawled hair, staining the floor beneath you. The room swam around you as you lay sprawled, the metallic scent of blood mingling with the sharp pain, and you struggled to catch your breath, the darkness closing in at the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw, was your husband crying out in anguish. Sobbing uncontrollably, hands clutching his face, eyes wide and frantic as he called your name over and over.

A smile crept across your lips.

You suppose you can find some solace in that—if your life, given in exchange for freedom, caused even a single moment of despair for him. That’s enough to ease your soul.

[sigweiner]

⌁₊˚ Shiver ˚₊⌁ {P1}

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!/Gnc!/Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: There's a dance party for Isha. Jinx blows stuff up and you end up taking her (virginity) virtue. Also this has quite a bit of your bg story.

Warnings!: fluff, smut, swearing, angst, t06!c relationship, substance use, mentions of dark ses and physical stuff.

a/n: Arcane literally altered my brain chemistry so I had to put this out. Also English is not my first language, sorry for the weird punctuation and sentences. Minors and creeps dni.

{P2} {P3}

“You know what we need?!” Jinx exclaims with a wild look on her face, completely out of the blue. “A dance partaaaay!!!” She shouts excitedly, throwing her pale arms in the air and spinning on her stool chair, blue braids swirling around her and all.

She had been working on Fishbones for a while, quietly talking to herself here and there as usual, when she suddenly announced her idea to everyone present. Isha jumped up from where she was sitting on the floor, seeming very excited by the prospect of dancing around to strobe lights and loud music. You rolled your eyes unimpressed, asking yourself how the hell was she planning to pull that off since none of you could be seen in public. You were supposed to be dead, Jinx was a wanted criminal and Isha… well she was an easy target for being associated with Piltover’s number one enemy.

It's been three months since you have failed - somewhat intentionally - a mission assigned to you by your mother after you fucked up majorly with a job she gave you. A job that involved escorting the head of a highly respected and ridiculously rich family from Piltover. Madam Margot though, is one of the last remaining chem barons, and she only really held the title of your mother because she gave birth to you. The relationship between you two was downright abusive and toxic while she raised you to be the epitome of perfection – perfect posture, perfect manners, perfect body, absolutely submissive, extremely feminine and pleasant. Not to mention the extensive training for you to become the best courtesan at the Rapturewalk, so there would be no one you wouldn’t be able to pleasure.

The cruel irony of life though was you were the complete opposite of all that. Poor posture, disregard for manners, chubby, defiant and full of masculine energy. So you suffered greatly, mostly by her hands but also by any object she could grab around to discipline you. You had to learn to compartmentalise yourself and your feelings to survive but you reached your breaking point when you met Jinx, basically. You were supposed to capture her and kill Sevika in the process but you ended up in a human sized cage in her hideout. You could have done it, finished the mission successfully and returned to your mother seeking her praise and approval, but that would never happen anyway, she was too much of a narcissist to give you that satisfaction.

Margot did sponsor all your implants and shimmer “treatments” though, so you could turn into a living walking weapon, her weapon, which is the only thing you’re really grateful for other than receiving training to become a blade master which was also a requirement because you needed to learn how to defend yourself, she always encouraged you in that regard. So you became Shiv, choosing this alias to represent your "chemgoth assassin who wears too much leather and harnesses" personality. It would be pathetic if it wasn’t your entire existence, or maybe it is but you try not to think too much about it. But anyway, back to your more recent reality: a very empathetic little girl took a liking to you while you were caged and convinced Jinx to take you in, since she believed you didn't represent any real danger to them. So here you are in yet another dysfunctional “family”, though you rather this a thousand times than go back to Margot.

“What are you talking about? We can't go out in public, Jinx.” You say with an unamused scowl on your face.

“Hah! Don't be stupid, trinket! We're having the party right here.” She flaunts her arms flamboyantly referring to the space around her. Isha jumps up and down, unable to contain her excitement. “Now, I'll take care of the music and lights, Isha will take care of decoration and Trinket…” She points her wrench at you, making a dramatic pause. “Will take care of food and drinks.” She finishes with a smirk so you scoff.

“Why do I get the hardest task?” You ask rolling your eyes at her but already knowing the answer.

“Consider it a small payback for trying to capture me.” She replies through gritted teeth. “Plus you're a really good thief, I'm sure you can get your hands on some top shelf stuff for us.” She adds nonchalantly, reminding you why she still keeps you around.

“I'm not a thief.” You say stubbornly, the complement going over your head.

“Great! It's settled then, let's get to work!” She jumps off her stool and starts rummaging through a bunch of crates full of messy junk.

You cross your arms over your chest and sink further into the couch. You had no intention to start on your assigned task anytime soon. And who does she think she is anyway to order you around like that? What a stupid idea, a dance party. Sure that would make little Isha so happy. She often got bored sitting around the hideout with nothing to do other than tinker with unfinished bombs and draw on any surface she could find. But dancing and parties are really not your thing, you’re more a moping around in the dark kind of person which makes you realise you might be a little too depressed actually.

So you start brainstorming places to raid where you know there's a good stash of food and drinks and you immediately think of your mother's warehouse. But that was definitely a bad idea, since there would be a small probability you could get caught by the Vyx or be seen around, although you're pretty sure you could get in and out without any effort, since you know the place like the back of your hand. Plus thinking about the kind of food your mother had laying around made you salivate, not to mention the booze, that could definitely cheer you up.

Jinx suddenly plops down on the couch next to you interrupting your thought process by man spreading in those distracting tiny shorts and thigh high socks. You avert your gaze quickly and try to ignore her presence altogether but your hormones get the best of you. Did she have to walk around in so little clothing? Doesn’t she get cold or something? Although the shimmer probably altered a lot of sensations for her but this was just maddening. She nudges your leg with her boot lightly, refusing to be ignored.

“You know opting out of the party is not an option for you, right Trinket?” She says in a surprisingly calm voice and smirks when you glance at her sideways.

“Whatever.” You scoff, continuing to look anywhere but at her stupidly attractive grin.

“So where are you planning to snatch the goods?” she ignores your dismissive tone while playing with the ends of one of her braids. 

“Maybe… my mother's warehouse. But that's a dumb idea.” You reply pointedly. Jinx suddenly gasps and gets closer to you.

“That's a perfect idea, Trinket! Margot has stuff the Pilts eat, dude. You have to get it for us, it's gonna be epic!” She grabs at the traps of your harness that hugs your collarbones and shakes you slightly. 

“Get off!” You push her hands away with an aggravated look on your face but she just laughs at your reaction. “I'm not putting myself in that kind of danger for your stupid party.” You tell her sternly, but it lacks any real bite.

Jinx feigns a surprised look of insult and reclines back on the couch spreading her slender legs even further. “Don't be selfish, Trinket! This party is for that kid over there, who by the way, has never tasted anything like what people on the other side of the bridge have. So stop being an insufferable brat and get going!” she moves to shove you off the couch but you manage to dodge her swiftly. 

In a second you're standing in front of her, arms firmly crossed against your chest. “Fine. But just so you know I'm only doing this for her, not for you.” You let out with more anger than you intended to. There's a flash of hurt on her features before she manages to mask it so you hold her gaze a second longer before turning around and vanishing from sight.

If you were being honest with yourself you had to admit that this little rendezvous Jinx sent you on made you feel alive. Sure, the safety of the hideout brought you immense emotional comfort, even though the blue haired girl could get under your skin most of the time. But this, the adrenaline of the mission, the possibility of getting caught or even running into your mother, is simply thrilling. And you love the simple things in life.

So you are selfish after all. The motivation behind your actions, completely forgotten by you. You learn the patterns of the guards, patiently designing your path through isles of containers then you proceed to move swiftly and blend in with the shadows. You lockpick your way into a large container in seconds and your double bladed dagger cuts through the mesh nets that are covering large crates filled with aliments. 

You stash as much as you can on a makeshift bag you brought with you and when you start to tie it across your chest and back, you sense movement behind you. You move so fast your own brain can’t recognise who you suddenly have caught by putting your dagger under their throat and tightly securing one of their arms on their back. The person is wearing a hooded cloak but you get a whiff of a familiar scent coming off of them and immediately recognise the intruder.

“Gee, didn't know you were this kinky.” Jinx says putting her free arm up in redemption. You release her from your grip and push her away. She turns around with a big grin on her face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You whisper harshly but she gives you a look of feigned innocence.

“I came to help you carry stuff.” She says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Her hands lower to rest on her hips and she winks at you. Damn her.

“Shh, you're going to alert the Vyx.” You reprimand her. She just rolls her eyes and turns around to steal more food from the open crates. 

You stare at her back in complete disbelief as she collects honey, chocolate, sugar, candy, meat and all the soda cans she could fit in her backpack. How in the hell did she manage to get over here without you noticing? She must've followed you, or more likely stalked you all the way over here. It is understandable that she wouldn't trust you and wanted to keep an eye on you to make sure you wouldn't run from her, but this was just a whole nother level of mania.

“I wasn't gonna run, y’know.” You say quietly. She stops what she's doing but doesn't look at you.

“I know.” She replies in the same quiet manner. “But you're so much fun to follow around, I can't help it.” She turns sideways to look at you with her signature wicked grin that you love to hate. God, sometimes you wish you could kiss it off her face.

You scoff, but look away. “More like stalking.” You mumble under your breath. “Let's go, there's a round of guards coming this way.” You warn her.

“Fineee.” She drags her response. “But I'm leaving your mother a gift, ya know, in exchange for her generosity and letting us take all this stuff.” She giggles mischievously at the confused look on your face. “15 seconds, let's go!” She warns, then runs past you.

You hear the familiar ticking of one of her monkey bombs and your eyes widen. Shit, why does she always have to make an event out of everything? Your body moves faster than your brain yet again, and you manage to see a pink colored flash of light moving alongside you, bolting to the exit. A few seconds later you hear as well as feel the blast in the not so far distance. And chaos ensues.

Back at Jinx’s hideout, the only sound that can be heard is of the girls laughing while Jinx reenacts in the most flamboyant way possible what happened an hour ago. You lay lazily on the couch, your head propped on one of the armrests, trying really hard not to stress over the consequences today's recklessness will bring. You should've known better. Of course Jinx would follow you and try to explode something just for the fun of it. Also she never did get back at your mother for sending you on a mission to try and capture her so you kind of have to admit she had the right to do so. You cover your face with one arm and try your best not to let anxiety take over. After a brief while, you hear someone approaching and by the heavy sounds of boots on the metal ground, you know Jinx is coming to bother you, again.

“Not right now Jinx.” You warn her, but the last thing you could expect is her climbing on top of you and casually straddling your legs. You look at her incredulously, your gaze jumping all over her body and her face. “What the hell-” You start to say, but she cuts you off.

“Cheer up Trinket! We're about to have the time of our lives!” She lets out one of her outrageous laughs and starts tickling your sides with her slim fingers. “Isha help me out here!” She shouts for the child to come join in on torturing you.

“Stop! You're insane!” You try to hold her hands on a tight grip but Isha is already climbing on top of you too. “Traitor! I thought you were on my side!” You try to shout with bravado but the tickling gets to you making you giggle uncontrollably.

“Raise hell!” Jinx commands and manages to free her hands from your grip. You all end up falling to the floor when in an attempt to escape you throw yourself off the couch.

Everyone is laughing now at your utter defeat, tears coming down your face, all worries and anxiety forgotten momentarily. The girls stop attacking you and you try to steady your breathing, giggles dying down slowly. Isha throws her little arms around you and lays on your torso with a big smile on her face. Following the small girl’s action, Jinx also places her body on top of both of you, though her face is close next to yours. You can smell the intoxicating scent of her hair and you can feel her breathing tickling your ear.

“Guess you're not so tough after all.” She whispers into your ear and you have to suppress a shiver that threatens to course through your body. 

“Alright, alright you got me. Now let me breathe please.” You admit defeat and the girls start pulling off of you. Isha gestures for the party to start so Jinx gets up and offers you a hand. You hesitate before taking it and she puts more force than needed to pull you up so you end up flushed against her, faces inches from each other, her hand swiftly finding the small of your back to steady you.

“Time to shake those ol’ bones of yours.” She whispers. You can't help but stare at her plum colored lips as they move. She smirks and you sigh, pulling away from her. You let out a shaky “right” and walk past her to join Isha by the work station. 

The lights are turned off and Isha's doodles glow in the dark of the hideout, making everything fluorescent. Jinx turns on colorful strobe lights, and music starts to blast through a gramophone speaker, giving life to an improvised dance floor. Before everyone starts dancing though, Jinx covers Isha's eyes as you walk over a makeshift table covered with a cloth. Jinx counts to three and you lift off the cloth to reveal a banquet to a very excited Isha, who wastes no time and dives right in.

You pour yourself a cup of a lightweight liquor, not intending to get wildly drunk tonight, or any night for that matter when you're around Jinx. You fear you won't be able to hold back your annoying crush on her if you don't stay sober. Surprisingly (or not really), Jinx doesn't drink alcohol, preferring a sugary soda instead. She is the first to start dancing, followed by Isha who has her mouth full of chocolate. You don't remember ever seeing her this happy ever since you met her, even though that wasn't that long ago.

You start bopping your head nonchalantly, lingering by the table, just watching the girls having fun with a dopey grin on your face. You decide all of that ordeal earlier was worth it because of this moment. Jinx twirls Isha around once and they giggle happily jumping up and down to the rhythm of a rock song. Your eyes catch Jinx’s gaze for a second and she starts strutting over to you.

“This is a dance party, Trinket! You need to dance!” She leans close to your face. Your stupid heart skips a beat but you manage to steady it. “C’mon! Just pretend like it's a club!” She shouts through the music. 

“I'm not a good dancer!” You retort. She gives you an unimpressed look and then you feel tiny hands pull on your own. Isha is guiding you to the middle of the dance floor so you can dance together.

Is there anything you wouldn't do for this little girl? You can't think of anything as you start moving a little unsure of how you're supposed to do this. Isha's energy is contagious so you can't help but let yourself be free as well. Jinx appears next to you after a moment and hands you a chocolate covered strawberry, munching on another one herself. You take it and savour the sweet contrast of flavours in your mouth, Gods it's been a while since you had food like this. 

You catch Jinx licking chocolate off the tip of her thumb and you're suddenly hypnotised. You wish it was you licking the sweet off of her, or the other way around would be great too. Her lips curl into that god awful smirk so you look away, thinking the liquor is already getting to your head. Isha grabs your hand and makes you twirl her around just like Jinx did so you concentrate on the small child again, happy to oblige.

After a while of just the three of you jumping around, mimicking an assortment of animals and you and Jinx singing loudly to popular songs together, you decide to take a break, sitting down by the floor with a chicken thigh on one hand and half of your cup of happy juice on the other. The girls join shortly after, eating like they haven't seen food for months. And to be quite honest, food was really scarce in the hideout since you couldn't be going out often to steal meals, so yeah, they probably haven't eaten this well in a while.

You don't let yourself dwell on the hardships of everyday life for long though, the girls are already finding a way to entertain you. This time they play with the remains of their food, making funny faces. Jinx pretends to be a vampire by sticking chicken bones under her upper lip as if they were her fangs. Isha uses the bones as horns on top of her head. You just laugh wholeheartedly at their creativity but don’t join in on the food play. After eating as much as you could though, it was time to get back to the dance floor.

A more sultry song starts playing and Jinx really gets into it. Swaying her hips effortlessly to the beat like she knew the exact moves to it. You were yet again mesmerised by her, slowing down your movements almost to a halt, just moving your body side to side. Jinx locks eyes with you, pupils completely blown by the lack of light, probably. She starts moving closer but this time for some reason you couldn't look away.

“If you think I'm pretty, lay your hands on me.” She mouths the lyrics once she is standing in front of you. Your hand lifts magnetically towards her hip, but you hesitate pulling it away slightly. “I know you can’t stop thinking ‘bout it.” She sings again, taunting you. Your head feels hazy in the best way possible when she moves even closer to you, but your body knows exactly what to do.

You rest your hand on the hip she has covered with powder blue clouds, and her skin feels electric. She wastes no time laying her hands on you though, running her fingers almost reverently through the tender skin of one of your arms. Jinx checks you out shamelessly, pink spinel eyes coursing through your body with hunger. You feel a shiver course through your spine when her hand travels from your shoulder to the back of your neck, holding you there steadily so you find yourself frozen under her spell, unable to think any coherent thoughts when she has her hands on you like this.

Jinx takes your free hand and guides it to lay on her waist, making you feel the sensual sway of her body. You swallow hard and her eyes follow the motion, making her carom her skinny fingers through your choker necklace and towards your shoulder, before brushing a strand of your hair behind it. This time you can’t help but shiver when the tips of her fingers graze the skin of your neck in the process. She puts her hand on your waist right after, guiding you to sway like her, but it's hard to do anything when your body feels like it's on fire. She giggles at your apparent lack of coordination, seemingly oblivious to the real effect she has on you.

You snap out of it when fireworks suddenly burst out of nowhere illuminating the space pink and blue. The song changes and you both hesitantly remove your hands from each other. You try to hide the scorching heat creeping up your face by grabbing your cup and downing the last remains of your drink. Jinx moves away from you to start spinning aimlessly around with Isha, who seems hell bent on making herself dizzy just for fun.

“Careful, you’re gonna get sic-” You don’t get to finish your sentence because Isha throws up all over the floor, making a mess. Jinx lets out a surprised laugh and the kid hugs herself for a moment, looking embarrassed, before her mouth turns into a frown and tears start pooling around her eyes.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay kid, don’t worry about it, let’s get you cleaned up.” You’re immediately by her side, cradling her head and wiping at the tears falling down her face. You take her hand and start guiding her to the “bathroom” right outside the hideout.  

“Ugh fine, I’ll clean up the mess!” Jinx shouts from a distance. You glance back at her and give your best apologetical smile before disappearing out of sight.

Later that night, you’re at the top of a nextdoor building trying to get some fresh air, or as fresh of an air as Zaun can provide. Your legs dangle on the edge of the long forgotten structure as you watch the distant glow of the progress city. Jinx was putting Isha to bed as she always does every night, and you didn’t want to intrude on their little ritual, besides your head was still swirling a bit with the effects of the alcohol you had earlier, making your mind keep going back to the dance you shared with the wild girl.

This was getting out of your control, which scared you shitless. You knew for certain Jinx wasn’t the kind of girl who falls in love, or she doesn’t seem to be, so she would never reciprocate your little infatuation with her, which in your opinion is childish at best. You sigh heavily, thinking back on how her skin felt under your touch, and about her damn barely there clothes, and about how her tattoos adorn her body perfectly.

“Slow down or your head is gonna explode.” You hear Jinx’s playful voice behind you. “Y’know, from all the thinking you’re doing.” She continues. You turn sideways to glance at her, and unfortunately she still looks wildly tempting. You scoff, turning away.

“Get yourself a mirror, will you?” You banter back. She giggles and plops herself down next to you so close your thighs are touching, making you tense up.

“Aw Trinket, you’re no fun! Just when I thought you were starting to loosen up a little.” She purrs her last words, propping her forearm on your shoulder, face close to yours.

“My name is Shiv, y’know.” Your voice trembles, nerves betraying you. She lifts her eyebrows and smirks at you.

“Is that so Y/N?” She whispers, her warm breath brushing the side of your face. Your eyes widen slightly, how the hell does she know that? But you quickly recover.

“Been digging up my dirt, huh?” You say casually. She smiles sweetly and moves so her head is resting on your shoulder.

“Heh yeaah, I might have…” She chuckles, watching the city ahead. You stay silent, because of course she has. You think it’s only fair since you know everything about her past too, about Powder. You take a deep breath catching a whiff of her scent, rusty with hints of something sweet you can't quite identify. It nearly drives you insane.

“Sooo… you think I’m pretty, huh?” She interrupts your internal turmoil only to cause a full blown panic in you. You tense up when she lifts her head to look at you.

“Stop fucking around, Jinx.” You warn her but it comes out more like a plea. You chance a furtive look at her and regret it immediately since she has that damn knowing smirk on her face.

“I’m not. I um… liked the way you touched me.” She says almost shily, slowly placing her hand on top of yours and squeezing it lightly. You honest to god do not know what to do with that information. You glance at your hands together and back at her face, trying to figure out what is going on here.

She’s just trying to rile you up as usual, right? There’s nothing more to this than her trying to toy with you, right? That’s what you are to her, a trinket, right? She probably just wants to use you to satisfy her needs and then throw you away, right? You can admit she is hitting on you but it’s not like she has other options, right? She just needs a quick fuck to make her forget all her problems momentarily and let off some steam, right?

Maybe then she would stop randomly blowing shit up and stop talking to herself like there are invisible people around. Maybe you should give in, perhaps this would do you good as well. But what about afterwards? How could you move on knowing how it feels when your bodies are tangled together? Or the taste of her on your tongue? Or the sounds she makes when she reaches her peak? You don’t think you could ever get over that, it would definitely break you.

“Y’know for someone who’s so quick and swift, you’re surprisingly slow witted.” She brings your attention back to her making you frown before biting your lower lip, a decision forming within you.

“What do you want from me Jinx?” You ask her seriously. The look on your face letting her know you are definitely not messing around.

“I want… you, silly.” She says tentatively, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. The tenderness of the gesture almost made you flinch, fuck you can’t deal with softness.

You lunge forward, grabbing the back of her head as you slam your lips together in a desperate kiss. She lets out a surprised 'umph' sound but kisses you back, throwing her arms around your neck. You brush your tongue on her lower lip before deepening the kiss, and Gods she tastes so sweet somehow, you can’t help but let out a low moan against her mouth. That seems to spur her on because she sinks her fingers on the back of your head, massaging your scalp making your eyes flutter.

One of your hands paws at her chest while the other grabs her waist roughly, pulling her towards you. The salacious nature of your kiss makes you both let out breathy moans, increasing the heat that threatens to burn your insides. You two part momentarily so you can push at her shoulder making her lay down on the rough concrete floor. You move so you’re hovering above her and you can’t help but admire the mess you’ve made of her. Kiss swollen lips, chest heaving trying to catch her breath, her pretty lipstick all smeared around her mouth.

Jinx rests her arms on the floor beside her head, and swallows harshly waiting for your next move. You straddle her hips before lowering down your upper body to kiss her again, hands raking through her sides, appreciating the feeling of her firm waist. Then they travel up her stomach right around the time your tongues swirl together, making her squirm underneath you.

You let go of her mouth to lavish her neck with kisses and bruises, biting down at her pulse point hungrily. She lets out small whimpers and quiet moans at what you’re doing to her neck, and when you move your hands to pull up her bralette above her chest, she gasps and arches her back towards you. You start kissing a path down her collarbone, towards her chest, tasting the salt on her skin. One of your hands pinches her left nipple making her moan loudly.

You take the opportunity to soothe the pink areola with your tongue but bite lightly at it soon after. Jinx is a squirming mess underneath you, hands balled into fists beside her head. You take her wrists and guide them to wrap around your shoulders, making her suddenly remember how to use her hands. You huff a chuckle and kiss her hard again, her fingers tangling on your hair.

You paw at her right breast only to be surprised by a feeling of metal lodged in her nipple. You break the kiss to get a better look at it and you spot a silver piercing on her boob, Gods as if she couldn’t get any hotter. You raise an eyebrow at her but she only guides your head towards it, so you waste no time on lavishing her nipple with attention. The sounds coming out of her, a delicious tune to your ears.

You rake your free hand down her side until you reach the hem of her shorts and she bucks her hips upwards. Her thighs are tightly clasped together which is unacceptable, so you snake your hand on the back of her thigh to pull it around your hip. She lifts her other leg and snakes it around you without coercion and you finally let go of her breast with a pop. You lower your hips on her crotch, giving it a tentative grind to watch her reaction, and she rewards you with an obscene moan. Jinx holds your back tightly and claws at it every time you roll your hips into hers.

“Should I stop?” You realise she hasn't said anything ever since you pounced on her like a feral cat. And even though this was supposed to be strictly physical, you couldn't help but check-in on her.

She frantically shakes her head no, desperation crossing her face. “Please don't.” She down right begs and cradles your face, beckoning you towards her lips. You chuckle but kiss her lewdly anyway.

You rest your weight on an elbow and maneuver your free hand to skillfully unclasp the buckle of her tiny shorts, snaking your hand inside to find no other barriers to her saturated heat. You both moan at the sensation of your lithe digits caressing her folds. She was so wet and soft under your touch but you wasted no time on this heavenly feeling before teasing her swollen bud and sinking a finger inside of her. She cries out with a hiss so you freeze your movements studying her face for any signs of pain. This confuses you a bit, since you assumed she was quite experienced at this. But she is so tight, which doesn't add up.

“Does it hurt?” You ask quietly. Her eyes are clasped shut and there's a frown between her eyebrows. Her mouth agape panting slightly. She lays a hand on your wrist and guides you to start moving again.

“S-slow…” She manages to say between whimpers. You acquiesce and start rubbing her engorged clit with your thumb as you slowly start pumping inside of her.

“You feel so fucking good, Jinx.” You whisper against her cheek, peppering kisses all over her face, before reaching her lips, kissing her sweetly.

You can feel her relax a bit, the distraction seemingly working to ease her into pleasure. You start moving a little faster, burying your finger deeper and try to find the spot that will make her eyes roll. She cradles the nape of your neck, and scratches her nails there making you shiver. You try to maneuver your fingers inside her shorts to add another one but the piece of cloth made it hard to pull that off. You ask her to hold on before giving her a quick peck on the lips, then you carefully pull your hand from inside her. She whines and pouts but you reassure her you'll be quick.

You sit on your knees to the side of her and start pulling off her shorts down her legs so she lifts up her hips to help you get rid of it. You also take off her boots in the process leaving her only in her thigh high socks. A breeze swifts by making her shiver, or was it the weight of your gaze admiring her comely body? You graze your fingers reverently through the cloud tattoo adorning her waist before laying down next to her and pulling her close towards you. One arm snaking around her shoulders and the other lifting her leg to rest over your hip.

Jinx cradles your face with her hands again, ghosting her lips on yours before kissing you softly. You caress her thigh before sneaking your hand up to grab her ass, making her gasp into your mouth. You finally move your hand to her throbbing core, massaging her salient clit, which you noticed was a lot larger than the average you have seen in your lifetime. The way it responds to your ministrations, like it has a mind of its own, pulls wetness from your own body. You feel her bury her face on the crook of her neck trying desperately to muffle her loud moans.

“Don't try to hold back, I wanna hear you princess.” You whisper in her ear, the pet name escaping you before you could stop yourself. She lifts up her head and looks at you through half lidded eyes, hazy with pleasure.

You’re cradling her on one arm when you tease two fingers on her entrance, giving her the time to stop you if she wants to. But she just grinds on your fingers making them slip in a bit, her legs already starting to tremble. You carefully push your lithe digits inside of her again, waiting for a brief moment so she can adjust to the stretch before picking up the pace. The combination of your fingers inside of her and the palm of your hand brushing her clit is enough to make her reach her climax, dripping fluid all over your hand. You slow down your movements, helping her ride her high until she gently pushes your hand away.

You wipe it off on your own clothes before you embrace her, making soft patterns on her bare back. She takes a moment to steady her breathing then pulls you in for a sloppy kiss. You smile at her eagerness but her hands start to roam your body so you have to stop her. This has gone far enough and you don't want anyone touching you like this, especially because of what happened 5 months ago with the rich Piltover dude. Even if the person who's touching you is Jinx, you can't do this, not right now. She looks at you with a confused frown on her face.

“But it's your turn toots.” She tries to explain but you're already untangling yourself from her.

“You should head back inside, Jinx. It's getting cold.” You say sitting up, not looking at her. You gather her clothes and hand it back to her. “Don't worry about me.” You say ending the conversation.

You're a coward, you don't dare to look at her because you know the look of hurt on her face will break you. Damn your self control, you don't know why you thought this was a good idea. You think you deserve to suffer for treating her like this. But this is what she wanted, right? Just a quick fuck to forget her problems. So you gave it to her, you tell yourself it doesn't have to be more than that even though your heart is beating so fast inside your rib cage it hurts. You hear her putting her clothes back on quickly as she sniffles, wiping away under her nose with her forearm. You just sit on the ground with your head low.

“Did I… do something wrong?” She asks with a shaky voice. You swallow hard.

“No, you were perfect.” You say honestly. And that was part of the problem wasn't it?

“Then why won't y-” She starts to protest but you cut her off.

“You got what you wanted didn't you? Now leave me alone.” The harshness of your words cut through the night like one of your sharp blades.

She just stands beside you, stunned probably or pissed off, you didn't dare to look her way to find out. You just wanted her gone or for her to force you to look at her and tell the truth, you didn't know which option was worse really. She finally turns away and storms off the roof but not before kicking an innocent piece of scrap metal that was on her way. You wince and bury your face in your hands, putting pressure on your eyes as if that could prevent the tears from coming. What a mess you’ve made, it's all your fault.

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws and @cafekitsune.

[heedeungism]

synopsis: riki knows you better than anyone else. includes: bridgerton au (barely), a little women reference, confessions of love, pre-marital kissing (the scandal!), gross old men, arranged marriage notes: @hoes4hoseok i hope you enjoy my timothee chalamification of riki, this one's for you girl🩷

there’s a thin line between love and friendship. your mother says she was friends with your father before she ever learned to love him, never in the way the poets rave, but in a way that made her life easier. in her words, “a love match is as rare as a diamond, dear. you shouldn’t hold out hope of one should it ruin your debut.”

it’s a shame, you think, that you can love someone so deeply and yet there’s no guarantee they’ll share the sentiment, nor a chance to see if what you feel is dwindling infatuation or true unyielding devotion. it’s improper to explore your options, greedy to want more than expected, and childish to yearn for love. yet you do.

your debut season approaches fast, and with it, the heavy promise of your hand to baron mortimer weighs your heart down like an anchor keeping you from daydreaming of the things you had read and researched about love.  he’s wealthy, titled, and twice your age. he would give your family a more comfortable life, save you from the shame of becoming a spinster if you do not find another suitable match your first season, and seems to be respectable enough despite his intent to marry you, a soon-to-be debutante he set his eyes upon years ago. it’s unnerving, but your mother speaks of him without disdain, so you keep your anxieties about his character at bay.

unfortunately, your dearest friend plagues your mind just so. riki’s return from oxford approaches with the same swiftness as your debut. you dread the idea of no longer having the liberty to write to him or paint him when he’s a willing muse, as it would be improper to do so while promised to another. for that reason you have yet to write to him since your last letter a week ago, where in it you bid him the gentlest farewell you could to help ease the ache in your heart.

you aren’t sure if he even received it, as he has not written back, but you suppose it’s for the best.

at least you believe that until he’s before you with unkempt hair and a haunted look in his tormented gaze. 

“tell me it is not true.” he says, chest rising and falling as if he had run from oxford to mayfair on foot, though perhaps he had been traveling by carriage since he received the letter clutched between his fingers. “tell me you are not marrying that man.”

you are unsure of how to respond, your lips parting hut no words leaving them. you turn toward your ladies maid, who blinks wildly as she receives the message, placing your hairpin down and hastening out of the room past the viscount’s son. the door clicks and yet his gaze remains unyielding, you finally speak, “you are back early, mr nishimura.”

riki had always been exceedingly easy to read, only to you, he used to pout. this moment is no different, and you can see how hard it is for him to wrap his head around his title leaving your lips instead of his name, but he recovers enough to repeat himself, “tell me.”

you place a hand on your stomach, squeezed by a corset that you suspect is why you can’t seem to catch your breath, “i will not lie to you.”

his brows furrow, his teeth peeking from his plump lips as they part in disgust and frustration, “he is old.”

“yes, i am aware of lord mortimer’s age.” you say with a similar frustration on your tongue that is heavily withheld by your propriety, “my mother saw it pertinent i educate myself before our marriage.”

“you cannot marry him.” riki says, and the frustration in your blood blooms into something more, something worse.

“that is not your decision to make.” you state, mindlessly flattening invisible wrinkles in your dress as he takes a step closer, only for you to fortify the distance with one of your own in the same direction, “not any more than it is mine.”

“you…” he loses his words as his hand clenches and releases at his side like he longs to reach for you, “you do not want this.”

“what i want does not matter to my parents anymore than it should to you,” you state, attempting to tuck the loose strand of hair that your ladies maid hadn’t the time to fit into your updo behind your ear, only for it to fall right back into place against your cheekbone, “lord mortimer is wealthy, he will give me a comfortable life.”

“do you not deserve a happy one?” riki asks, and you feel the cracks in your chest widen. instinctively, you fight the tremble of your chin and the tug in your brow as tears attempt to fit through the open crevice of your act.

“no, don’t—“ you shake your eyes, turning away from him as your arms drop to your sides, “don’t do that. i have accepted my future, i do not need you planting doubts in my mind.”

“what use would planting them do when i can see they’ve already taken root far before i arrived here?” you overlook the step he takes, nor how large his stride is. he only takes one yet it makes all the difference, as he feels infinitely closer than before. just as you feared he would.

“stop it.” you say, masked inside a heavy exhale, yet a plea all the same. “you should be visiting with your sisters, i’m sure they missed you dearly—“

“don’t marry him.” he says, and you finally look at him.

“what?” you ask despite knowing exactly what he said, you want to hear him say it again to make sure it wasn’t in your head.

he shakes his head, taking another step closer, “don’t marry him.”

“you…” he doesn't have to explain what he means, your childish hopes of love that you’d hidden so deep in your conscience do so for him. your heart sings as his eyes flick between your own and then down the bridge of your nose and lower, but your mind refuses to bend as your heart does. you shake your head, shuffling back to salvage whatever distance you can, “no.”

“yes.” he responds in kind, dropping the letter and closing the distance between the two of you to grab your hands. his next words are paired with the act of him flattening your palm against his chest, keeping it there while he grasps the other in his much larger hand, “you can’t marry him.”

“you are being cruel.” you try to pull away, but his grip is firm and you know that if you meet his gaze you won’t be able to fight it anymore.

there’s a sickening silence as his thumb draws shapes on the back of your hand, you can feel his heartbeat. it’s strong, and its pace only feeds your own heart wanton promises of devotion you had only ever been told were too rare to expect in your lifetime, “tell me you do not want me.”

the suddenness of his demand lowers your guard for just long enough for your heart to find the upper ground and force your eyes into his sights, he repeats himself, “tell me you do not want me and i will leave you to marry lord mortimer.” his words are punctuated by the hand not holding yours to his heart grasping the side of your jaw, his thumb moving against your warmed cheek, “tell me and i will never speak to you again, just as you requested in your letter. you will never have to see me and i won’t—“

“i don’t want that.” the words leave your lips without warning, but it’s too late to take them back by the time they reach his ears. you shake your head, “i don’t—i don’t want to marry, i want to paint and read and—“

he listens as your supposed acceptance crumbles beneath his gaze, chest heaving under your palm. “—i want to do all of those things with you, i do. the baron has my parents under his wretched thumb and i cannot bear it, i cannot—“ a sharp inhale rakes your body, a mix of a sob and a desperate but fruitless attempt to regain composure, “i don’t want you to go away, i want you to stay here with me and—“

his lips meet yours with a firmness that sets your heart aflame, and when he pulls away just enough to look at you your heart finally lands the finishing blow in its fight against your mind. your hand lingers on his chest as the one he uses to keep it there moves to mirror its counterpart on the other side of your jaw.

you barely glance down at his lips before they’re on yours again, a welcome experience that you hope you can experience over and over until you’re utterly familiar, but now you're not sure how to reciprocate. the novels you’ve read did little to educate you on the experience, much less prepare you for it to occur with the boy you’d found yourself longing for through the years. 

the gasp you let out when his hand moves from your jaw to your waist to tug you closer is silenced by his lips attaching themselves to yours like he’d spent a lifetime wishing to taste you.

he pulls away, yet he doesn't seem keen on keeping the distance, his nose brushing yours as he promises, “i will speak to your parents—”

the mention of them has your guts turning painfully enough to rip you away from him, nausea hitting you like a bullet through your throat, “i should not have done that.”

“i kissed you—“ his statement does little to quell your sickness, and the wavering grate in your voice as you interrupt him is telling of that. “that changes nothing.” your fingers move to your hair, the pin keeping it in place falling to the floor as you tug, “i am ruined. forget marrying the baron, i cannot marry anyone.”

“was i not clear?” he asks, and when you look at him with frustrated reluctance he continues, “should i gut myself? place my heart in your hands to have you understand how you haunt me?”

“we cannot marry.” you say, bottom lip trembling, “i will not be a consequence of your actions. it is not your duty to marry me when i am the only one ruined.”

riki’s jaw shifts as if your words brought him only fury, “i do not care for duty, i care for you.” 

“you are young, riki. you are not expected to marry for at least—“

“i want to.” he states firmly, “you said you wanted me to stay, so i am staying. i will dance with you at balls. i will send flowers and call on you every morning. i will promenade alongside you for as long as it takes. i…”

he moves towards you, thumbs brushing away the tears under your eyes as his forehead meets yours, “i am yours, do with me what you will.”

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[promsong-gonewrong]

I hate you - Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

warnings! : ***drinking, language, alludes to sexual themes & light smut***

words: 6.5k

short summary: Wanda hating you since the day you met leads you to hating her as well, until the night that Tony Stark throws a much needed party.

. . .

Your relationship with Wanda Maximoff has always been more on the complex side. 

You knew she wasn’t one to trust easily, and considering her past with the Avengers, you were very understanding. Losing her family at such a young age, and then her brother and best friend all at once? It was a lifetime of grief that no one should have to experience, and you took pity on the girl when you first laid eyes on her. Her hollow face and sad demeanor instantly drew your attention. 

Part of you thought you might be good friends, especially considering your past. Your hometown had also been Sokovia, though your family moved all around southern Europe. When you came of age, you moved back to your birthplace. Money was incredibly tight, and you fell into some dangerous connections, where you got mixed up in a very wrong crowd. 

Baron Strucker prodded you until you were black and blue, wishing you had just died in the freezing snow underneath a bridge, which had been your current residence before that hellhole. The days spent in that cold and dark cell were some of your worst, but it shaped you into who you became. The roof over your head and money that they had promised you were never in the picture to begin with, but you had been too naive to question their words. Somewhere in that idiotic mind of yours, you found it in yourself to outsmart the men who guarded you and escape, your new power made you able to do things you’d never dreamed of. 

Baron and his men were never able to see if their experiment worked, which is why they had taken in the twins, you assumed. You swore to yourself you’d never return and begin anew, in America. 

And you did just that. 

Soon, you took the attention of Nicolas Fury and his agents and eventually worked your way into being an Avenger. You were now smarter, faster, and more experienced than you had ever been, and you were incredibly grateful to have found a family in the team that surrounded you. 

Contrary to the promise you made yourself, you had to return to your hometown, not knowing you’d also be witnessing its demise. Back in Sokovia, it was pure chaos. Robots and people crowded the streets while smoke filled the air in your lungs. You were breaking the metal soldiers with ease, a simple wave of your hand sent twelve flying into the air, crushed to pieces. You’d seen Wanda in the distance, struggling to hold her own against seven robots. Weak strands of red escaped her hands, but it did little to no damage.

Watching her fall to the ground in despair you quickly ran to her side, obliterating the pieces of metal that surrounded her. Shrapnel flew into the air, and you covered both yourself and Wanda the best you could with a shield bubble, flecks of pale blue swirled deeply. Pulling her off the ground, you dusted her jacket off and introduced yourself with a smile.

“You okay?” You were still holding her arm tightly, noticing the way she trembled. Wanda quickly removed your touch as if your skin burned her. 

“I didn’t need your help,” she said sourly, before brushing past your shoulder. 

“You did though,” you mutter to no one but yourself. Shaking your head, you dismissed her strange behavior and blamed the circumstances around you. 

You had joined the Avengers three years before Wanda, and you’d understood what it felt like to be an outsider to them, especially with the power you harnessed. You were deemed dangerous and violent before you were completely able to take control of what was inside you, like Wanda had been. When Wanda had just moved into the compound in the early days, she seemed like a fish out of water, keeping to herself while agents and higher-ups named her a threat to society.

Soon they’ll calm down, you told her, trying to be of any comfort. You didn’t know it at the time, but your matching accent and similar clothes overwhelmed her immediately, and she only responded with a simple shrug before wandering back into her room.

You knew you didn’t have a desperate craving for validation or to be liked. You were your own person and you tried your best to be the opposite of how you’ve been treated in the past. You were encouraging to your other teammates and didn’t like to get on anyone’s bad side. You told yourself that at least, especially when Wanda was really starting to test your patience. 

The way her eyes avoided you when you entered a room. Her loud sighs of annoyance when you suggested an idea for a mission. How she never made sure to accept help from you again, taking bruises or cuts instead of letting you lend a hand. Over coms, you praised her hard work and complimented her wit only to be met with silence on her end. Even something so simple as existing in the same shared space as Wanda seemed to make her upset. It drove you crazy how she would leave as quickly as you walked in, mumbling some excuse under her breath.

Well over a year had passed since the incident of Sokovia, and you’re one hundred percent certain that the most you’ve ever conversed with her had been the day you met. 

“I just don’t know what I’ve done!” You say, your head in your hands as you lay in Natasha’s bed. She had always been your favorite of all the others, and you had gotten close over the years. She was someone you could confide in, and likewise. You understood each other having been the only other woman to join the team, so Natasha stuck by your side almost immediately. 

“Why does this bother you so much?” Natasha asks, reviewing files on her computer. She had been glued to her screen for over an hour now, responding to emails and going over data she’d been collecting. 

“We are Sokovian, we are similar in our age, we share a home that we lost, and we both fought in that battle. I thought maybe she would like to…” you trail off, rubbing your face. “Confide in me.”

“Is that the only reason?” You can’t see her face but you hear the smirk evident in Natasha’s voice.

“Yes,” you say with some uncertainty. You didn’t know why it bothered you past the point of pure annoyance for her hatred, but you were settled on that answer. 

“I don’t like every Russian I encounter, you know. Some people just aren’t meant to enjoy each other. And your little crush on Wanda seems to be unreciprocated so I’d just leave it if I were you.” Natasha holds in her laughter as she waits for your response. 

You sit up in her bed quickly. “Take that back!” 

Natasha turns around in her swivel chair, folding her arms over her chest. “No.”

“You’re making a joke? Pulling my leg,” you say, laughing now at her absurd suggestion. You had the furthest thing of a crush on that woman. Natasha might’ve just fueled your hatred even more at the mere thought of ever being that close to Wanda. 

Natasha says nothing else as she turns back to her work, leaving you in deep thought. You get up from her bed, confused but determined in your strong opinion. “And for the record,” you begin to open Nat’s door, an amused look on Natasha’s face as she watches you. “She’s proven herself to be nothing but a jealous, power-hungry bitch. I could never love something like that.”

“I never said anything about love, babe,” Natasha giggles, but her smile drops when her eyes land on a figure behind you. You turn to find Wanda wearing a disapproving sulk, standing as close to you as she’s ever been. You didn’t care if she had been listening, you wanted her to. You’ve never heard her talk badly about you to anyone, but her actions alone were enough to justify what you’d just done.

“Excuse me,” you shove your way past her, brushing her shoulder. “Mudak.”

From that day forward, it was now a strong mutual hate, and you were fine with that. 

You no longer offered her any sort of help on missions or around the compound. There were plenty of others to watch her back, and you were wasting your time doing that in the first place, anyway. Wanda was doing just fine on her own, as you watched her take down those around her with pure ease now. She must’ve been training hard, you thought. 

Catching your breath, you questioned why you ever had been so worried for her before, it’s not like she ever acted differently with you. 

You’re reminded of Natasha’s words, and you dismiss that idea quickly. No, it was just because you shared a lost country and you were concerned about how she dealt with her powers, you’re sure of it. 

“Watch out!” Sam yells your name loudly in your earpiece, and a sharp pain takes over your head, sending ringing through your ears. You cry out, feeling blood pool from your head. “On your left!” He shouts again, but you have trouble focusing your vision when all you can see is red, gushing from the wound above your eye. 

“Shit, help!” You groan, as you feel a bullet graze the left side of your body. You quickly send a shockwave to those around you, knocking them to the ground, but it wasn’t enough. More emerge from behind flipped and shattered vehicles, all armed and all shooting at you. Before you can even try to deflect the incoming bullets, a huge burst of red flows from behind you, trembling the earth beneath your feet and immediately obliterating the soldiers that had been firing at you. 

With a flick of her wrist, Wanda shoves your body away from danger, continuing to send bursts of red into the air of the enemies around her. You can do nothing but lay in the dirt and wait for someone to get you, feeling all of your limbs shake from the impact of the bullet that was still lodged into your side. The dirt around you turns warm from your blood, and it is the only thing you can feel now. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before a boot that you recognize as Wanda’s is in front of your vision. “Try not to get distracted next time.” Dust clouds your eyes as she walks away. I hate you, you try to speak, but you can’t move your mouth.

The others gather around you quickly, followed by paramedics from the Avengers compound. 

You never thought you’d live to say it, but you were grateful that Tony Stark was throwing a party. Normally you’d like to unwind with a long bath, followed by reading a book or listening to music. But with the past week, all you wanted was to stop caring about everything, dance, and drink your thoughts away. 

You recovered from your injury rather quickly, but the repercussions from that day hit you hard as well. The mission had completely failed because of your mistake and you compromised the safety of yourself and everyone around you. You always took mission failures hard and blamed yourself for entirely too long. It happened to everyone, even to the best of the team, but it was humiliating knowing Wanda had to take on twice as many soldiers because of you, cover for you, and protect you. Not to mention how you hadn’t seen the men come out of nowhere because your thoughts were consumed by her. But that was a thought you refused to process. 

Your week was spent with the others in long meetings about how to prevent things like this in the future, and to tell you for the one-millionth time just how vital the information that you let get away was. 

So, you were looking forward to forgetting everything that was going wrong at the minute and letting loose for the first time in a while. You danced to the blaring music with Natasha, empty drinks in hand. Giggling and twirling each other around, you eventually tired and went to the bar to rest and continue drinking. 

“Vodka soda, please. With extra lime.” You smile gratefully at the bartender as she begins to pour the alcohol into a tall glass. Except for the long meetings everyone had to sit in this week thanks to you, you were pleasantly surprised to not have encountered Wanda at all these past few days. 

While sipping on your drink, you began to look for her around the room, intrigued to see if she was capable of letting herself have fun. You get interrupted by a face you weren’t expecting to see, but you’re certainly not complaining. Sharon Carter walks up to you wearing a tight black dress, a small smile on her lips. 

“I’ll have what she’s having,” she says lowly to the bartender, who gives a nod and begins pouring her drink. “You look…” Sharon trails off, eyes glued to your chest. Her face flushes slightly, making you smile.

“You’re not so bad either,” you say, bringing the cold liquid to your mouth. The last time you saw Sharon was around three months ago, wrapped in the sheets of your bed. “Nice of you to say goodbye.”

“You have my number, you could’ve reached out at any point,” Sharon laughs, taking a sip of the drink placed in front of her. “I hate these, you know.”

You grinned. 

Whoever wasn’t on the dancefloor was engaged in conversation, laughing loudly with a cup or bottle wedged in their hands. On your fourth drink of the night, you realize you’ve been taking everything in your life way too seriously. You need to drink more alcohol you decide, as you listen to Sharon drone on about what was new with her. You always seemed to fall back into a cycle with the blonde. Sure, she was great and you found her attractive, but you know you didn’t feel anything real for her. She was gone half the time anyway, the only time you ever saw her was at these stupid gatherings. 

But tonight was about forgetting, you remind yourself, downing your soda. Sharon had stopped talking and was now closer than before. With the way she was leaning further into you, it was clear what her intentions were. You’d been with her plenty of times to know how she operated, you’d like to think. Her lips brush your ear, gently pressing a kiss to your neck. Your eyes begin to close as you allow her more access, but they quickly re-open when you hear a sound from across the room. A loud shatter caused Sharon to pull away, both of you looking to see the source of the noise. 

It turned out to be Wanda's glass, looking like she had just shattered it with her hand. She was smiling apologetically at a busboy, who was beginning to clean her mess up. Your mouth parts slightly in surprise, her actions forgotten as you focus on the green dress that Wanda wears. Sharon brings you out of your thoughts by focusing on your neck again. 

“Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, biting your lip gently. Sharon nods, staring at your mouth. You tug her arm, stumbling off the bar seat you’d been sitting on. You turn around, noticing Sharon is frozen in place. You frown as her eyes turn a deep crimson, the color draining from her face. 

“I have to go,” Sharon says dryly. She forces a smile before wandering off, now lost in the sea of people in front of you. Wanda. Of course, she would want to ruin yet another moment of happiness for you, like she hadn’t sucked it bone-dry from you enough. If it was somehow possible, you felt every emotion inside you physically snap.

“Oh, I’m fucking done,” you whisper, whipping your head around to see where the brunette was. From across the room, you can see her looking pleased with herself, quickly downing the new drink in her hand. Before you can even think about how things might turn awry, your legs walk you to where she stood. 

You gripped her arm, a light blue glowing from your eyes as you stormed out of the room, dragging the brunette with you. Your nails dig into her skin, and you stumble upon a supply closet door that you push her through. Wanda gasps as you press her against the wall, but she does nothing about the new physical contact. 

"What's your fucking problem?" You gritted through your teeth, squeezing her arms. "You can't let me have anything nice?

Wanda's eyes scan your face, her green eyes look darker than usual. "I didn't want you to sleep with Sharon,” Wanda says as if it were obvious, making you angrier. 

"What is it to you?" You cry, aware of how loud your voice is. You didn’t care if the entire world heard this long-awaited conversation, you were going to say what you wanted, at whatever volume. “I’ve slept with Sharon several times before, and only now you’ve got an issue with it?”

Wanda’s eyes flash with surprise, unaware of that fact. “I-”

“You ruin my day, my mood, you ruin everything!” 

Wanda tilts her head at that statement, watching your chest rise and fall heavily. "Is that so..."

"I hate you," you choke out, looking away from Wanda's eyes. You realize you’d been staring into them this whole time. You let go of her arm, leaving her standing against the wall as you begin to turn away to leave. She catches your grasp again, pulling you back into her orbit, and making you stand where you originally had been. Close.

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Hate me,” Wanda says softly. You’re looking at her in utter disbelief, unable to believe this is happening. Her hand is wrapped tightly around your wrist, warm and firm. You and Wanda have never conversed this much, let alone touched like this before.

“You hate me,” you say slowly, as if you’re trying to make her remember. “What are you doing?” You try to read her eyes, her face, her anything for an explanation of what was going on, what she was playing at. Before you can take another breath, Wanda’s lips connect to yours softly. 

They touch for an instant before you immediately shut it down. Breaking away from her, you’re unable to speak. 

She watches you intently, reading every expression on your face, imagining the thoughts running around in your mind. So much has just happened in the last ten minutes, and you can finally feel the effects of all of the drinks you carelessly downed. It settles at the bottom of your stomach, along with the newfound nervousness and pit that forms because of the girl in front of you. Wanda’s face is flushed, matching the same color of her mouth. She looks beautiful. 

What she doesn’t expect is for you to lean in, crashing your lips back onto hers. She sighs into your mouth sweetly, tilting her face to deepen the kiss. Your hands make their way into the soft strands of her hair, pressing the back of her head further in, closing your distance over and over. Her hands rest on your arms, holding on tightly, as if you’d disappear at any moment. It’s so hot, the way she kisses you like she knows just what you want, like this was her last chance to have you.

You feel like you gain consciousness when she starts to kiss your neck, holding your head in her hands as she does. Your mouth falls open slightly, breathing hard with her. You remember there’s a party still happening in the next room and the world did not stop spinning the moment she kissed you, as much as it felt like it had.  

Not to forget, several people saw you leave with Wanda, and everyone knows your weird history. After this long week, you didn’t want to have to deal with anything else.  It takes every ounce of strength in you to gently grab her shoulders and push her away from you. Wanda’s fears are confirmed. Her hands still hold your arms as she watches you, confused. 

“I shouldn’t,” you whisper. You don’t stick around to see the pained expression that covers Wanda’s face, closing the door behind you quickly. You find your way back to the party, and so does Wanda who heads to the bar. 

“Back from seven minutes in heaven so soon?” Tony Stark calls out to you, placing a blue colored shot in your hand, and into the hands around you as well. 

“Shut up,” you giggle, downing it quickly. Shocker, you want to forget whatever had just happened with Wanda, again. You find yourself full circle, starting just as you had at the beginning of the night. Another drink, another dance, another song, and you’re completely wasted. The last thing you remember is pulling on Mjolnir’s handle tightly before everything goes black. 

-

The next morning arrives too soon, rays of sunlight peak through blinds and onto your eyes. You roll over, hoping to catch more sleep as your headache begins to burn slowly. You’d deal with that in a few hours, you thought, stretching your arms out in front of you. You’re met with soft skin, and you retract your arms as if you’d gotten slapped. 

Any more thoughts of sleep are forgotten as your eyes shoot open, a full vision of a bare back in front of you, the torso connected to it covered in a white duvet and sheets. Your first context clue is the fact that your blankets and sheets have always been dark blue, and you know the brown messy waves that contrast against the white pillow are Wanda’s. Your heart sinks, remembering what a mess you’ve created as the night came back to you.  

Never mind any of that, you need to get out of here now before Wanda wakes up and you two are forced to talk again. Your face heats up when you think of the supply closet from just a few hours ago. The way Wanda had held and kissed you was permanently burned into your mind, you’re sure of it. “Jesus Christ,” you whispered to yourself. 

After a few minutes of gathering your thoughts, you decided to stick to your original plan: to get the hell out of this room. The last thing you've ever wanted to do was sleep with Wanda, and now here you are, butt naked in her bed. You can’t remember anything besides kissing her in the closet, you were so sure that was it, that you didn’t find her after the party had ended. 

You slowly remove yourself from Wanda’s duvet and search for the dress you had on last night. You pick up the low-cut red dress you were wearing that had been crumpled underneath Wanda’s, your mouth dropping in surprise when you saw that your dress had been ripped open, instead of zipped down the back. 

"I'm sorry about your dress..." Wanda says, startling you. 

"No, it's-it's fine, I can fix it," you stammered, averting your gaze away from the brunette. You heard the sheets ruffle as she began to sit up. You stole a glance at her, noticing her red face as she stared openly at your naked chest. "I'm borrowing one of your hoodies," you told her, and she nodded.

Wanda rubs her eyes with her hands, letting out a small yawn. “You showed up at my door after the party.”

You pull your head through Wanda’s soft hoodie, her sweet scent immediately filling your nose. 

“In case you were wondering,” Wanda adds. You weren’t sure if she’d be happy if you told her you didn’t remember a single thing that you did with her besides a few kisses. 

“Thanks…can I take these shorts too?”

You know you’ve made a huge mistake in venturing out when you find Natasha Romanoff sitting on a chair in the kitchen, eating her toast while scrolling through her computer files. She greets you with a nod, her eyes remaining on the device in front of her.

“You smell weird,” she states flatly. 

“You smell weird,” you say back, poking your head in the fridge for something to eat. After the events of last night, all you’d had to consume was alcohol, and though you could handle your liquor well, you’d completely forgotten to eat. 

Nat takes a bite of her toast, crunching as she talks. “Mm- no, you smell like that fancy shit Wanda wears.” 

“Of course she wears expensive.”

“Damn right.” 

You pop a bagel in the toaster, hands across your chest as you face her. “I’m so tired,” you try to act as natural as you can for being fully dressed in Wanda’s clothes. You knew you should’ve at least tried to cover up what had happened, maybe fled back into your room to change, yet your hunger placed a higher significance. “I’m never drinking again.”

“I guess you’re too tired to tell me what you’re doing in that,” Natasha looks you up and down once before returning to her work. You don’t miss the slight smirk that covers her lips. 

“I just-”

You don’t have the chance to finish before others walk in, Clint takes his spot next to Natasha, and Sam begins to raid the fridge, making you move out of the way. You quickly finish putting together your food before your clothing is recognized by anyone else. Turning around, you almost collide with a pair of green eyes, the woman you’d just had an extremely awkward interaction with earlier. 

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” Wanda replies gently. She holds your gaze for a few moments longer before you decide to head back to your room. She smiles to herself, hiding it from the others as she reaches for her tea mug. She fills it and drops in the bag, before walking to the living room to drink.

Sam’s eyes widen as he turns towards the kitchen table.

“No fucking way,” he whispers loudly to Natasha and Clint, who try to hold in their laughter. 

-

You’d be lying to yourself if you weren’t waiting for Wanda to make the next move. Everything about your relationship with her had been flipped upside down. You liked feeling her eyes on you when you’d work out in the training room, or during a long meeting. Chances are when you’d turn your head to look at her, she’d already be looking.

You didn’t talk about what had happened, it was complete radio silence except for body language. The way she let her legs lean against yours in a van, heading to a stakeout location for a mission. The smile on her lips you’d catch when she walked past you, looking to the ground. The day she moved strands of your hair that covered your eyes, in front of the whole team. You wanted to end the tension that had been building right there and then, staring into her soul. 

Instead, you faced the wrath of Natsha’s interrogation shortly after. 

These were incredibly tiny moves she was making, and you found yourself wanting more. 

Wanda had been gone for two long days, making your life stuck in the compound completely dull. Clint was away visiting his family, Natasha was busy working on her files, and the others had been sent away on missions of their own, Steve and Sam had gone with Wanda. It was a rare few days off, but without anyone to talk with or…glance at, you found yourself with mind-numbing boredom. You tried going for a walk with your headphones in, shopping, or reading a book in a local park, but none of it makes you happy. You realize all you’d wanted was a certain someone close.

Your wishes are granted when you get the sign you’d been waiting for when you return to your room, late at night. On your bed rests your red dress from weeks ago at the party, in brand new condition. Hung on a hanger and neatly folded, the red seems as if it’s a deeper color, with additions of tool and length. The low cut remained the same, and you traced the fabric in awe, running your fingers over the smooth material. Your eyes travel to a small note attached to the front. 

I added a little bit to it, I hope you don’t mind. 

Wanda didn’t sign her name, but you knew it would have only been her. You had left her room in a hurry, your ripped and ruined dress was merely an afterthought. You had only thought of her in the time that had passed since the morning after the party.

You fold the note and put it on your nightstand, cherishing her small words. You check her location to see she was still a ways away from the compound, meaning she had sent the dress to your room with magic. An hour passes as you debate what you want to do. This was Wanda’s sign, returning the very thing you’d been with her in, even improving and adding her spin to it. You know you had nothing to top her grand gesture, but maybe you didn’t need to. It had been so long since someone made you feel so special like this, and Wanda of all people.

You lay in your bed with your thoughts, brushing over the dress with your fingers to check if it was real every so often. A small blush creeps its way to your face, re-reading the note she left, and finding yourself smiling at it. All you knew at this moment was that you wanted to be with her. In whatever way, even if she was in the same room paying you no attention you’d be grateful. There’s no harm in checking, you impatiently decide as you climb out of bed and begin opening the door, only for your heart to swell at the sight before you.

Wanda came to see you first. Her green eyes widened in slight surprise, and she looked like she had heavy words on her mind. Her thumbs play with the hem of her long sleeve, showing you she was anxious to have shown up. You take notice of a small cut above her eyebrow that she hasn’t bothered to fix yet. 

“Did you just get back?” 

Wanda nods. “Ten minutes ago I think.”

That was enough for you to pull her inside your room, kissing her against the shut door. She kisses you back instantly, letting you take full control as she melts into your touch. Her scent was a mix of her signature perfume and salt, filling your senses and making you want to be closer to her. Her hands finally begin to touch you when she deepens the kiss, opening her mouth against you and you gladly accept. Her fingers run along your arms, squeezing gently. She wanted the same thing you did, and you wanted to remember this time. 

You part for air after pressing a singular kiss to her mouth, your hands make their way to her face. Wanda watches you examine her, taking notice of the bruises along the side of her cheek that you didn’t see right away. “How did you get these?” You whisper, your thumb traces the cut above her eyebrow.

“I was distracted.” Wanda smiles slightly, looking into your eyes. You exhale a short laugh, kissing her bruised cheek carefully. 

“Can I?”

Wanda nods, her eyes closing when small swirls of blue extend from your fingertips. Gently, you heal her cut, the deep red turning back into her soft skin. You heal her bruise next, her cheek returning to its normal color. “Better?”

Wanda kisses you, thanking you for your services. You know she could’ve very well done it herself, but you were almost proud she let you help her, even if it was just this small thing. “Better.”

Wanda lets you take her to bed, missing the warmth and touch of your skin. She lays down, resting her head on your pillows as you kneel, your knees digging into the soft padding around you. You kiss her messily, leaning over her. She bites her lip as you remove your shirt, and she fumbles with her own, her hair getting messier when she tosses it to the floor. She smiles playfully when you laugh at her, gently slapping your bare arm. 

The smile doesn’t leave her face when she notices you staring from above. She felt so small underneath your gaze, and she leaned in to kiss you softly. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you whisper against her lips, kissing her again. You could never face her again if you’d told her just how beautiful she truly was. How her wavy hair fanned against your pillow, her soft and pale skin gleaned with your marks all over, her half-moon eyes and curious smile, and the color of her now swollen lips. There was so much beauty to take in, she didn’t even know, she could never see herself from your eyes.

Her mouth parted when you entered her, inching off the mattress that lay beneath her back. You noticed the slight beads of sweat on her forehead and the way her breathing changes when you quickened your pace. You adjusted to what she liked, what she asked you for. You wanted to give her everything you had. 

Your name echoed into your mind as she whispered it over and over. 

-

“I missed you.” You speak during a long moment of silence, lying next to Wanda. Your fingers traced the outline of her hip, spreading to her back and sending chills down her spine. You figured she would be asleep with her face turned away from you, but she proves you wrong by rolling back over. 

An amused smile spreads over her lips. “Did you?” She reaches out to comb her slim fingers through your hair. “I was gone for only two days.”

You nod, closing your eyes under her touch. “I want to ask you things. I feel like I have so many questions…” You begin to feel drowsy, and you mumble something incoherent that Wanda doesn’t understand.

“Ask me things,” Wanda whispers into your ear. It’s the last thing you hear before falling asleep, Wanda’s hand still running through your hair. She watches you sleep peacefully, before joining you shortly after.

After that encounter, your mornings start to change, as do your nights. You wake up and go to bed with the same body by your side almost every night, and when you don’t, you miss her a little too much. As weeks go by, you feel like you could truly be happy with only her , forever. You don’t tell her that, but you desperately want to. 

It turned out Wanda had the best taste in movies and TV shows that you desperately needed to be cultured on, in her opinion. You showed her your CD's and records, letting her listen to all of the music you loved. She cooked for you and lent you her books and clothes, surprising you with her generosity. You spent long hours by her side, sleeping, reading, talking… doing whatever you could just to stay with her a little longer. She did the same, finding peace and comfort in your presence, something she never would have expected from you. 

You trained together and against each other. You were still faster and stronger, but you gave her helpful tips and information that she could discover about herself. And you did normal things, shopping around New York, meeting each other for coffee, trying to be as ordinary as you could be while balancing the lives of being Avengers. You made sure to look out for Wanda more than you ever had, helping her when needed and making sure she could hold her own from a distance. She no longer refused your help, instead took it gratefully. 

You especially loved coming home to her after a solo mission, as she would examine you for injuries carefully. You let her heal your wounds and kiss away your pain, as you did the same for her.

You slept peacefully in her arms and woke up happily to the sight of her next to you. 

One day while you traced patterns on her back as she slept, you realized your biggest hatred had turned into something you were beginning to fall in love with.

-

“Was it just from the day we met?”

Wanda’s eyes narrow, turning her head to think back to the memory. “Sokovia?”

“The robots. When I pulled you from the ground.” You sit up in your bed now, wanting to find something to wear. You’d been with her a few hours now unclothed, and only now you felt the urge to cover up.

Wanda shakes her head, letting out a small laugh. “I was embarrassed, yes, but no it wasn’t just that. Could I have my shirt too?” She watches you get dressed, a small frown wrinkles her face as you toss it to her, seeing you slip on a pair of underwear. “Do you want me to leave?” 

“No!” Wanda can’t hide her smile at the speediness of your reply.  “No, I mean, I want you here.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “No, it wasn’t because of the day we met.” The mattress moves slightly when you sit back next to her. You nod, urging her to continue. “You were a reminder of home. My family and my brother,” Wanda hesitates before mentioning Pietro. “Your accent and your clothes… it was a lot for me, back then at least.”

“I wish you told me, I would’ve backed off, or-”

She reaches forward to touch your hand, intertwining your fingers slightly. “And, I hated how you made me feel. I thought maybe if I pushed you away as hard as I could, you’d never want me how I did you. I thought I got what I wanted when I saw you that night with Sharon at the party.”

Wanda’s eyes shine with honesty, and she watches your face carefully as she explains herself. “But I never hated you,” she speaks the most quietly of all her words. “I was... scared.” She shakes her head, embarrassed. “It sounds so stupid when I say it but-”

“It’s not stupid, I promise. I’m not angry anymore…” You trace her shoulder with your free hand softly. If you were sure of one thing, it was certainly that. All the walls you’d thrown over your heart for Wanda were torn down, and you couldn’t have been more grateful.

You allow her to focus on your hand, mindlessly fiddling with your fingers as she speaks. You can only think how you wished you knew, you feel like you foolishly wasted so much time hating her and doing things just to spite her, like a child. As if she heard your thoughts, she connects her eyes to yours, shaking her head. 

“I’m sorry. For all of it. And I understand if you don’t want something serious,” Wanda pauses reluctantly. “With me.” There’s a hint of insecurity in her voice, and you reach out to tilt her face to yours.

“You’re all I want.”

. . .

[theyonagoda]

Interesting things about the Cold Boys' families

I thought the Terror enjoyers might find some of this neat and/or horribly depressing. I only did genealogy research on Gore, Tozer, Leys, and Armitage, the rest are thanks to a collaborative effort on RtFE.

1. Graham Gore's neice and nephew got together and had 3 kids. The Gores were one of the first Australian settlers, so, uh... Maybe there's not many other folk around? Either way, it's real awkward.

2. The Armitage family has a strong naval tradition; amongst the many, many Armitages who were in the navy, his grandson died at sea while serving in Gibraltar. Poor guy.

3. William Gibson's father is apparently literally named Steward. Talk about nominative determinism.

4. Henry Collins' father, Henry Sr, was forcibly confined against his will multiple times at mental asylums; he claimed that his institutionalization was a ploy his family made to cut him out of Henry Jr.'s inheritence.

5. The whole Cornelius Hickey debacle gets worse as someone recently found a newspaper clipping listing his father as "Denis Hickey," and another as "Mr. Hickie." Aside from the spelling variations, none of the 3 Cornelius Hickeys that could've been him (baptized in Limerick at around the same time) had a father named Denis, meaning we now have a 4th potential candidate. Oddly in-character

6. The last of the Des Voeux baronets (A title somewhere between "Knight" and "Baron," basically) died in ww2.

7. One of Solomon Tozer's massive, massive amount of siblings is Charlie Wilson (not his birth name,) an early transgender figure who ran away from an abusive marriage and proceeded to become a semi-successful painter who racked up a decent amount of girlfriends (and arrests!) over the years. Good for him!

[sapphiresaphics]

9 lies about Arcane Season 2 you probably believe.

1. Jinx got magically fixed. <-No, she didn’t. What happened was that during season 1 her narrative conflict was between being Powder or Jinx. Every time she had a psychotic episode it was around this issue and the ending dinner party was about this same thing. In the end her conflict was resolved. She is Jinx. She sits in the Jinx chair to drive this point home. So she starts season 2 with a lot more clarity than she had in season 1 because her inner turmoil has been resolved. Her psychotic episodes aren’t gone, they just don’t bubble to the surface as much anymore because she has a NEW arc to focus on.

2. Caitlyn gassed all of Zaun <-No, she didn’t. Piltover was planning on a full scale invasion of Zaun, and Caitlyn convinced them that this was a terrible idea that would kill innocent people in the crossfire. Her idea was a tactical attack against the chem barons themselves and anyone loyal to Silco to get rid of Shimmer. She deliberately uses the pipes to change where the Grey is flowing and pump it into specific targeted areas and she and her team travel INSIDE the pipes to get there and do surprise attacks. Key point is that the Grey is not just flowing anywhere, she’s controlling where it’s going and doing everything in her power to NOT let it affect the average citizens of Zaun. The equivalent of a tear gas attack. Ethically and morally wrong, yes, but not “gassing all of Zaun.”

3. The writers forgot about the classism divide. <-No they didn’t. The classism issues extend all the way to the end of the show. In fact, after Jinx’s attack on the council it gets WORSE as Piltover cracks down on Zaun. We see Zaun oppressed horribly in season 2. This is not framed a a good thing. We see Jayce beg Zaun to help them even after everything they did to Zaun. This is framed as arrogance and is stated in the show that it is unfair. We see that after the war Zaun gets a seat on the counsel, but little progress is made towards fixing the classism divide. This is framed as a bandaid solution and you are not supposed to be happy about it. The show ending without resolving the conflict does not mean they forgot the conflict. It’s actually a statement. Because the theme of the show is the cycle of violence. You are meant to see the end of the show and understand that because they didn’t do more to fix the problem, this cycle of violence will continue.

4. Vander and Silco knowing who the kids are undermines their characters and is a retcon. <-No it does not and no it isn’t. Vander knew who the kids were. If he didn’t he wouldn’t be able to silently tell them where their dead parents were. And if the kids didn’t know Vander, they wouldn’t approach a giant hulking brute beating someone up in the aftermath of a battle. Likewise, Silco knows who the kids are because he literally has his goons following them on their botched job and uses the knowledge of who the kids are with to get back at Vander. When Silco approaches Powder he asks her “where is your sister?” which wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t know who they were. This is all established within the first few minutes of the series. Showing in Season 2 that Vander and Silco knew the kids isn’t a retcon, it’s just adding more context to information we already knew.

5. The Grey gives people cancer! <-No… but also kinda yes? See the problem with this is that we actually don’t know how the grey works. Vander, Silco, Sevika and others of Zaun all worked in the mines. They experienced the Grey on a constant basis and they never developed any negative symptoms. Additionally we are shown that while immediate effects are negative, those effects clear up after a while. But we also know that the Kiramman family built the vent system to pump out the toxic gases because it was affecting Zaun citizens in bad ways, and we know that Viktor is suffering from some form of ailment as a result of the toxic air. The grey is more akin to being tear gas. Immediately bad, clears up after a while, but detrimental to your health if longterm exposed. And being crippled like Viktor exasperates things. So technically yes, the grey does make you terminally sick… BUT that is not a universal experience, does not happen to people only exposed to the grey for short periods of time, and is made worse if you’re sick.

6. Shimmer is Zaun’s only form of medicine! <-This is absolutely NOT true. Zaun is huge. It’s at least the size of Piltover if not bigger. They have doctors. They have medicine. The reason Huck says doctors are “a little hard to come by” is because Vi and Caitlyn were literally in the slums where access to those things aren’t easy to get to. And just because a potion’s expert exists doesn’t mean that Shimmer is a good alternative to normal medicine. Quite the opposite, actually as we see that shimmer is a highly addictive drug. And while it can heal people, that comes at a cost. It was a risky move on Caitlyn’s part to give this shimmer infused concoction to Vi, but it was their only choice at the time. You should not use this incident as a rule that shimmer is good for Zaun in any way.

7. Caitlyn never apologizes or gets punished for her actions. <-This is such a bizarre criticism to me because she DOES apologize, just not with words. She acknowledges with Vi that she knows what she did was wrong. She admits to Jinx that hating her made her hate herself (that’s called a regret btw). And to prove her love for Vi, she lets Vi free Jinx and lets her anger of Jinx go. She puts Sevika on the council in her stead, she fights for Zaun and Piltover against Ambessa in the war, and she loses an eye in the process. I do not know how you watch any of that and think Caitlyn doesn’t feel regret and remorse for what she did or try to make amends for it.

8. Vi should’ve gone after Jinx because she knew she was suicidal. <-This is another misconception about Vi. She doesn’t know jinx is suicidal. She doesn’t even know how Jinx’s psychosis affects her. In their first interaction as adults, Vi doesn’t understand Jinx is talking to her hallucinations. At the dinner party scene Vi accidentally triggers Jinx into a panic attack. When Vi frees Jinx from the cell where Jinx is sad Isha died in an explosion she says Jinx should use her “explosive potential for good.” That’s not something you say to someone who just lost a kid in an explosion. And when Jinx saves her in the finale, she says “guess you shouldn’t have come back, eh?” Vi doesn’t grasp how bad Jinx is mentally. She doesn’t recognize that she’s suicidal. Additionally, finding Jinx has been the one thing NO ONE in this show has been able to do. Vi and Caitlyn spent weeks trying to find her together. And Caitlyn spent at least a couple months after failing to find her too. When Jinx leaves, you’re not finding her again no matter how much you want to. If Jinx wants to be found, Jinx will let YOU know. So Vi, locked in a prison cell, isn’t going to find Jinx even if she wanted to after being freed by Caitlyn. There’s a war coming, there’s no time to hunt for Jinx. That wasn’t going to happen.

9. Vi dying in the explosion changing things between Piltover and Zaun makes no sense in the AU. <-So this is a misconception. Vi dying isn’t the ONLY reason things changed. For starters, in the main timeline when the explosion goes off, Vi and her gang manage to escape the enforcers with loot they stole. Piltover sees that as Zaun attacking Piltover in a terrorist attack. In the AU, however, the kids don’t get away. They don’t end up stealing from Piltover. It’s framed as Zaun kids blown up by an irresponsible Piltover scientist. The blame is shifted from Zaun to Piltover and THAT is the beginning catalyst for improving tensions between the cities. On top of that, Heimerdinger from the main timeline arrives a few years later because of the anomaly. Thanks to his time with Ekko, he uses that time to steer the two cities towards even more cooperation and peace. Heimerdinger says as much when Ekko asks him what he’s been doing for the past 3 years. Finally, the AU exists for the narrative reason that it’s showing Ekko what he needs to be fighting for and showing us what could be IF the two cities work together. It is intentionally much more idealistic.