#i've probably rattled on about this in the past

[abbyshands]

finger sucking w/nerdy!gf abby

warnings; finger sucking (obv), implied (ish?) gagging, talk of a strap-on but not used, abby refers to the strap-on as her dick, strap-on is referred to as her dick

a/n; i've had this idea non stoppp ugh so i had to get a lil drabble out :3 and thank you SO much for all the love on my first fic, i'm so honored <3 if you have any ideas you want me to do a drabble/fic for, plspls lmk!

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

god, most days you just can’t shut those pretty lips of yours, not around her, anyway. your girlfriend is serious in regards to her college classes: doesn’t miss a single homework assignment, spends at least an hour every evening on her work, and the library is her home away from her dorm.

and you, of course.

abby anderson wasn’t sure what to look out for when she began to fall for one of the most well known girls on campus. seriously, you were like one of those girls out of the movies: popular, pretty girl, cheer team, flawless persona. everyone loved you, including herself.

you were a nice girl, but that mouth of yours was a killer. abby wasn’t just your girlfriend, but your best friend, and you told her every little detail about every little thing you did. rambling and rambling, you’d probably go for hours if she didn’t stop you.

in general, abby didn’t mind that, because it wasn’t that she wanted to feel like you weren’t being heard by her. she did care, and she did want to hear you out. but it’s when you began to do it when she was busy with her work, that it became a bit of a problem.

and even if it doesn’t seem like she is on the surface, the raging dom in your nerd of a girlfriend just can’t help but take care of it.

she had had it with the rambling for this evening. you were perched in her lap, rattling off every single thing wrong with how cheer had gone today. some girl had messed up her form, which made an issue for you and the girls on your team, etc, etc, etc.

god, did abby love you, but, fuck, did you need to shut up every once in a while.

one second, you’re speaking, babbling away. but before you even know it, your open lips are getting pushed past by abby’s index and ring, which get shoved knuckle-deep into the back of your throat. “hush, baby,” abbys commands.

your eyes widen in surprise, eyebrows raising as you let out a small, “mmph!” and whimper. what the hell had she done that for? you hadn’t even been misbehaving! so then, you find yourself grumbling, giving abby a confused look, face hot.

abby obviously doesn’t feel like explaining. when does she ever? she could care less about your opinion when it came to things like this. just take what she gives you. she shushes you, not giving a care in the world how curious you are for her reasoning. “shhh. suck, baby, suck,” she said firmly.

you didn’t want to listen at first. you were in the middle of speaking, for god’s sake, and you wanted to finish what you were saying. but you were a simple woman, and this was just like every other time you had sucked abby’s fingers: your body was physically relaxing, calming as every word you’d been saying before leaves your head.

and then your head was on abby’s chest, eyes closed, and hands in your lap as you sucked her fingers like a baby. “mhm,” abby coos, knowing full well how easy you were. it was such a simple task, shutting you up, that is. “good girl. so cute like this, princess.”

“mmm,” you let out softly, cuddling into her closer, if that’s even possible. you can’t even remember to get mad at her, or ask her why she was shushing you like this. if it means her fingers in your mouth, you don’t give a fuck. abby can’t help but chuckle, her other hand on your hips.

“there you go. such a pretty baby. you suck so well for me, doll,” abby whispers. the way she says it makes your mind flash with all the times she’s made you suck on her strap, giving you words of praise as you did it, because that’s what a good girl deserves.

“you know i love hearing you, baby, but i’ve gotta focus now, okay?” abby says in a tone that sends butterflies down to your abdomen, and maybe somewhere lower, too. you do what you can to nod, sucking abby’s fingers like a pacifier as she cradles you like a baby.

abby smiles down at that pretty, fucked-out look on your face, even when she hasn’t done much at all to you, and goes on. “maybe if you behave, i’ll let you suck my dick a little later, yeah? that sound fair to you?”

it’s like she can read your mind. of course it does, you like the sound of it a bit too much. so you nod once more.

it’s a win-win, really. she got to have her peace, and you got to feel better by sucking on her fingers. and just then, abby thrust her fingers deeper into your mouth, letting you curl your tongue around them as you moan.

“promise you if you’re good for me, i’ll give you all my attention when i’m done with my work. just keep being good, n’ sucking me, okay?” abby asks, moving her free hand from your hip back to her homework. you miss the feeling, but you know how abby feels In regards to her classes, her homework, school in general. so you nod.

“mhm,” you murmur, lips around abby’s fingers. but abby pulls them back, your own drool covering them when she does, and you whimper at the loss. god, she was just playing with you now.

“say it,” she says firmly, the kind of tone you know she only uses when she’s not playing around.

but then again, when is she ever?

“i- i will, abby,” you say in response, giving her those sweet puppy-dog eyes of yours, begging her to give you her fingers back. she smiles.

“that’s a good girl.”

so as she’s doing her work, she’s sitting in her chair, you cradled in her lap with her fingers deep inside your mouth, bouncing you up and down on her lap to keep you calm. it’s almost fucking childish, but, fuck, does it give you butterflies.

and once she’s done with her work, she pulls her fingers from your lips, covered in your spit and all. that’s when she kisses you, slow and sloppy, giving you all the attention that your plump lips are so badly craving. she finds the way you take her glasses off to kiss her adorable, because it shows just how needy you are.

and to reward you for being so good for her, she’ll have you sit up in her lap, thighs on both sides of it, and use those same drool drenched fingers to finger you, letting you ride her up and down like the good girl you are. you think of that “later” she promised you, mouth wrapped around her dick as you suck her off, and that only drives you even crazier as you’re riding your gf <3

[blarshwritezz]

Yandere jock x male reader forced boyfriend. Jock forced you to be his boyfriend and tried everything he could to have sex with you, you refused, leaving him needy and horny. So he drugs the food with aphrodisiac when he gives you a snack

Yandere Jock x Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - general yandere behavior, NSFW, drugging, dubcon, semi-public sex

You had to be the unluckiest guy in the world. Things were supposed to be fine. Your plan was to just fly under the radar until graduation, and you almost made it.

Until he came along.

People envied you, getting to date the hot, popular jock despite not being not very popular yourself. But none of them realize how hellish it is! You never even liked him in the first place! The only reason you two were dating was because of some stupid blackmail he had.

The two of you couldn't even have one conversation without him practically begging to fuck you. But there was no way you'd ever let him! You'd rather let him spill your secrets!

Other than that (and the jealousy issues, and the possessiveness, and the threats, and everything else awful about him) he was sometimes kind of nice. It wasn't uncommon for him to bring you snacks or drinks.

So one morning when he came to you with a bottle of water a granola bar, you didn't think much of it. You didn't have breakfast that day anyway.

But you quickly realized something was wrong. Very wrong.

The whole morning after eating that stupid little granola bar your mind has been fuzzy, your body needy. The only thing you could seem to think of was how much your cock needed attention.

You couldn't even make it to lunch. While everyone else enjoyed their break and ate the world's worst food, you were hiding in a bathroom stall jerking off. It was pathetic. One hand covered your mouth as the other desperately fisted your cock.

You didn't even stop when you heard someone coming in. You just bit your hand and tried harder to hold back your pathetic moans.

Until you heard his voice.

"I know you're in there, darling. Let me in so I can help you out."

How did he know?! This finally made you stop your actions, pre-cum making your hand sticky.

"If you don't let me in, I'll just crawl under the stall door. I'm not afraid to get a little dirty. I've waited too damn long for you to finally be ready for me."

He pounded on the door, making it rattle. What were you supposed to do? You didn't want him...but you probably needed some help with this, and if he's going to come in anyway, you might as well not struggle too much...

Barely pulling your pants back up, you shakily unlocked and opened the stall door. He barged in and closed the door again, making sure to lock it. He didn't waste a second in connecting his lips with yours harshly as he pushed you against the cold wall and pulled your pants down, making sure they dropped to your ankles.

"Look who's needy now..." He lowered his own pants just enough for his erection to spring free, and it was larger than you had anticipated. As if the world would end if he didn't penetrate you fast enough, he turned you around so your back was facing him and forced his way into your ass.

He let out a loud moan as your warmth enveloped him. "Now you listen here. Don't you dare let me miss out on hearing your moans, got it? Be loud. I want everyone to know who you belong to."

With that, he thrust into you at a brutal pace. One of his hands found its way around your body to hold you by the neck, just tight enough so you could really feel it without choking.

His free hand caressed your ass cheeks gently, then slapped them hard enough to leave a mark. Even if it weren't for him demanding you not muffle yourself, you weren't sure if you could. It was impossible not to moan and scream with pleasure and he caressed and used your sensitive body.

If you could think straight, you'd be more concerned about all the noise. Surely anyone would hear if they simply walked past. But it was impossible to think of anything except how his cock was rearranging your guts.

"Fuck, you look so damn good like this...! You have no clue how long I've been waiting for this moment..." He leaned in and gently nibbled your earlobe, moving down to bite and kiss your shoulders.

His hand, previously on your ass, moved around to your twitching cock. He fisted you, his pace very slow compared to the intense and desperate way he was demolishing your hole.

"Cum for me, I know you want to."

And oh lord did you. You swear you've never shot such a large load. Maybe it was the aphrodisiac?

Feeling your hot cum coat his hand, he soon filled you with his own seed, the grip he had on your neck tightening.

How you wished you could say that was the end...

Okay, this one I think is probably good!

[talekinesis]

Thunder Storms

So I've decided to make this an AU where Dale doesn't completely suck. Like he's still the mostly canon Dale, where he kinda sucks, Dev looks for affection and approval, and he can be kinda aloof, but in this AU, he actually recognizes this and does make an effort to be a dad to his kid

I'm stuck between calling it the "Okay Parent AU" or the "Dale's Not Terrible AU (DNT)"

He does care about Dev he just sucks at showing it basically. I will expand on this more in later posts, this us already super long

Summary: It's storming and Dev is scared

Dev laid there, curled up under the covers, as still as possible as if he could hide from the flashes of light outside. As a loud, rolling boom sounded he froze and began to shake slightly.

His blue eyes flicked over to his "dog," laying at the foot of his bed. He wanted more than anything to wake Peri up, but he knew he was still recovering from Magical Back-up and needed the rest. So carefully, he pushed the blankets back and slipped out of bed, shivering as his bare feet hit the cold floor.

He crept out of his room and down the hall, freezing with a frightened whimper each time lightning flashed.

For as long as he could remember, he's always been afraid of storms. When he was much younger, maybe five, he used to run to his dad and stay with him until the storm cleared. At five, your dad is indestructible, and the safest place in the world.

Now at eleven, he found himself tiptoeing toward his father's room again. He hadn't done this in a couple years, having tried to convince himself he'd grow out of it, but the thunder was shaking within the walls, and the kid was scared.

He wasn't entirely sure how his father would react to him coming into his room this late, and for a storm no less, so he tried to think ahead. Maybe he'd sleep on the floor, or just sit in the doorway until the storm cleared up. But the problem with that, was he didn't know when it would clear up. It could take the rest of the night for all he knew.

In the past couple of years, Dale had told him it was silly to fear storms because they were outside, and they couldn't get inside. That it was just rain and some noise. That he'd grow out of it. He knew his father probably hadn't meant to dismiss his fears, but that's definitely how it felt.

He pushed the door open and let his eyes adjust. His dad was asleep and facing the doorway, so he had to be careful. Dev crept further inside and toward the bed, his heart racing.

Logically he knew that, worst case scenario, his dad would wake up and just send him back to bed. But the idea of waking him up over something this silly scared him. He hated to upset, inconvenience, or irritate his dad. Dale had a short temper and wasn't always tactful when trying to get Dev to listen to him.

Thunder and lightning both struck, startling the child into just dropping to the floor with a soft thud, accidentally shaking the bed a little as he pressed himself against the side of it.

His heart was racing and tears started to sting his eyes.

It's just rain and some noise. It's silly to be this scared of some weather, and one day he'd grow out of it. It's just a silly, irrational fear.

He was pulled from his thoughts as a large hand clumsily felt around the side of the bed until it landed in his red curls. He heard a groan and a body sitting up before he was lifted off the floor and placed in bed next to his father, who promptly laid back down, exhausted. Blankets were pulled up over them both, and Dale's breathing soon evened back out, signaling that he had gone right back to sleep.

Dev laid there for a moment just processing what had happened before he turned onto his side and curled up, his eyes heavy. Now that the panic was gone, his body was screaming at him just how tired he was. He scooted just a bit closer to his dad and started to fall asleep.

Not a single word was spoken between them but the message was loud and clear.

___

Bonus:

Thunder boomed and rattled each window in the apartment. Hazel sat up and yawned, getting out of bed. She grabbed her blanket, wrapped it around herself, and slipped into the hall, heading for her parents room.

She opened the door, and just let herself flop to the floor, right there in the door, her legs still in the hallway.

Having heard the thud, and knowing the routine, her mother just barely woke up and cracked her eyes open.

"You gonna stay in the doorway, Haze?"

"Mhm.."

"Okay baby, good night."

"G'night.."

[warpedpuppeteer]

Here's the latest Buddie WIP I've started based on a tweet I made about an accidental pregnancy a/b/o au (you can find more info about it at the bottom of the post)

“Go for Buck!” “Oh thank god, Buck I really need you to-” “Kidding! Sorry, If you're getting this I'm probably at work, please leave a message and I'll get back to you ASAP. If it's an emergency call 911!” And then there's a loud beep. Eddie hangs up and wants to throw the phone at the mirror where he can see his haunted reflection. Instead he takes a deep breath; it's shaky but that's all he can do right now. He leaves everything as it is in the bathroom because the last thing he wants to do right now is spend a second more in there. You're okay, he tells himself. The slam of the bathroom door rattles the framed artwork on the wall. You're okay, he tells himself again and walks past the now crooked artwork. You're okay, he chants, knowing well enough that he's not. He distracts himself by picking up Chris and listening to him talk about his day before dropping him off at Tia Pepa's for the night. Chris is a bit confused, but Eddie tells him that he has an appointment that will run late. Pepa gives him a questioning look but he simply shakes his head at her and she drops it. He drives to the grocery store next and buys a few things they're running out of at home and tries not to throw up at the sight of a mother and her twin toddlers doing their shopping together. He goes home, puts all of the things he bought away and starts prepping for dinner. Then he cleans the house thoroughly. Twice. Everywhere except the bathroom of course; that door remains tightly shut till further notice. In fact, he's pretending it doesn't exist at all.

Based on this tweet

For those who don't use Twitter:

You can also find this wip tweet here

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

WHAT UP, MY DARLINGS

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

Link to full AO3 fic here

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

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

CHAPTER TEN: UNLEASHED

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, that won’t do .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

“Submissive and obedient?” he prompts you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you tell him.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re shaking, Y/N,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?” he asks after a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peaceful .

.

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

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

“Excited for tonight?” you ask him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

You emerge with the Bene Gesserit sisters trailing behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah .  There it is .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You will find a way.

.

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

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

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

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

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

Your husband .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

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

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

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

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you say.

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

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

The slaughter awaits.

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

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[communicationthroughlyrics]

You Should Probably Leave

A tumultuous 'situationship' led you to make an ultimatum. Love, or leave.

TW: Brief smut, slightly indecisive Scarlett, alluded cheating, fluff. 18+ only, men DNI.

Word Count: 6.6k

Underneath the summertime dusky sky, Y/N sat underneath the dim porch light of your countryside home. You were swirling the whiskey in your glass, rattling the ice cube against the sides of the frosty glass in your hand, when a familiar voice brought you from your reverie. The blonde woman before you brought a slight smile to your lips as she leaned against the railing that wrapped around your porch.

"You know," she began, her eyes reflecting the amber glow of the lights from inside the house, "I've always liked it out here."

You nodded in silent agreement, the warm evening air brushing against your skin as the first stars began to peek through the purple haze of the night. The crickets had started their nightly serenade, and the distant sound of a train whistle pierced the stillness, a gentle reminder of the world that lay beyond the confines of your small town.

"It's peaceful," you murmured, taking a sip of the amber liquid. The whiskey burned a trail down your throat, leaving a comforting warmth in its wake. Her eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you. She knew you had a past filled with shadows, a past that you had only hinted at in the late hours of the night when the whiskey loosened your tongue.

"What can I help you with, Scarlett?" you set the glass on the table beside you, leaning forward towards the enamoring figure before you. Her eyes searched yours, a hint of something unspoken lingering in her gaze. You pretend not to notice her eyes darkening as they darted to your lips. You knew what it meant when she showed up at night, and it usually meant she was gone before sunrise in the morning.

"I don't know," she shrugged, playing with the hem of her shirt. The fabric clung to her skin in the humid air, revealing the outline of her body underneath. "Just felt like... I don't know."

"I know it isn't super late, but it sounds like you have an early morning. You should probably leave," you tell her, reaching back to take another sip of your chosen poison of the night.

Scarlett laughs lightly, her eyes never leaving yours. "You're always so concerned about me," she says, taking a step closer. The scent of her perfume fills the air, a sweet floral scent that's become as familiar as the sound of the crickets in the night.

"Just want to make sure you get home safe, is all. Get a good night's rest." you chuckle, leaning back in your oversized Adirondack chair.

Scarlett smirks, closing the distance between you. She places her hand on your thigh, her touch setting off a spark. "What if I don't want to go home?" she whispers, her eyes full of mischief. "I get plenty of rest while I'm here."

You feel your heart rate spike, but you play it cool. "And what makes you think I'd want you to stay?" You lean in closer, your eyes locked on hers. The air is charged with tension, and you can feel the heat emanating from her body.

Scarlett's smirk widens. "You always say you don't, but I see it in your eyes." She takes another step, and now she's standing right in front of you, her hand coming to rest behind your neck. "You're not fooling anyone, darling."

"You want me to say that I want you here? That I want you to stay?" You challenge her, your voice low and steady. The whiskey had painted a warm haze around the edges of your perception, but the thrill of the moment was sharp and clear.

Scarlett nodded, her fingers playing with the hair at the base of your neck. "Is that so hard for you to admit?" She leaned forward, her lips brushing against your ear. "I know you want me," her voice dropped, a familiar rasp coming through as her proximity invaded your senses.

You swallowed hard, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. "You know what happens when you stay," you warned, trying to maintain a semblance of control. The air grew thick with anticipation, and the night's silence was only broken by the distant hum of the crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle summer breeze.

"Mmmm, and what is that, Y/N?" Scarlett's voice was a seductive purr as she leaned in closer, her eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the heat of her body, the gentle press of her fingers against your neck, and the way she lingered so tantalizingly near.

"You know what happens," you repeat, trying to keep your voice even. But the truth was, she had you. You did want her to stay, despite the mess it could cause. Despite the fact that you knew this dance of push and pull was going to end with one of you hurt.

Scarlett's smile grew more confident, and she leaned in even closer, her nose grazing your jawline. "But do you?" she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. "Do you really know, how this is going to end up?"

You felt your resolve waver, the whiskey whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You knew what she was doing, playing with your vulnerabilities like a fiddle. Yet, you couldn't help the way your pulse quickened at her touch, the way your body leaned into her, craving more. In one last moment of attempted strength, you lift the woman who had perched herself on your lap off, standing as you gently push her away.

"I know what you're doing, Scar. We fall into our typical song and dance, a tangle of limbs all night, and then we act like it's nothing. Fucking nothing. You leave before the sun even comes up, you go back to your plush lifestyle, with your new boyfriend, and I'm left here, alone, with all the feelings and the thoughts, and the emotions."

Scarlett's eyes searched yours, a flicker of something more than just lust passing through them. You knew she felt it too, the deep connection that stretched between you, the one that made you both come back for more, even when you knew you should walk away. Her expression almost seemed hurt at your admission.

"Is that what you think?" she asked, her voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "You think I see you as a good time before the sun rises?"

You took a deep breath, holding her gaze. "That's what it feels like, anymore." You gestured between the two of you, the air thick with the unspoken words that had hovered over your heads for so long. "I can't keep doing this, and pretend like it isn't hurting me."

Scarlett's hand fell away from your neck, and she took a step back, the smirk fading from her face. For a moment, she looked almost... vulnerable. "You know it's complicated," she said, her voice just above a whisper.

"Is it?" You advance, slowly backing her into the railing as you confront her with a newfound vigor.  "Is it really, that complicated?"

Scarlett's eyes searched yours, a hint of desperation in them now. She knew you were close to breaking, to telling her to leave for good. "Y/N, you know it is."

You scoff at her, looking up to keep the tears that were making thier way out of your eyes at bay. "No, Scarlett, it isn't. You-" You stab your pointer finger into her sternum, your eyes piercing into her earthy green ones, the glistening in them not missed by you. "You make it complicated. You're the one who decides to come here, play with my heart, and then leave like it's nothing. Like I'm nothing."

Her gaze softens, and she grabs your hand that is still pointing at her. "Y/N, I never-"

"Scarlett, stop. Let me finish." You pull your hand away from her grasp, your voice firm despite the tremble that threatened to take over. "I've been here for you, through everything. And what do I get in return?" You let out a humorless laugh, the pain in your chest growing with each word. "A few stolen moments and the promise of heartache. I don't think you realize, how much I would do for you. How much I could be, for you."

Her eyes searched yours, the green pools filled with a sudden sadness. "I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the serenade of the night. "But I can't give you what you want."

"What makes you so sure of that, Scarlett?" You ask, your voice a mix of anger and hurt. "You've never even given us a chance."

Scarlett sighs heavily, her eyes dropping to the floorboards of the porch. "You know why," she murmurs, her thumb tracing a pattern on the railing behind her. "You know I can't just leave him. He's... he's not like you."

You clench your jaw, fighting the urge to argue. You knew she was referring to her famous, yet emotionally vacant, boyfriend. The man who could give her the world, except for the things she truly seemed to crave: love, emotion, a true connection. "But I can give you this," you say, gesturing to the quiet night around you. "This freedom, this connection that we have- doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Scarlett's eyes meet yours again, filled with a longing that mirrors your own. "It does," she admits, her voice barely a whisper. "But I'm scared."

You sigh, understanding the weight of her fear. "Of what? Of us? Of being happy?"

"Of losing everything," she whispers, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "My family, my career, my life... it's all built on a lie."

"Scar, baby. It's not built on a lie, and you know it. You said it yourself that you fall in love with people, not thier gender."

You take a step closer, your hand reaching out to her again. This time, you cup her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin under your palm. Her eyes close briefly, and she leans into your touch. "You're not a lie, Scarlett. You're just... afraid of what might happen if you follow your heart."

"But what if my heart is leading me to ruin?" she asks, her voice trembling.

You stroke her cheek gently, your thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. "What if it's leading you to something real?" you counter, your voice filled with hope. The warmth of your hand seems to steady her, and she opens her eyes to meet your gaze. The silence stretches out between you, filled with the whispers of the night and the unspoken promise of a future you both secretly crave.

"I don't know if I can do it," she admits, her voice cracking. "Leave him, leave all of it behind."

You drop your hand, a sense of melancholy washing over you. "Then maybe you should go," you say, your voice firm but tinged with sadness. "If you can't even consider it, then maybe it's better if you just leave."

Scarlett looks at you with a mix of surprise and pain, as if your words had physically struck her. She opens her mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. You can see the war playing out in her eyes: the desire to stay versus the fear of the unknown. She shifts to sit on the chair opposite yours, a distant look of desperation and contemplation on her face.

The night air is thick with the scent of rain, a sudden shift in the weather's mood that mirrors the tension between you. You watch as the first drops of rain begin to fall, spotting the wood of the porch like tears from the heavens. The whiskey sits forgotten between you, the warmth of its embrace no longer needed as the chilly droplets cool the air.

Scarlett's eyes flick to the growing wet spots on the ground, and she takes a deep, shaky breath. "I am so scared, Y/N," she says finally, her voice a defeated whisper. "What if everything falls apart?"

You kneel next to her, your hands resting on her thighs, rubbing a comforting pattern on them as you direct her gaze to your own. "Scar, everything is going to be okay. You're strong enough to handle whatever comes your way, and if you will let me, I will be right beside you."

The rain starts to pick up, droplets falling faster and heavier, the sound of it hitting the porch roof crescendos around you, mimicking the storm of emotions inside your chest. You take her hand in yours, feeling the electricity that always sparks when your skin touches. "Look at me," you command gently, your thumb tracing circles around her knuckles. "You don't have to decide everything right now."

Scarlett's eyes find yours again, the green pools searching for the answers you're not sure you have. But you know one thing for certain: you can't keep going on like this. "But I can't keep doing this," you repeat, your voice softer this time. "I can't keep letting you in, only to watch you walk away."

Her hand squeezes yours in a silent apology, and she nods. "I know," she whispers, the sound lost in the crescendo of the rain. "I'm sorry."

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. You both know she doesn't just mean for that night, but for every night she's come to you, filled with doubt and fear, seeking the solace and comfort that she knows she will find with you. The rain starts to fall harder, and the distant thunder rumbles, a prelude to the storm that's been brewing between you for months.

You stand up, the cold air seeping through your shirt courtesy of a brisk breeze. "Let's go inside," you say, your voice gentle. You don't want her to leave, not when the weather has made such an abrupt change, and you also don't want to push her into making a decision she's not ready for. The porch isn't the place for this conversation anymore, the rain a stark reminder of the mess that your lives have become. You guide her past the threshold that has seen many a passionate embrace, and she knowingly makes her way through the cabin to the living room, where you have a fire stoked and ready to go to combat the night chill.

Scarlett sits on the couch, her eyes focused on the flickering flames as the rain patters against the window. You grab a blanket from the arm of the couch and drape it over her shoulders, taking a seat beside her. The warmth of the fire fills the room, but it doesn't quite warm through the tension overtaking your living room.

You hand her a fresh glass of wine, the burgundy liquid swirling in the crystal glass. "You don't have to decide anything tonight," you tell her, your voice soothing. "No pressure, okay?"

Scarlett takes a sip, the wine a stark contrast to the coolness of the rain outside. She nods, her eyes never leaving the fire. The flames dance in the reflection of her eyes, casting a warm glow across her face. You watch her for a moment, the way the shadows play with the contours of her features, highlighting the sadness etched into her expression.

"I know," she says after a moment, her voice a little stronger now. "But I can't keep doing this to you, Y/N. It's not fair." You could hear the sound of the rain slowly coming to a halt, which meant that it was slowly approaching the time you knew Scarlett would need to leave.

"You can finish your wine," you stand, crossing the room to pour yourself another glass of whiskey. "But you should probably leave before you get too tired." You try to keep your voice casual, despite the turmoil inside you. The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle, the rhythmic pattern against the window a sad backdrop to the conversation.

Scarlett nods, taking another sip. The silence between you is heavier than the dampened air outside. You both know the score, the unspoken words hanging in the air like mist. She's said she's sorry before, but it doesn't change the fact that she'll likely return, seeking refuge from her own life's storm. You've grown accustomed to her late-night visits, but the pain of her inevitable departures never truly lessens.

"Y/N?" you hear a slightly more confident voice echo across the room, turning to face a now standing actress. She approaches you with a determined stride, quickly closing the distance between you both.

"Scar," you start, knowing what very well could happen in this position. You send her a warning glance, telling her not to do this, not after what you have been trying to tell her. "Don't do it, unless it's going to be different."

Scarlett stops, her hand reaching out but not quite touching your arm. She searches your eyes, looking for something, a sign perhaps, a promise of what she so desperately wants to hear. "What if I'm tired of being sorry?" she asks, her voice a mix of hope and defiance. "What if I'm ready to make a change?"

"Then make the change, Scarlett."

Before you could react, she closed the gap between you both, no space between your now warm bodies. Scarlett's eyes searched yours, a fierce determination shining through the sadness. "I'm tired of pretending," she whispers, her breath tickling your neck. "Tired of hiding."

You set your whiskey down, your heart hammering in your chest. "Scar," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. You're torn between the need to hold her and the fear of what her words might mean.

"Kiss me, Y/N." Scarlett's voice is a soft plea, her eyes wide with hope. You can feel the tremble in her body, the storm of emotions she's holding back.

You take a deep breath, the whiskey fading to the background as you focus solely on her. You've been down this road before, but the desperation in her eyes is something new. You lean in, your breath mingling with hers. The first touch of your lips is gentle, tentative, as if you're afraid she'll vanish like a mirage in the desert heat. But she's real, and she's here, and she's kissing you back with a passion that makes your knees wobble.

Her arms wrap around your neck, pulling you closer, and you give in to the feeling of her body pressed against yours. The fire crackles in the background, casting shadows across the room, but you only see her, feel her. The rain outside has stopped, leaving only the sound of droplets sliding off the leaves of the trees that line the property, a gentle reminder of the world outside that seems so far away at this moment.

The kiss deepens, your hands finding their way to her hips, pulling her closer as if you can somehow meld your bodies together and never let go. Her fingers thread through your hair, and you know that this isn't the end of the night, it's the beginning of something new. A spark of hope ignites in your chest, warming you from the inside out. You pull away briefly, observing her expression as your heart continues to hammer away in your chest.

"What does this mean?" you ask, your voice a mix of hope and fear.

Scarlett's eyes never leave yours as she whispers, "It means I'm taking a chance." She leans in again, her lips brushing against yours. The kiss is full of promise, a silent declaration of intent that sends a shiver down your spine. She pulls away, resting her forehead on yours. "I'm leaving him. I can't pretend anymore."

The words hang in the air, echoing through the cabin. You're stunned, the whiskey forgotten. You tip her chin up, searching her eyes for any hint of doubt. "You're sure?"

Scarlett nods, the fireplace reflecting in her eyes. "More sure than I've ever been about anything. I may be scared, but you're worth it. "

You wrap your arms around her, feeling the weight of her words and the tremble in her body. You know the risk she's taking, the potential backlash she'll face from her family and the media, but also the freedom she'll gain. "I'll be here for you," you whisper, your heart racing with the possibility of a future together.

Scarlett smiles, the light in her eyes something you haven't seen in a long time. She takes a step back, taking your hand in hers. "But tonight, let's just enjoy this," she suggests, tugging you gently towards the stairs. "Let's not think about tomorrow yet."

You tug back, nodding towards the fireplace. She lifts her eyebrow, a silent question as to what you were playing at. You guide her back to the sofa, leaving her alone briefly as you walk over you the wardrobe in the corner, grabbing a few more blankets, and tossing them onto the floor. You grab both of your glasses and bring them to the table in the middle of the room.

"Come relax with me," you motion to her, as you sprawl yourself out on the heavy blanket on the floor. The flickering fire casts a warm glow across the room, making the shadows dance playfully along the walls. You pull her down with you, and she giggles, the sound music to your ears. You both lie there, looking into the fireplace, the heat from the fireplace warming your bodies, the whiskey and wine adding to the haze of comfort that had settled over you.

You lay side by side, her head on your shoulder, your hand playing with the ends of her hair. She startles you as she sets her now empty glass behind you on the coffee table, and lifts herself so she can now straddle your waist. She looks down at you with a fiery determination in her eyes, her hands on either side of your face. "I'm not leaving tonight," she says, and you can feel the finality in her voice.

You swallow, the warmth of the whiskey mixing with the sudden heat in your chest. "I'm looking forward to that," you manage to say, the words thick with anticipation. Scarlett leans down, her lips finding yours again, and you're lost in the taste of her, the feeling of her body against yours. Your hands find their way under her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin, and the softness of her curves.

Her own hands start to explore, her fingers tracing the lines of your shoulders and chest, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel the urgency in her touch, the desire to claim what she's been denying herself for so long. You pull her closer, deepening the kiss, your hands moving to the back of her neck, the other to her lower back, pressing her into you.

The rain outside had picked back up, a gentle patter against the roof of your cabin, the sound of it a lullaby as you both lay there, lost in each other. The room is filled with the scent of the fireplace and the faint smell of whiskey and wine, a warm, comforting scent that wraps around you like a blanket.

Scarlett's kisses grew more fervent, her hands moving from your chest to the hem of your shirt, her nails scraping against your skin as she pulled it up and over your head. You could feel the excitement building in her, the way her breath hitched when your bare skin met hers, the way she arched into your touch.

You sat up, pulling her with you, your mouths never parting. Your hands slid up her back, feeling the smoothness of her skin as you unclipped her bra, letting it fall to the floor. She gasped as you kissed her neck, her pulse racing under your lips. You could feel the heat between her thighs, and the need to touch her grew almost unbearable.

Scarlett's hands moved to your belt, her eyes never leaving yours. She undid it with a quick flick of her wrist, her confidence growing with every second. You helped her push your jeans down, and she straddled you again, this time in nothing but her damp underwear, the fabric clung to her, leaving nothing to the imagination.

The rain outside grew louder, a symphony of nature's passion that mirrored your own. You kissed her again, hard and desperate, as if you could somehow absorb all of her fear and doubt into yourself. Her hands were in your hair now, pulling you closer, as if she could meld your bodies together and never let go.

Her hips began to rock against yours, a silent plea for more. You slid your hands down to her waist, lifting her slightly so that you could slide her underwear off. She gasped as you brought her back down, her skin now bare against yours. The heat was palpable, the tension in the room thick with anticipation.

Scarlett's eyes searched yours, and you could see the trust she placed in you, the vulnerability she allowed herself to show. You took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the woman before you, the woman who had just handed you her heart, trembling with fear but also hope. You didn't want to rush this, not when it had been building for so long. Sure, you both had had many nights filled with lust and passion, but none were like this. None had the balance of your confessions and feelings hanging like ripe fruit on an undiscovered fruit tree.

You took a deep breath, savoring the moment. The rain outside had turned into a soothing melody, setting the rhythm for your heart beating in sync. You gently laid her down on the plush blanket, the warmth of the fireplace surrounding you both. The flames danced in her eyes, casting a fiery glow across her body as she lay before you, open and bare. You kissed her again, slow and tender, a promise of the love you were both about to explore.

Her legs wrapped around yours, her hands pulling you closer as your bodies met. The sensation of her skin on yours was electrifying, the years of unspoken love and a mutual longing culminating in this singular moment. You moved with a gentle urgency, the rain outside now a steady drumbeat to the crescendo of passion that filled the room. Each kiss, each touch, was a declaration of what you've both been too afraid to say out loud until now.

"Please, Y/N," she moaned, carding her fingers through your hair as you peppered kisses along her collarbone. Your heart was racing, and you could feel hers beating just as fast against your chest.

You knew this was more than just a physical release; it was a declaration of love and trust that you hadn't dared to voice out loud. But as your bodies moved in harmony, it was as if you were speaking a language that transcended words. Your hands roamed over her curves, memorizing every inch of her as if you were afraid she would disappear if you didn't.

Scarlett's breath grew ragged, her eyes never leaving yours as you explored each other. Her nails dug into your back, urging you closer, and you knew that she was feeling the same desperation, the same need to hold on to this moment forever. The fire crackled in the background, throwing warm light across the room, making everything feel more real, more alive. Your kisses and bites slowly worked down her toned body, nipping at the thin skin on her hips, the scent of her arousal becoming more prominent as you lowered yourself to where she needed you most.

You could feel her tremble as your mouth found her core, your tongue tracing the lines of her desire. Her hips bucked up to meet you, and she let out a guttural moan that sent shockwaves through your own body. You savored the taste of her, the sweetness that was uniquely hers, as you brought her closer to the edge. The rain outside had turned into a torrential downpour, the noise of it muffling the sounds of pleasure that filled the cabin. Your tongue probed her wet heat, as you buried your face between her legs.

Scarlett's fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, as her moans grew louder. You could feel her body tighten, her legs quiver around you, and you knew she was close. You increased the pressure, swirling your tongue in a pattern that had her writhing beneath you. Her breath hitched, and she called out your name, the sound like a sweet symphony in the quiet of the night. Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her body, leaving her trembling and gasping for air. Her firm grip on your tangled locks allowed her to drag you back up her body, her eyes darkening as she took in the appearance of your arousal-soaked chin.

With a smoldering gaze, she rolled you onto your back, the firelight playing across her features like a painter's strokes on a canvas. Her kisses grew more demanding as she worked her way back up to your mouth, her taste lingering on your lips. Straddling you once more, she reached down and touched you, her hand gentle but firm, as if she were learning the secrets of your body for the first time. Her movements grew more urgent as she watched the pleasure flicker in your eyes, her desire building with each stroke of her finger over your throbbing clit.

You couldn't hold back the groan that escaped you, the sound a mix of pleasure and relief. Your hands found her breasts, your thumbs circling the peaks as you arched into her touch. The rain outside had become a cacophony of nature's passion, the perfect soundtrack to the storm of sensation building inside you. Scarlett's hand worked faster, her eyes never leaving yours, as if she could read the very essence of your soul through the window of your gaze.

Her other hand slid down to your waist, her nails digging in as she pushed you closer to the precipice. Your breath grew ragged, and your hips met her touch with an urgency that was both desperate and delicious. The tension coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped, and you were lost in a sea of ecstasy. You cried out, your body shuddering beneath hers as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

When the storm of your climax subsided, you both lay there, panting and tangled in the blankets, the fire's warmth the only thing keeping the cold at bay. Scarlett's head rested on your chest, her breathing evening out as she listened to the steady beat of your heart. You carded your fingers through her hair, feeling the softness of the strands between your digits.

"Y/N?"  Scarlett's voice was a breathless whisper, her eyes still glazed with the aftermath of passion. She leaned in to kiss you, her lips soft and gentle against yours. The taste of whiskey and the sweetness of her arousal still lingered on you, a heady mix that made her dizzy with desire.

You wrapped your arms around her, holding her tight as the fire continued to crackle in the background. The rain had turned into a soothing lullaby, and the room was filled with the sweet scent of the damp earth outside and the faint musk of your shared passion. You stroked her back, feeling the softness of her skin under your fingertips, the reality of what had just happened slowly sinking in.

"Yes, babe?" you murmur, your voice low and gruff with emotion. Your heart is still racing from the intensity of the moment, your body feeling both sated and hungry for more.

Scarlett shifts, her cheek nuzzling against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. "I've never felt like this before," she admits, her voice filled with wonder. "I've never felt so alive."

You tighten your grip around her, feeling her heart thud against yours. "Neither have I," you confess, your voice thick with emotion. The rain outside has turned into a gentle pitter-patter, the perfect backdrop for the intimate confession. You know that what you're feeling is real, that the connection between you two is something that can't be denied anymore.

She pulled away from you, her hands resting on either side of your face, her gaze as she looked down at you a mixture of love and determination. "I don't ever want to go back to the way things were," she whispered, her eyes searching yours for understanding. "I want this, us, to be real."

You nodded, your heart swelling with a love so intense it almost hurt. "Me too," you murmured, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "This is real, Scar. More real than anything I've ever felt."

"I love you, Y/N." The words spilled from her lips, the weight of them as real as the woman straddling you, her body still flushed from the passionate storm you had just weathered together.

You felt your chest tighten, the gravity of the situation pressing down on you. "I love you too, Scarlett," you whispered back, the words as natural as breathing. The confession felt like a warm embrace around your heart, filling the cracks that doubt had left behind. She leans down, kissing you passionately, her love a beacon that pierces through the fog of fear and doubt. She lay herself back down, her leg draped over your waist as she nestled her head in the crook of your neck.

Scarlett's finger traced random soothing patterns across your bare chest, a soothing movement that was slowly putting you to sleep. "I truly do love you, Y/N," she whispered again, as she nestled closer to you. "And I'm sorry, for everything I've put you through."

You wrapped your arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. "I know," you murmured, your voice a gentle rumble against her ear. "And I'm not going anywhere."

The fire crackled, the embers casting a warm glow over the two of you as you held each other close, the weight of your confessions a comforting blanket that had been missing for so long. The rain outside had turned into a gentle pitter-patter, a rhythmic lullaby that soothed the both of you.

As the night wore on, you slowly started to fade into slumber. Before you fell completely asleep, you reached over, careful not to jostle the woman who lay asleep on your chest, for the blanket resting on the sofa above you. You covered her, ensuring she was warm and comfortable before finally letting sleep claim you.

The next morning, the sun peeked through the cabin's windows, painting the room with a soft golden light. You awoke to the sound of Scarlett's gentle snores, her body still draped over yours. You felt a smile tug at the corners of your lips as you took in the sight of her. Her hair was a mess, a wild mess of curls and waves that had frizzed in the night's humidity, but she looked more beautiful than any woman had the right to at this ungodly hour. Peering over to the clock on the wall, you squinted as your eyes struggled to focus on the timepiece to see what time it was. You groaned slightly when you read that it was just before 6 am.

Deciding that the early morning was the perfect time to start the day, you gently nudged Scarlett awake. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours, and she offered you a sleepy smile that made your heart clench. "Good morning," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

You returned the smile, running your fingers through her hair. "We should get some coffee going," you suggested, the warmth of the fireplace not quite enough to fight off the chill in the air.

Scarlett nodded, stretching languidly, her body arching in a way that made you want to pull her back down into the blankets. But the promise of a new day, a new chapter, was too tantalizing to ignore. You both stood up, your limbs stiff from the cold floor, and made your way to the kitchen. The cabin's interior was still dark, the light from the fireplace fading as the embers grew colder.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the cabin as you both moved around the small kitchen, the early morning light from outside slowly seeping in. You grabbed two mugs from the shelf, the sound of your movements echoing through the quiet space. Scarlett wrapped herself in one of the blankets, the soft fabric draping over her curves like a second skin. She leaned against the counter, watching you with a sleepy smile that made you feel like you could conquer the world.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking the steaming mug you offered her. She took a tentative sip, the warmth seeping into her bones. You could see her relax as the coffee slid down her throat, a silent moan leaving her slightly parted lips as she tried to wake up. She leaned against the counter, her eyes never leaving yours as she drank.

You took a sip of your own, the bitter taste mixing with the sweetness of the moment. You both knew that the sun rising outside signaled a new day, a new beginning for the two of you. The fear and doubt of the night before had been washed away by the storm, leaving only the promise of what was to come.

"What now?" Scarlett asked, her voice still husky from sleep. She set her mug down and stepped closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist.

You pulled her closer, feeling the warmth of her body seep into yours. "First, I make us breakfast," you said, your voice low and filled with a quiet resolve. "Then we talk."

Scarlett nodded, her eyes searching yours for reassurance. "Okay," she whispered, and you knew she was thinking about the conversation you were about to have. The one that would change everything. You gently grabbed her chin, forcing her to look back at you.

"This isn't a bad talk," you whisper, leaning down and pecking her lips. "We just need to make sure we're on the same page, babe."

Scarlett nods, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before opening them again. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against yours. "I can get used to that," she whispered back, her body falling further into yours.

You chuckle, leaning down to press another kiss to her forehead. "What would that be?" you ask, your voice filled with warmth. She looks up at you as you pull away, so you can begin to start on breakfast. She tugs you back for one more kiss, a sweet reminder of the night you just shared.

"Well, that, first off," she spoke quietly, a shy smile on her face as she leaned in for another quick kiss. "And hearing you call me babe every morning. And waking up next to you."

You couldn't help but chuckle at her admission, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "You got it," you reply, placing your mug down and pulling her into a tight embrace. Her head rested on your chest, and you felt her relax even further into you. Kissing the top of her head, you buried your nose in the crown of her head, inhaling her scent as you spoke into the top of her head. "I love you, Scarlett."

The words felt right, more right than they had ever felt before. The warmth of the kitchen wrapped around you as you held her, the smell of coffee, and the sound of the rain outside creating a cozy cocoon of safety.

"I love you too, Y/N."

[fountainpenguin]

Riddle watches New Wish - Post #20

Best of Luck

With a title like "Best of Luck," this sounds exactly like an Anti-Fairy episode. I'm intrigued.

I love how Cosmo and Wanda's house can be wherever it needs to be, including inside Hazel's desk.

I wish we would've had that lore in the OG series, because it makes a lot of sense (and makes the concept of riding around with your godkids and sitting in elementary school all day less boring). I think I'm yoinking this for 'fics.

I like how they still have old-fashioned desks in the future. I've never had these desks.

Peri and Dev are together again... Peri's trying his best <3 I like how Dev is a grump. That feels right.

"Peace is boring and lacking in swag." - Dev Dimmadome, 2024

I love him.

I enjoy how that random horse has been here for tons of episodes. It's just silly.

I really like Winn. They have so many happy things to say about life and their friends:

"Pulling out paper, even though you'd used it to defeat your previous 3 opponents?? /smiles and clutches hands to chest while shaking head. "Inspired."

They deserve to be the cool kid everyone likes and wants to befriend. I support it. I hope they have a really nice life and many joys.

Hey, wait a minute! I WAS right about Winn only having freckles on one cheek. I think it just flips sides when they turn.

Peri in his debut: I'm gonna take you from Dev to Dev-ine!! Dev now, on the heels of a massive meltdown: What happened to you 'taking me from Dev to Dev-ine?' I don't FEEL very Dev-ine >:( Peri: :')

I enjoy the detail of Dev pushing his shades back on his nose after throwing his head back and then snapping it forward. They didn't even fall down or reveal his eyes, but it was the correct move for him to do.

I like how every time Dev moves his head, his shades catch the ceiling lights.

Ohhh, when snooty Peri comes out, you've gone too far!

... I was wrong!! Dev just raised his voice and Peri crumpled. I love him.

That music sting, tho...

For some reason, that last one gives me bigger "Oh, that's totally Poof" energy than any other screenshot I've taken? idk why; I don't remember Poof getting angry often.

Hang on- I watch Season 9 a lot. Let me check my usual highlights...

... ah. I don't like what this says about me.

-> omg, his staff is based on his rattle! I didn't even notice that until now!! That's so clever!

There's something really funny about posting this picture right before jumping back into my liveblog.

Anyway, Peri is trying SO hard to explain the rules... He looked like he was about to cry and then he snapped; let's see where this is going.

OHHHH, he's quitting! I knew it~! He can't handle the pressure. He's too baby!!

I cannot believe this man lasted 4.5 months on the job. Every time he showed up, he was upset.

Peri: You know what, Dev? I'm DONE. Dev: Well, I'm done-ER! Peri: I'm the done-EST! Dev: Stick a fork in BOTH OF US, THEN!!!

Neither of them is okay.

And he's got tears down his cheeks... Freakin' GEEZ, Dev! You snapped him like a twig.

I'm glad he's having a hard time adjusting to being a nice person. lol. It really underscores why he's so mean at the start of the series.

The fact that he had no issue taking off his shades after befriending Hazel in "A New Dev-elopment" (even willing to go to school with them off and talk nicely to his teacher that Monday, regardless of the fact that this was his first time in the series doing that and people might've talked about it) gives me the inkling that he probably HAS tried being nice in the past, and he doesn't MIND being nice... until he's hurting, and then his self-defense mechanism is to shut down and wall everyone out.

He WANTS to be "a happy kid." He just keeps getting bit every time he places his trust in someone. Including Hazel (in his POV) since he couldn't move past his "Wait a minute... Did you WISH for us to be friends??" meltdown in spite of the good times that came from that wish.

He tried so hard to see the good in his dad in "Lost and Founder's Day." Even when his dad snapped at him for asking if he could help and told him to go "Eat a lizard."

Even when his dad blatantly used electricity to shock people's brains and Dev very clearly had issues with it. He tried SO HARD to turn it around to "Oh, so you can help kids!!"

He even tried to see the good in Vicky [before she entered the house] when Hazel tried cheering him up with the thought of, "Well yeah, maybe you didn't want a princess cosplayer at your birthday, but she might be a really COOL party princess!"

He just keeps trying and has such high hopes and patience despite getting nipped every time he speaks up and reaches out. That's why he stayed un-miserable for so long before tipping over and getting Peri assigned to him. Tell him how high to jump and he'll do his best without even asking "How high?"

So he took that leap with Hazel. And the floor went out from under him.

I read once that if your natural response is to close off when you're struggling and/or just handle everything yourself even if it's a lot, it indicates your past experiences of reaching out yielded no help, so it's hard to see the point in asking others for help in the future.

I don't have the place I read this on hand and I didn't dive for the sources back then, so take it with a grain of salt, but it's all I've been thinking about while watching Dev in this show.

btw, I had to rewatch part of "Lost and Founder's Day" to grab that screenshot, and it's hilarious to me that even when he's talking to his own son, Dale still introduces himself as "Dale Dimmadome, owner of Dimmadome Global." He's just like his dad.

Okay... Blue smoke? Anti-Fairy time??

OHHHH, it's the man of the hour!! Welcome back, loser!

I love the little shift of him flexing his wing. I like how similar the wing is to the old show (Black with blue markings).

Eric Bauza, is that you?? Score!

Okay, I looked it up to see if that was true and first of all, yes it is, and second, he's also credited as Peri's VA, so I love that! I hadn't bothered to check who Peri's VA was, but that literally makes so much sense; their parents have always shared, so of COURSE they'd share too. That's so smart...

Hm... Can't say I'm the biggest fan of Foop's name changing to Irep and I'm not sure I like his design, but maybe it'll grow on me.

That said, the name change is a really clever way to get Irep to explain the lore of how he's the opposite of Peri without being info-dumpy.

I'm glad he kept his facial hair. And he's got big boy fangs! I miss his F-shaped hair curls, though, or maybe I need a better angle.

Hey, he has a dark jacket like the lab coat I gave him in my high school design. I wasn't far off!

No freckles, but in OG canon, they only really showed up when he flushed, so no surprise. I don't expect to see them, but it would be funny if he did flush and they were still there.

Also, I really like the ultraviolet glow of his crown. That makes so much sense.

Insert joke about how Anti-Fairies used to be invisible to the naked eye until Season 5

... He is actually REALLY cute. He looks a lot like his old self.

Are other Anti-Fairies also going to have square heads? I don't mind Foop having a square one if all his species does, but I'll be a bit surprised if he's the only creature with a cube head.

I think it's funny that they took away Peri's eyelashes when he grew up, but left Irep with one. That feels incredibly right.

I love his unique scruffy eyebrows. That's cute.

Irep, who previously had such a traumatizing experience as a godparent that he spent that episode screaming and crying, his magic souring in a range of colors all the way down to green in one of the only appearances of green magic in the series, and literally almost gave up on life before he gained the courage to lash out at Vicky despite knowing full-well his magic would immediately backlash and torture him for it: "I am once again ready to take responsibility for a mean human."

This only exacerbates my analysis of Peri not being ready for godkids and that's flippin' hilarious.

The nerd finally put on shoes!!

Dev wished for it to be tomorrow, so now it's tomorrow (waning crescent, of course).

No Dev-Irep sleepover? Robbed >:(

??? Obsessed with Hazel walking into school chatting about what she spent her night doing. I love how this means Irep just... yoinked Dev forward in time.

/horse in the hospital voice: I didn't know he could do that.

This episode's set-up & plot is just great in general.

Everyone else has gone to bed and Dev's had no sleep or breakfast. He needs a snack.

Ooh, wait- what? Mace wand!! ... I don't think I'll keep that in my canon, but that's a clever way to parallel Poof's staff. It's funny to me that the posh British boy did not get a staff. He WOULD like bashing people with the mace, huh?

It delights me to see Irep left-handed. He's been a leftie since the day he was born, all through to Season 10 :')

I like how Irep started crying when Dev told him he was "better than Peri." I mean... He's not wrong- that IS literally all Foop-Irep has wanted to hear since the minute he was born.

He is literally the same person he's always been. lol.

"Best of Luck" & "Two and a Half Babies"

I wonder if he's still claustrophobic, because that was, like... his big thing after escaping Abracatraz. I doubt it will come up (and he's much older now), but since he's an antagonist, I assume he has a weakness, and that would be an interesting one to bring back.

-> Actually if I'm remembering right, it was his alternate personality's phobia (Foop vehemently denying it while his alter literally screamed at the top of his lungs and doubled down), which is definitely implyin' somethin' about which of them remembers Abracatraz better. Hmm...

FINALLY! I don't think we ever got to see umbrellas open indoors as a form of bad luck in the OG series. It's one of those tiny questions always floating in the back of my mind, sdklfj.

I like how Dev still went to class. He has rule-breaking magic at his fingertips and this is where he's spending his time.

I guess it's not like he can leave the school; his whole goal is to get in that schoolwide Rock, Paper, Scissors competition.

I like Hazel eating from her popcorn bucket of 4-leaf clovers.

is Irep going to try to poke her and then, like... break out in hives or something? lol.

[waldau]

hi!! i really love the way you write for wonwoo♡♡♡ could i request wonwoo+friends to lovers(something like she fell first but he fell harder kinda trope?)

thank you so much anon! also you're my first ever request! i hope i did this trope justice, because as much as i love established relationships i don't think i've ever really done much for friends to lovers.

crush — jeon wonwoo | 2,193 words | fluff

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

it hits wonwoo like a sledgehammer.

he's glad he's already sitting in his usual seat at the table, because there probably couldn't be a worse time to realize he's in love with you. when you're out on a date with someone else, and when these dates look like they're going to become a steady fixture in your life; something that he's going to have to learn how to make peace with.

wonwoo doesn't just love you. he's in love with you, and he's grappling with the realization of how many months he's missed without knowing the extent of his own feelings for you.

he wishes there was some manual that told him what to do when you had feelings for your roommate. when said roommate happened to be your best friend you'd try to ask out if you weren't so afraid of ruining the friendship.

since the end of high school and the beginning of college, wonwoo's always had you by his side — whether it be in the same classes, or the same friend group — hell, he's lost count of the number of nights you spent together, watching movies instead of trying to get some sleep for the next day.

(maybe there was a reason why he chose horror movies sometimes, even though you were scared of them.)

he thinks back to all the times your friends joked you were practically dating — that never annoyed him. he was merely surprised at the idea of dating you. you had always been his best friend; nothing more. you were a constant fixture in his life that he didn't see in any other way.

but now? wonwoo wishes he could turn back time and see what could have happened. would you have had the same inside jokes you do now, the same ease that comes with learning to co-exist by carving each other's shapes into your lives?

he looks up from his laptop at the sound of the wind rattling the windows. but he's the only one home.

you're out on your second date in the past two weeks with this guy named seungcheol. for the past two weeks, wonwoo hasn't been able to put a finger on why he hasn't been so keen on this guy you're seeing, despite the fact that seungcheol sounds like nothing but a gentleman.

and now he knows why.

he's heard a lot about how funny and smart and nice seungcheol is, from taking you to your favourite restaurant for a date to leaving you at your doorstep at the end of your night out.

wonwoo wants to argue that he, too, does the same thing for you. he holds doors open for you and gives you his beanie when you're cold and lets you have his popcorn when yours is done, but you just don't see him that way. and he doesn't know what to do to make you see him that way.

he focuses on his laptop again. the words all seem jumbled, and he's pretty sure he's been on the same page for the past half hour. so he takes his glasses off and lets his eyes rest. only to remember the time you took his glasses off when he was almost about to fall asleep on the sofa.

you're loving. it's something he's learned from you. you're always looking out for others, always concerned, wanting them to know you're there in the subtlest ways possible.

wonwoo always wants you around, and now has an irrational worry that he won't have you for much longer. his heart starts hurting — really, physically hurting, like a deep pain in his chest that can't be satiated by anything. he didn't know it was possible, but it's all he can feel right now.

he tries to think about anything else. those few people he'd dated back in college, whose names he can't even remember now. he hasn't dated anyone in the past two years since you graduated, got a job and moved into this flat together.

wonwoo hadn't known what to expect when it came to living with you, because as much as you were best friends, you'd never shared a living space together beyond a night's time. now over the course of the last twenty five months, he's become accustomed to you, and he's afraid he's ruined it all by realizing he's fallen in love with you far too late.

part of that is definitely your fault, he reasons. he wouldn't blame seungcheol for falling in love, either.

the thought of you on your date hurts him enough that he picks up his pen and scratches something on the notepad lying next to his laptop. his strokes are harsh and drawn without care, but when he stops, it's a rough sketch of your favourite flowers.

he lets out a bitter laugh. everything always circles back to you, in the end.

you don't ask for anything on your birthday, but wonwoo always gets you a bouquet of your favourite flowers alongside your gifts, because he knows how much you love them.

he wonders if seungcheol knows they're your favourite.

he's shaken out of his thoughts when you open the door to your shared house and step inside, almost tiptoeing, like you're afraid of making noise. you freeze when you see him looking at you. he wonders how long he's been sitting there, mind blank but also filled with thoughts of you. it's eating him up like a slow poison from the inside, but he forces himself to hold your gaze.

you look amazing. more than that, you look happy.

he's not jealous. he's never jealous when you're happy. but he just wants you to be happy with him, and he doesn't know if he's enough.

he wants to know what it'd be like to take you out. he wants to know everything that makes you smile, because he still learns something new about you almost every day. he wants to know what it's like to hold hands with you, kiss you goodnight, and wake up every morning knowing you're there by his side and his side only.

he wants more than he can possibly have.

"hey, wonwoo," you say, shutting the door behind you before you take off your shoes. "couldn't sleep?"

"no. i wanted to wait till you came back."

you frown at him. "i told you not to."

as if he could ever do that. whether you go out on dates, or to parties with your friends, wonwoo can't relax till he knows you're back home, safe. he just shrugs. this is one thing he'll always be stubborn about.

"did you have dinner?" you ask, ruffling his hair and moving past him to presumably fix yourself a snack before you go to bed.

"yeah," he says, looking back at the laptop. the letters are still jumbled, so he cleans his glasses before putting them back on. "unless last night's pizza doesn't count."

"that's a lot of words for no," you say. "are instant noodles okay?"

"of course."

wonwoo watches as you move around, putting back today afternoon's dried dishes into their respective places and filling a glass of water for yourself.

"did you have fun tonight?"

"yeah," you say, a smile on your face. "cheol picked out this movie i've been wanting to watch for a while. then we went to this hole-in-the-wall cafe that was surprisingly nice. and then he dropped me home."

wonwoo tries not to react at the nickname you already have for him. he's not jealous, but it's getting harder to convince himself of that. he looks at your jacket. it looks...not quite your style.

"is that new?" he asks, pointing at it.

"what? oh, this? seungcheol asked me to return it to him the next time. it was pretty cold today."

wonwoo's hand crumples the note before he realizes. next time? why couldn't he have realized how much he loved you before all of this had to happen?

"you okay?" you ask, turning around to look at him. "come here and tell me if it tastes fine."

"it's just instant noodles," he pretends to grumble, but waits for you to feed him some. he can see you're a bit tired. he wishes you'd fall asleep on him, the way you do when you're stubborn enough to want to keep him company with whatever he's doing.

"tastes good," he hums, licking his lips.

did he just imagine your eyes looking at them before they moved back to his face?

"great. hand me those bowls from there?"

you using him for his height is a running joke he hopes never gets old. wonwoo takes out the cutlery too, but stops when he sees an angry red line on your hand.

"what happened to you?" he asks, holding your hand so he can see it clearly. he tries not to think about how much bigger his hand is. the cut isn't bleeding, but it's still there, starkly visible against your skin.

you hesitate. "i'm not sure. i remember my hand hit something in the cafe, but i didn't see it till now."

"and you didn't bother checking it once you got home?"

you look at him. "i didn't even feel it that much, woo."

"you could have tetanus for all you know!"

"it's just a cut! it's hardly that ser—"

you stop talking when wonwoo switches on the tap and turns off the stove. "take this off," he says, pointing to the jacket. it shouldn't even be in your home. he shouldn't be feeling like this in the first place.

you comply wordlessly, hand limp in his as he washes it thoroughly, before patting it dry with the towel near the sink and finding a bandaid in the cabinet above. you have a propensity for getting hurt randomly and wonwoo's glad to be prepared.

"done," he says, letting go of your hand. you're still looking at him.

"kiss it better?" you ask. there's a mischievous look in your eyes.

and who is he to refuse? he takes your hand back, gently pressing a kiss to it, making sure it's not too forceful. when your eyes meet again, he gets the feeling there's something in the air. even you seem to be aware of it. it's like the tipping point before the scales lose their balance, like the calm before the storm; it's now or never.

"one more time?" you ask, moving a bit closer. wonwoo swears he forgets how to breathe. and he definitely isn't imagining your eyes on his lips this time.

"always," he says, before he leans down to press his lips to yours.

it's magic. there's no other word for it. wonwoo feels like he's transcending worlds when he feels your lips against his, trying to press yourself into him when you wrap your hands around his waist.

when you pull apart, wonwoo swears you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life. this is what he wants, and he'll be damned if he doesn't try to find out what could have been.

"please don't go out with him again?"

"...what?"

wonwoo swallows, letting go of your hand. his bravery now comes and goes like waves on the seashore, tides threatening to spill out everything he feels about you in one careless motion.

"i don't want you to go out with him again."

"because...we kissed?"

"because i'd never let you get hurt if you were with me."

"you...what?"

"i like you," he says, taking a step closer. "i don't know what that meant to you, but i like you so much, and i hate that it took me this long to realize it. i want...i want you to give me a chance."

"you like me?" you ask, voice smaller than before.

he nods. "i want to...take you out on a date. wherever you want. i want to make you laugh. it's been killing me, thinking about you with him."

"oh, my god," you say, burying your face in your hands. wonwoo's heart drops. "why would you— i've been trying to get over you all this while, going out on dates with him so i can stop thinking about you that way, and now you're just...giving me what i've always wanted?

wonwoo feels like he's been drenched in ice-cold water. "you like me?" he parrots. he doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he pulls you in for a hug. even this simple gesture suddenly feels like a brand new thing in the light of your recent confessions.

your hands find their place around his waist again, your chin on his chest, looking up at him. "of course i do. i'm surprised you didn't realize earlier. it's been...a while."

this is news to him. "how long, exactly?"

you bow your head, not meeting his eyes, "i'm not telling you now."

"you can't hide anything from me, you know."

he can feel your smile against his chest. "i know. let me just have this for now?"

"forever."

you tighten your grip around his waist and just stand with him.

wonwoo makes a mental note to get you a bunch of real flowers.

[peachesandcreames]

What Are We? Part 3

A/N: Any and All Military Mistakes Are My Own. I'd love to thank @mrsevans90 for helping me get the ball rolling on this installment. It would not be possible without their input and feedback!

Trigger Warnings: A Vague Disclaimer is Nobody's Friend. You and you alone are responsible for your reading material. Jake Seresin is a complete menace. I tried to tag as many as possible but it wouldn't let me tag everyone and for that I apologize. Angst in the form of parental death/drunk driving. Illusion to Goose's untimely passing. Airplane accidents. A little bit of smut because this is Jake we're talking about. I think that covers it. If I missed anything please feel free to let me know! Hearts, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated ❤ Happy Reading 📚

The next morning came bright and early with Jake's alarm clock waking him. He groaned and rolled over to stop the offending noise. He slammed his hand down until he made contact and all noise ceased. Lying on his back he roughly ran his hand over his face trying to wake up, he looked out his window and the sun was barely peaking over the horizon. Today was going to be a very long day of running drills and flight plans.

Jake wished that it was you waking him up with your warm, soft lips and hands instead of his shrill alarm clock. He grabbed his phone that was sitting on his bedside table and saw that he had a missed text from you. Just seeing your name first thing in the morning brought a smile to his face. Y/N: Good Morning, Handsome. You're probably still sleeping. Call me or text me when you see this. If I don't hear from you I hope that you have a wonderful day!! xoxo Y/N

Jake tossed his phone onto his slept in bed and made his way to the head to drain the snake. His dog tags rattling around his neck and his grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. He quickly took care of business and washed his hands. He was desperate to hear your voice hoping that it would make his day go by quicker. Checking the time he saw that it was only a little bit past 6 in the morning.

He wasn't sure why you were awake so early but you hadn't texted him that long ago, he dialed your number and listened to it ringing on the other end. You picked up on the 3rd ring and answered, "Hello?" "Good morning sunshine. What are you doing awake this early?" You could hear the humor in his voice, Jake knew that you weren't a morning person at all. "Oh, ya know just thought that I would be up before the sun. You do this every day? On purpose?"

Jake let out a chuckle "hazard of the job, Sweetheart. So what are you doing up this early?" You groaned that Nat had talked you into joining her on her daily juice and jog as she called it. Phoenix always starts her day with a juice cleanse and a jog and she roped you into it. You were changing into a pair of leggings and matching Tshirt plus some sensible shoes. You pulled your hair into a messy bun and resumed your conversation.

"Oh you know, trying to fit in some sister quality time before she goes to work." You took a good long hard look in the mirror and decided that you looked fine for an early morning run. You were pretty sure that muggers wouldn't care what you looked like. "Can I ask you for a favor?" "Anytime. What you got for me?" You felt awkward asking and you figured that Jake could sense that.

"You don't have to be shy around me, remember I know what you sound like when you cum. " You could pretend to be scandalized but he was in the right. "Could I drop you my location? I'd just feel better knowing that you know where I am incase anything happens. Logically, I know that nothing will but I've definitely seen one to many true crime shows and horror movies that start with this exact scenario: Hot young women go jogging and boom they either find a dead body or end up as said dead body. "You were aware that you were rambling but couldn't stop yourself.

Jake thought it was adorable but he didn't want to diminish your anxiety and he thought it was cute that you were still shy around him after everything. "Of course you can. Do you know where Phoenix is taking you?" You pulled your phone away from your ear and googled the directions. "Mission Beach Park," you let Jake know as you scrolled through the pictures. It looked really pretty and not secluded but it was still dark outside and you'd rather be safe than sorry.

You dropped your location to Jake's cell phone and he heard the ding a few seconds later. You felt a little bit of relief that someone else knew where you would be. Now that you got that out of the way, it was time to move on to why you really texted him so early in the morning. You weren't sure how to broach the subject so you just dove right in. "So, next week Nat and I are hosting a little get together at the house. It was actually Amelia's idea and Penny's too. Everyone's invited. "

You kind of let the silence fill the void, the implication being that you were looking forward to seeing him again in a more personal setting. Jake decided to put you out of your misery, "wild horses couldn't keep me away from seeing you again. " You released the breath that you weren't aware that you were holding. "Good." Jake could practically feel your smile through the phone.

Phoenix yelled up the stairs that she was going to get ready and your freshly squeezed juice was sitting on the kitchen counter. You gave him all of the information for next week's gathering and you were hesitant to end the call. "I gotta run, literally. " You let out a snort and Jake thought you were adorable and had no problems letting you know that. "You're so goddamn adorable it hurts me. "

"Oh no, we wouldn't want you to be in any pain. You might have to come over and let me kiss it and make it better. " A sly smile on your face had Jake groaning into the phone. "Don't be a tease Y/N, you know that I'll drop everything and be there so fast your head will spin. " You gave yourself a final glance in the mirror and went downstairs to the kitchen.

You saw your juice where she said that it would be and you could hear the shower running as you took a sip of the green juice. It was surprisingly good and you finished about half. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Seresin." That brought a smile to his face as he was changing into a pair of athletic shorts and tshirt, you could hear his dog tags rattling as he slid them under his shirt. "What's on the agenda for today?"

Jake tried to keep his tone light when he told you that he was joining Coyote on his run followed by breakfast in the main dining hall followed by a few flight test runs and then being debriefed. "Just a typical day, sunshine. I should be done around 6. I'd love to take you out for dinner and drinks, pick you up and take you out on a proper date. You put on your best dress and get all dolled up for me. How's that sound?"

"I know what you're trying to do here, you're trying to distract me from you training for life and death missions, Lieutenant. " That got a laugh out of Jake. "Tell me that it's working?" You begrudgingly acknowledged that yes the idea of being wined and dined by him was definitely working on you. "Good. " You heard a banging on his door and you caught bits and pieces of his conversation with Javy. "Tell Javy that I say hi and you guys have a safe flight training."

Jake could hear the worry in your voice and he hated it. "I'll see you at 7 sharp, Princess." You tried to take the fear out of your voice so that he wouldn't worry about you being worried about him. "I'm counting down the seconds" you whispered into the phone as Nat made her way further into the kitchen to put on her running shoes. You both quietly hung up and you turned to face her.

"You ready?" You nodded and grabbed your light athletic jacket and you made sure that you had your gps on and your pepper spray. You and Nat stepped out onto your front porch and she locked the door behind you. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?" Phoenix asked you as she did some pre run stretches and you followed suit. You looked at her warily and let her know that Jake was picking you up at 7 tonight for a date. "Oohhh, the plot thickens, " she smirked at you.

"That's not until later tonight. I think that I'll look for a job or maybe I'll go back to school. I'm not sure yet what I want to do." Phoenix nodded and linked your arms together as you started to walk together towards the beach. "I'm really happy that you're planning a future here, I honestly wasn't sure if asking you to move here and uproot your entire existence was the right thing to do but I'm willing to help you figure everything out. "

"I appreciate you offering and for everything else that you have done for me. I should plan at least one trip back home to get the rest of my stuff out of storage and finalize the sale of the house." Phoenix lightly punched you on your shoulder and you looked over at her. "You know that you don't have to do everything on your own, right? I mean I'm all for being a strong independent woman but sometimes the adult thing to do is ask for help. Let me help you."

Your sister's words brought tears to your eyes and you were too choked up to speak so you just nodded yes and hugged her. "I love you, Y/N. You're my family and the squad already considers you one of us. There's no escaping it now." That made you laugh through your tears "only a crazy lady wouldn't want to be surrounded by hot U.S. Navy men and live near the ocean. "

That elicited a groan and an eyeroll from your sister who playfully kicked you in the butt. "I should have known that would have been the deal breaker for you. " You put your hands on your hips and started jogging down the path. "Catch me if you can," you called over your shoulder and kept up a steady pace. You two jogged in comfortable silence for a few miles and made it home just as the sun was rising.

Phoenix made sure that you got home safely and got her stuff ready for work and soon the house was quiet again. You made yourself a light breakfast of egg whites and avocado toast and took a quick shower. You threw your dirty clothes into the washer and changed into a pair of shorts and tank top. You found your laptop and fired it up, you were quickly burning through what little savings you had and you desperately needed a source of income. You refused to sponge off of your sister as you browsed the help wanted section.

In your previous life back home you were going to school for nursing and working part time when your world was turned upside down. You didn't want to go back to school so work it was, you emailed a few different places with your resume and hoped that someone would reach out to you soon. You cleaned up the kitchen and switched your laundry and decided that you would need something pretty to wear on your night out with Jake. You looked at the clock and saw that it was only a little bit past noon and you figured that it was as good as a time as any to text him and ask him where he was taking you so you could decide on an outfit. Standing in the middle of your room you shot him a quick text.

JAKE'S POV:

Jake was standing in line for lunch when his phone vibrated in his shorts pocket. His morning and afternoon consisted of a 5 mile run with Rooster, Bob, Payback, Coyote and Fanboy. A few laps around the track to cool down and then they hit the showers just in time for lunch in the mess hall. His blonde hair was still damp from the shower and he was starved. After lunch they'd be practicing evasive flight maneuvers.

He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out and saw that it was you asking for hints about how fancy should you dress up. He planned on taking you to the best steakhouse restaurant in San Diego. He fired off a quick text letting you know that he thought you would look stunning in a burlap sack. Two seconds later he got your response : not at all helpful, Seresin. Coyote was standing behind him and trying to look over Jake's shoulder to see who he was texting.

You had it narrowed down to a few different options and decided to send Jake some pictures and let him decide on which outfit was your best look. Unaware that Javy was still looking over Jake's shoulder he opened the picture messages and Coyote let out a wolf whistle. "Yo, who's the hottie sending you sexy pictures?!" Jake quickly put his phone back into his pocket but it was too late, the damage was done. All of the guys swarmed Jake trying to figure out who you were. Rooster and Phoenix walked in and saw the guys huddled around Jake.

"What's going on?" Phoenix asked and they all turned to look at her. Javy was the first to spill the beans, "Hangman has a hottie sending him sexy pictures and he won't share." If looks could kill there would be five mortally wounded men in the mess hall. Rooster glanced over at Phoenix and elbowed her in the side, "ain't that your sister, Y/N?" Phoenix slowly nodded her head and as she was walking towards them they at least had the common decency to scatter. "Before you attempt to rip me a new asshole she's not sending me nudes, she's asking for my opinion on outfits for our date tonight. "

That seemed to appease Phoenix as Jake showed her the pictures that you just sent him. "Tell her to go with the LBD and the black stilettos. " Jake quickly replied that he wanted to see you in that little black dress and sexy heels. With that decided the squad sat down and dug into their food. "What's on the agenda for after lunch?" Coyote asked Rooster. "We're going up in groups of four and practicing different counter strikes, basically the last two pilots flying are the winners. "

Hangman and Coyote fist bumped each other "Y'all might as well forfeit because you're looking at the winners right now. " That got a collective groan from the dagger squad as they made their way to their respective quarters to change into their flight suits. As they strode out onto the tarmac and waited for Maverick and the rest of the instructors to arrive Jake sent you one more text that he couldn't wait to see you tonight. Your reply was pretty much instantaneous: the feeling is completely mutual. See you soon 😉. The first four pilots got into their fighter jets and taxied down the runway.

Jake, Coyote, Phoenix and Bob were next. Everything was going according to plan, Hangman was in his element in the sky until he made a move to counteract Phoenix's attack and the sun was in his eyes and he didn't see the incoming flock of birds getting sucked into his plane's engine and everything started going haywire and he couldn't get it back under control. The next thing he knew was going into a spin and all of the fighter jets alarms started going off. "Pull up!" Coyote shouted at Jake as he struggled to bring it back under control. "I can't! All systems are in failure!! Eject!! Eject!! Eject!!"

Y/N POV

It was getting closer to 7 pm and Jake should be here any second now. You curled your hair and pulled it into a loose pony tail, you sprayed enough hair spray to put another hole in the ozone layer and once you were satisfied that not even a hurricane could move your hair you moved to put the finishing touches on your makeup. You went with a classic cat eye and fire engine red lipstick, you were spraying some perfume and getting your black clutch that matched your outfit and you heard the doorbell. You smiled as you grabbed a black leather jacket and made your way downstairs and opened the door expecting to see Jake but it was Maverick and Hondo instead. Your smile faltered and you felt your stomach sink.

"Hey Pete, Hondo. Is everything okay? Is Jake running late and he sent you to keep me preoccupied until he gets here?" Pete couldn't look at you and Hondo had his head down. Pete shook his head and cleared his throat, "I'm really sorry Y/N, earlier today we were flying flight maneuvers and patterns and there was an incident involving Hangman and Coyote. They lost contact with the control tower and ejected somewhere over the desert. Their GPS gave their last known location but it's not exact coordinates. Search and Rescue are out looking right now. "

You couldn't hear Pete but his lips were moving and Hondo looked to be on the verge of crying. You couldn't breathe, your chest felt tight and it hurt to inhale. Pete made a move to step inside your house and it all went silent. You must have dropped the stuff that you were holding but you didn't realize it. You tried to shove past them but they gently stopped you.

"No, I...we...he....had plans...." you weren't sure when you started crying but you were on the verge of hysterics and everything was happening at lightning speed while you felt like you were sinking in quicksand. Their words running through your head: Jake...Coyote....accident...desert....search and rescue. You couldn't focus, you couldn't breathe. You just knew that you couldn't sit here and wait for word if they were alive or dead. You must have made it to your room to change into jeans and a sweater.

It gets cold at night in the desert and you couldn't help but think are they hurt? Are they cold? Are they injured? Are they... no. Not possible. You wouldn't allow yourself to entertain the thought. You were frantically looking for a flashlight that you had somewhere and you found it under a pile of clothes, you saw Jake's brown bomber jacket and you grabbed that too. You ran down the stairs and grabbed your car keys sitting in the dish by the door.

Pete was chasing after you but you were quicker than him and Hondo. You got in your car and drove as fast as you could towards the base. "Shit, Hondo we have to get there before Y/N. She doesn't have the credentials to get on base and she's not thinking clearly. Text Phoenix and let her know that Y/N is headed that way. "

Hondo nodded and let Phoenix know that you knew what happened and were driving like a bat out of hell. The ride to the base was quiet and somber, Phoenix let them know that she was waiting for you at the gate. "Do you think that they're ok?" Pete took his eyes off the road for a split second and shook his head. "I honestly don't know, I really hope that they are. Y/N and Phoenix lost their parents not too long ago in a drunk driving accident. I don't think that Y/N would be able to recover losing someone who she cares about so soon after...."

You somehow made it to the base in record time without being pulled over for speeding. You barely put the car in park and jumped out leaving the keys in the ignition and the drivers side wide open. Pete and Hondo pulled in after you, "Y/N! Wait!" Their pleas fell on deaf ears and you barely recognized your sister standing at the entrance. "Natasha!! You were flying with him and Javy!! What happened?!" Pete parked your car in the visitors area and pocketed your keys and followed you onto the base and into a waiting vehicle designated to take you to the search and rescue site. "I'll fill you in on the way but you have to promise me that you'll stay out of the way and let the professionals do their job, promise me?"

You couldn't speak so you weakly nodded yes. Nat filled you in without going into to much detail. You felt stupid and weak for crying in front of your sister and her superiors but you didn't care. You couldn't lose Jake so soon after losing your parents. You made it to command central, military personnel and ATVs were scouring the desert.

Nat led you to the makeshift shelter that they had set up. It was at best controlled chaos and pandemonium. Radio chatter and flood lights overwhelmed your senses. You were numb and just standing under the white canvas tent staring into the inky darkness. You felt more than saw someone slip a wool blanket over your shoulders and hand you a cup of coffee.

You glanced over and saw that it was Rooster. He gave you a sad smile, you took the coffee into your ice cold hands and quietly thanked him. You took a sip and grimaced at the black bitterness but it was just what you needed. It was beginning to thaw out your hands and you were grateful. "We don't have to talk but just so you know I'm here for you. "

You were too overwhelmed with emotions to thank him but you hoped that he could tell you appreciated him and his efforts. Rooster led you over to a chair and you all about collapsed. Rooster sat next to you and ran his hand over your back in comfort. You had a million different questions and you wanted to ask but you thought it would be inconsiderate. You had a death grip on your coffee cup and your leg was bouncing wildly.

Rooster's big hand was on your leg trying to cease your jumpy movements. You put your hand over his and held on so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. There was a lull in the commotion and you could hear excited chatter throughout the crowd of military personnel. ".....found the wreckage ..... ejected....no sign of......bringing in trackers...."

Your head snapped up at the mention of trackers being brought in to help with the search. You looked at Rooster with hope in your tear stained eyes and he didn't have the heart to tell you that it wasn't always a good sign. He didn't have it in him to add to your heartbreak. "What does that mean? That's good, right? They walked away from the crash? They're still alive?!" Rooster silently pleaded with Maverick and he came and sat on your other side. "It's too early to tell but we should know something soon."

Dejected and overwhelmed with worry you felt a fresh set of tears forming behind your eyes. You were starting to succumb to exhaustion and fatigue. Your eyes drooping shut, you just decided to close your eyes and rest your head on Rooster's shoulder. Soon enough you let the comfort of darkness consume you completely with one last thought of Jake and Javy. Please let him come back to me.

~fin~

@tess-love @erindiggory @luna-lovethegood @scarlettwidow19 @ilack3 @imlilconcerned @sarahwasfound @sgt-barnesveins @angelbabyange @mini-bee-bee @supergirl000983 @mrsevans90 @trickphotography2 @jakeyzzz @jessa-21 @madisonmg @these-books-are-ruining-my-life @1111zxc @topgunfan1986 @tess-lecter-blog @tgmavericklover @hangmandruigandmav @hookslove1592 @the-romanian-is-bae @kyliesalvatore @runningawayfromsociety @awhitemanswhoresblog @halibshepherd @atarmychick007 @86laura11 @rockstxr-x @kissmunalodz @crispycitrus @dizzybee03 @caitsymichelle13 @bellaireland1981 @blah-blah-blah-bla @mamachasesmayhem @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @beautifulandvoid @rosiahills22 @erindiggory @tonkatesuramen @fandom-life-12 @tootser98 @ellianwhite @mamaskillerqueen @kyliesalvatore @toobouquet

[siriusleee]

For @glitterypirateduck's Call of Duty Christmas Special. Author's Note: For the holiday season, I wanted to write some things for some of my mutuals I've met the past year I've had my blog. This is for @victoria-writes-sometimes, who is busy grading, but hopefully not too busy. Also, can anyone tell my favorite genre is two lonely people who live next door to each other? Christmas Movie: Home Alone

“You’re going to break your neck.”

You ignore the gruff voice that floats over to you in the cool air. Precariously, you drape yourself over the fire escape of your little flat, wrapping Christmas lights around the iron bars. 

“Are you even allowed to do that?”

“Probably not,” you finally answer, pushing yourself back onto firm feet. “But who cares? They’re not going to evict me.”

Simon Riley watches you from his own fire escape, cigarette held loosely in his fingers. You watch him from the corner of your eye - if you try to study the little bit of his face that peeks out between the black hood of his jacket, and the medical mask you never catch him without, he’ll leave. It had taken weeks to figure out his name, only learning it after there was a flood in his apartment and you tried to get ahold of him while he was gone to tell him. 

You’ve lived beside him for three years, five months, and seventeen days and so far this has been the longest conversation the two of you have ever had. 

“I can come decorate your fire escape if you want.”

“I’d rather not - thanks.”

You cut your eyes at him, lowering yourself into the little folding chair you keep outside. Simon twirls the cigarette between two fingers; you catch the edge of a tattoo on his wrist. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to Mr. Scrooge?”

“Only the same people that have said you look like the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

The silence lapses into a chilly mass around the two of you - you’re the first to give up from the chill of the chair underneath you. You don’t say good-bye, but you feel Simon’s eyes on you the entire time you clamber through the window into your kitchen, the pane slamming shut with a rattle behind you. 

The next day you’re awoken by Simon’s front door shutting heavily - the tell-tale sign that he’s leaving again.

You had tried to find a rhythm to the weeks he’d be gone, but there never was one. Sometimes it was just a few days before he’d come back home, the door shutting gently behind him. Other times the weeks would stretch into months before the sounds of him coming home in the middle of the night would wake you up again. The next day he’d ignore you when you popped onto the fire escape to drink your coffee before work, the menthol of his cigarette smoke enveloping you. 

You keep watch over his place for him - nothing the two of you had discussed before, but something you’d fallen into each time he left. Collect mail, run the stray cats and raccoons from the fire escape, and watch for flyers shoved in the door. 

December slips by languidly. You wait for the day Simon comes back home, but he surprises you, his normal midnight arrival changed. You shuffle the keys to your door, hands filled with wrapping paper, and drop the keys into a pile at your feet. 

Annoyed, you bend down to scoop them up, but a pair of rough hands snag them from the worn down laminate before you can get there. 

“Buy out the entire store?”

You’re not in the mood today, but you bite back the sarcastic comment that sits on the back of your tongue as Simon unlocks your front door for you, dropping your keys back into your hand.

“Just trying to get ready for Christmas you know.”

Something in your tone must catch his attention because he doesn’t leave you standing at the doorway like usual. Instead, he hovers over you, arms crossed.

“Everything alright?”

In the dim hallway light, you take the moment to study the lines on Simon’s forehead, the slouch of his shoulders as he tries to make himself smaller in the narrow space, and the urge to tell him about everything: the work stress, the sink in your kitchen that refuses to stop dripping, the pounding headache that’s been building for the past two weeks behind your eyes. 

Instead, you shake your head and duck into your apartment. 

“Just tired. Goodnight.”

The door swings shut, and you stay poised on the other side, watching the shadow of Simon beneath the door until finally it moves, his front door slamming shut just moments after. 

You try not to think about what Simon could be doing in his apartment as you pad around yours, the headache still pressing against your eyes. You leave everything piled on the end of the couch as you lay down on the other end; for the first time since you put it up, the Christmas tree is turned off, the multi-colored lights making your headache worse. 

Macaulay Culkin laughs on the television as a paint can slams into Ron Weasley’s dad’s head - a timid knock breaks through the sound of Home Alone. You push yourself off of the couch, pinching the bridge of your nose to try to alleviate the pressure. 

The door swings open easily, and you squint against the light to see Simon standing there, a plastic bag held loosely in his hand. The smell of Indian wafts up to you from the styrofoam inside. 

“Can I help you Simon?” Your voice is flat, but that doesn’t deter him from holding out the bag toward you.

“I ordered too much; figure you might be hungry.”

You know it’s a lie - in all the time the two of you have lived beside each other, you’ve not once seen Simon come in with a takeaway or a delivery dropped off at his front door. But you don’t want to pull too hard at that thread.

You step to the side, making room for Simon to step past you; he smells like pine and metal mixed with laundry detergent. You follow him to the kitchen, standing awkwardly as he pulls the takeaway containers from the bags, feeling useless as you watch him organize everything. You get the feeling that he’s fussing so much with the food from the awkwardness of standing in your kitchen, so you leave to move everything off of the couch and make room for him.

He brings you a plate- it feels awfully domestic in a way that you could get used to; his hands are empty as he lowers himself down onto the end of the couch, crunched against the armrest as far away from you as physically possible. 

“Why’d you bring me dinner?” You ask, hurrying to cover the weird tone of voice when you see Simon cut his eyes at you, “Not that I’m not appreciative, but -”

You don’t know what to say, so you trail the sentence off, stirring the sauce of your butter chicken into the rice. Simon shifts minutely, eyes cast back to the television. 

“Just looked like you had a shit day.”

The awkwardness slips into comfort as the two of you watch Home Alone, and you finish eating, but before you get the courage to ask another question, Simon pushes himself up. 

“Anyway, I hope you’re feeling better.”

You set your plate down on the floor, standing up to follow after him to the doorway. He pauses in the hallway as you watch him leave, half leaning out through the door. 

“Thank you!” You shout out, before his door shuts behind him, feeling silly at the entire situation. 

You can hear him move around in his own apartment as you clean up the mess from dinner, wondering if he ate any before coming over, or if he got all of it for you. You linger at the counter, thinking of the gesture. The sound of his shower cutting on flooding your tiny kitchen.

The next morning he’s not outside on the fire escape - instead, you’re alone with the snow flurries and Christmas lights. His window is dark, and snow starting to pile onto the ledge; he must not have been out to smoke all night. There’s a feeling inside you that him bringing dinner to you was a message you can’t quite decipher. 

You think about it all day, hands folding Christmas presents into wrapping paper. At half past ten, Simon’s door opens and shuts, and it shakes something free inside you. You leave the Christmas paper a wreck on the floor, padding barefoot to your door. 

Before you can think, you hurl yourself into the hallway, hands knocking frantically at Simon’s door. It opens just enough for you to see his brown eyes peering at you from the crack before he opens it fully, filling the space. 

“Do you want to go Christmas shopping with me later?” You stumble over the words, over the tie in your tongue, the words rushing out of you before you can feel embarrassed by them.

“Why do you want me to go?” He asks gruffly, but you don’t let the sound intimidate you.

“I just figured I’d ask a friend to go with me, you know.”

It takes a moment, and then -

“Six alright?”

You try to bite back the grin that threatens to crack your face, hands wrapping around your torso to try and contain it.

“Of course.”

[turbulentscrawl]

I hope you dont mind me sending a req and it should be angsty right?

I absolutely adore your modern reader and i very much like andrew. So do you mind me sending a request about the modern reader with andrew part 2? To connect with the angsty part, personally i want you to write something about how the modern reader feels lonely for being the only one who comes from the modern timeline, like feeling alienated or estrangement from everyone who comes from the past and struggling with the no internet or new media to consume (personally i think anyone who is from our time could probably feel a withdrawal of internet. I know i do. It suck and i look crazy when it happened.)

Ooo.. considering how our mannerism, fashion, and hygiene routine differ a lot from the past can also cause friction with others can be a good angsty idea. And also food, assuming the reader come from a well off family, their food would looked like what royalty ate. With salt, pepper, cinnamon cost a fortune back in time. You can go wild, i am sorry if this is a long req, i merely gives suggestion. Dont mind me if you dont want to write it.

I think this is the longest individual scene I've written so far! I got carried away ahaha. Actually, this might need to become a multi-part series. ewe

Warnings: fem reader (it was relevant for this), hurt and comfort

Another day of staring at the wall. Or the garden, as this particular moment would have it.

It had been about three months since your arrival now, according to Freddy. (Tracking the days was the one thing he was good for outside of matches, as far as you were concerned. The guy was meticulous with records-keeping, you’d give him that. But he was also a dick.) Three months of boredom, monotony, and a critical lack of stimuli.

The first few weeks had been fine, if only because you were too busy trying to survive a potential witch hunt. Turns out, being hated and blamed for everything has a way of distracting the mind from its homesickness. But the worst of that had passed now, leaving you to take in the reality of your situation: you were more removed from your old life than anyone else here. Your entire way of life was gone.

There was no internet, no television. There was a library, but it was only ever added to at the whim of the man named Orpheus. There were no cars, and there was nowhere to go. There wasn’t even a washing machine—everyone took turns doing their clothes by hand. The stove in the kitchen was gas, and fickle. The doctor, Emily, and Luca made efforts to introduce you to the ways of this more ‘primitive’ environment, but the sheer disappointment of it all made it hard to make an effort. The hygiene standards were different, too, and it was jarring to see what some of these people considered ‘clean.’

“What are you doing out here?” A voice calls. You jump a bit, rattling the chains of the bench swing you’ve occupied. When you turn around, the ‘Gravekeeper’ is behind you in his dark casual wear. The moon is but a sliver in the sky, so if it weren’t for the paleness of his face and hair you might not have seen him at all in the darkness.

“What does it look like?” you ask in response and face forward again. ‘Andrew’ isn’t a bad person, from what you can tell. He doesn’t seem to hate you like some of the others do. But he’s defensive, sticks his foot in his mouth a lot, and you’re too tired for an argument.

“…It’s past curfew,” he says, voice moving around the swing slowly. He’s in your periphery now, hands folded over his chest like he’s still holding that shovel of his. It’s some kind of comfort item for him, you think, but he doesn’t have it with him.

“Luca said that’s just a suggestion,” you reply. “And even if it’s not, you’re out here too.” Andrew pauses after you say that, awkwardly shuffling in his spot, looking between you and the garden. There are no birds, no crickets out. You can hear him swallow thickly in the silence.

“I saw you from the upstairs window,” he says slowly. “I…thought I should come check.”

“Why?” You’re waiting for a ball to drop. To be tricked.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Andrew says, wiping his hands on his pants. Sweat, maybe. “When you first showed up…I thought you were really loud. You and that little box both…. You used to play that terr— eh, that music on it all the time. But I haven’t heard it in a while.” Your eyes are drawn to him as he explains. You can’t help it, you’re stunned. Not many of the other survivors bothered to show concern for you, and they often weren’t around because they had their on things to attend to. Luca had his inventions, Ada had Emil’s treatments, Luchino his research. You didn’t know Andrew paid any mind to you. He mostly kept to himself.

“I’m stewing,” you whisper, answering his initial question.

“…Do you…need to talk about it?” he asks.

“You don’t want to hear it,” you reply quickly. Andrew scoffs, a flash of his attitude returning.

“I asked didn’t I? I may not understand half the stuff you say but that doesn’t mean by ears don’t work,” he snaps weakly. It sounds like something someone back home would say. It sounds genuine. You look at Andrew again, now with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat.

“I feel gross,” you croak. Andrew was scowling for a second, but your words shock his face back into something more relaxed. He shifts around again, awkward, unsure, and steps towards the bench. You stop rocking it long enough to let him join you and he sits closer than you would have expected. “I hate it here.” Andrew nods, watching your face, your fidgeting hands, your bouncing knees, and everything spills out like vomit.

“It’s all gone. Everything I knew. There’s nothing to do here besides survive, necessities and shit, and everyone fucking hates me here. No one talks like I’m used to, or behaves like I’m used to, or treats me like I’m used to—but I’m the odd one out so it feels like it’s all my fault that I don’t fit in. I miss my friends, my clothes, my room, my food. I miss my movies, I miss my technology, I miss my products—you guys don’t even treat hygiene the same way we did back home for fuck’s sake--” You’d learned early on that it was considered odd to bathe daily. Water reserves weren’t a concern in the manor, but everyone mostly stuck to the routines they knew. The only saving grace was that you hadn’t had a menstrual cycle since before you arrived. One less thing to worry about, at least.

“—and thank god, because none of you even KNOW what a tampon is!” Andrew makes a face that’s something between embarrassment and horror. You can tell from the way he’s subtly looking himself over that he wonders if he seems gross to you, but you’re too deep in your own misery to bring it up right now.

“And I’m sick of how some of them men here treat me! I don’t give a fuck what it was like for you all, I’m an equal to you all, god damn it, not a punching bag, or a whore, or unpaid maid! Like—I get that you all don’t realize what you’re doing—I get you haven’t been told it’s bad yet, but I’m gonna crack Edgar’s glass jaw if he suggests I wear a skirt ‘like the other ladies’ one more time!”

“If it helps,” Andrew says quietly, “I think that’s just him liking skirts. He’d probably wear one himself if he had an excuse.”

“I don’t care,” you gasp, grabbing Andrew’s forearm suddenly. He tenses under your touch, blushes. “It’s—it’s just all of it together! Look, I-I already feel bad being so angry! I understand why I seem scary, and I understand the world was a different place for me, but I hate that I have to say goodbye to all of it just because no one wants to learn about how things were for me! Fuckin—Emily was interested in how I lived through Covid, but all that got me was being treated like a plague rat. You guys don’t even get sick here! And Norton asked about the economy, but now he thinks I’m some rich bitch when I wasn’t even middle class! And Fiona acts like I’m some beast because of how I talk and curse so much! And Kevin asks about me feeling safe, but then he treats me like a damsel who needs constant rescue! I just…I just….it’s always something! I just want someone to treat me like I’m normal again.”

You crumple into full sobs, forehead landing on Andrew’s sturdy shoulder. He’s completely silent while you break down. His free hand eventually comes up to hold the back of your neck, a gesture that tells you it’s fine for you to be there, against him. Andrew is not a man of many comforting words, but this is enough, you decide. It’s an effort, which feels like more than you’ve gotten in some time.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, but when you finally calm down Andrew suggests you get some sleep.

“I’m not tired,” you croak. You are. It’s a lie. But if you sleep it will be tomorrow instead of being this moment of rare comfort. Andrew hums an acknowledgement.

“Alright. Neither am I," he says.

You think that’s a lie, too.

[sentfromwolves]

◈—⌈ SENTFROMWOLVES ⌋ writeblr introduction ²⁰²⁴

Hi everyone, and welcome to my writeblr 2024 introduction. My name is Eran (they/he & freshly thirty) and I've been on writeblr for awhile, so you might've seen me around. ( •̀ ω •́ ) This is my yearly post to introduce the projects I'll be working on this year, what I write, and who I am. I'll be keeping it short and sweet.

I'd love to meet more writers this year, so if you write any of the following, or just like these genres, or even just wanna shout about ocs together, come holler and I'll give you a follow!

◈ — sci-fi and fantasy of any kind! cozy fantasy, romantasy, epic fantasy, space opera? this is my bread and butter, and I love shouting about it from the rooftops with others! ◈ — found families, ot3s, complicated soulmates. I am almost always writing about soulmates who have either killed each other at least once in the past or are planning some sort of murder. Complicated relationships, especially found families that aren't all rainbows and butterflies, are right up my alley. ◈ — queer and trans protagonists, large queer casts! all of my wips feature trans/nonbinary leads, and I'm always looking for more queer writer friends to connect with! ◈ — hope at the end of the tunnel, but hell to get to. I write stories with hopeful endings, with the sun on the horizon, with the promise that something better might now at long last be on the way. I love seeing characters get put through hell, but I love it even more when they make it to the other side. (if you write tragedy though, please know I will still cry on your doorstep if you'll have me) ◈ — corruption arcs, redemption arcs, sometimes both! Deeply nuanced characters with messy attitudes, and even messier actions. I'm just as equally obsessed with cool worldbuilding as I am with character-driven things, and I will yell about ocs all day, and maybe draw them too >:3 ◈ — big, epic, and sweeping worldbuilding! I am a huge fan of delving into the worldbuilding aspect of my wips. I love building magic systems, cultures, geographies, and more. One of my 2024 projects is doing a worldbuilding experiment blog at some point. I am always down to clown over worldbuilding, whether to sound board or just holler together!

There's a lot more I could say here, but this post can only get so long! Σ(っ °Д °;)っ my dms are always open, and I will follow back most of the time! But just to get all of the basics outta the way:

◈—« here's a quick and dirty rundown of how I work! »—◈

➺ I interact and follow from @calamityeden, so if you see that username, it's just me.✌️I am most active on discord, and if we become friends, you're more than welcome to ask to add me there. ➺ I am open to being tagged in writeblr games! Just know that I am not online all the time, and might be slow to respond to them. 🐌 ➺ My ask box and DMs are open, just please be respectful. I love meeting new writers and talking about projects! I am happy to chat and make new friends. You're always welcome! 💌 ➺ This is a strictly 18+ writeblr. Please DNI with me if you are a minor and respect my boundaries.

🪄You can find my core tags here under my writing and my graphics, as well as writer reminders, game train and catharsis. (❁´◡`❁) And now onto the fun part! My 2024 main project line up!

I have my main four listed here that you'll probably hear me yelling about pretty consistently, but I've also got a lot of other projects rattling around in my brain. So if you're ever curious about a project that's not here, feel free to yell at me about it! >:3

Genre: Dark Urban Fantasy Standalone.

Status: First Draft Complete (117k)—Revising for beta round one.

There's a clock tattooed on Nemesis's wrist, and when it reaches midnight on his 21st birthday, it will kill him. It doesn't help that his mom is the one that cursed him, and the demon currently possessing his car ate her before Nemesis could convince her to break the damned thing. Thankfully, Judge came prepared with an alternative: help him break into a mythical living city and steal its heart, and in return, he'll shatter Nemesis's curse for free. Accompanied by a three-headed hellhound, a haunted holy sword, and an excommunicated exorcist, Judge and Nemesis set their sights on an impossible heist. But the closer Nemesis gets to the heart, the more he begins to realize that he isn't the only one under a curse. And if he doesn't find a way to break Judge's soon, his own life will be forfeit as well.

Genre: Space Opera

Status: 2024 zero drafting from scratch

Two hundred years ago, humanity expanded to the stars only to find a cosmos filled with graves. But then their children began displaying the strange ability to commune with the alien ruins scattered across the planets, waking ancient, extrasolar mecha from their sleep, and turned the struggling colonies of space explorers into the fledgling galactic nation of Sol Galatea.  Now, Wren Akane is on the run from the whole galaxy, wanted for the strange alien powers throbbing through his veins. His luck runs out when he accidentally awakens an ancient Relic in the desert of his planet, only to be embedded with the memories of its last pilot and the revelation that the war that littered the cosmos with graves is far from over. But no one believes Wren when he tells them that continuing to wake the Relics will bring the hostile alien empire that destroyed them back to Sol Galatea’s doorstep. Only Wren’s rival pilot, Marek Khalid, seems interested in a word Wren has to say. But Marek doesn’t want to save Sol Galatea. He has big plans for what to do when the aliens arrive, a rebellion to lead, and if Wren isn’t on his side, he’s in his way. With time running out, Wren must soon decide how far he’s willing to go to save the people that never tried to save him—or if Marek is right, and he should let the stars burn instead.

Genre: Adult Romantasy

Status: First Draft (1k/100k)

Once a year, Celestials from all across the Lumina Kingdom gather together for Eventide, the season of courtship, hoping to win the hand of the most eligible star at court. Sirius knows the game they play all too well: by day, he is the forgettable, miserable daughter of the Lumina Family, least of his seven siblings and wanted only for the royal blood running through his veins.  By night, however, Sirius is the Starweaver—the mysterious dressmaker taking the kingdom by storm. Everyone wants to know the identity of the one responsible for elaborate outfits that turn even the quietest Celestial in the room into the star of the show, outshining even Sirius’s luminous sibling, Diana. When the infamous King Beyond Midnight arrives with the intent to wed Diana, Sirius finds his secret in jeopardy when the condition for their hand in marriage is a simple challenge: reveal the Starweaver's true identity. There’s no outsmarting Octavian for long, and soon, Sirius will have to make a choice: give up on his passion and stay hidden forever, or risk everything to stay true to who he really is.

Genre: Second World Urban Fantasy

Status: Outlining

Something changes the day that Nakano Touya returns to the crumbling city of Soma Lux. It starts with voices in the radio static, blurry figures caught on camera, always out of focus. When a monster crawls out of Touya's television screen and eats him, the last thing he expects is to find a strange, shadowy otherworld lurking on the other side. But his biggest problem isn't the monsters of the otherworld that want to eat him, or the talking cat that saved him, now living in his apartment without a care in sight. Soma Lux is experiencing a strange new epidemic—one that Touya is completely unaffected by. But when his half-sister falls comatose, Touya knows he has to get to the bottom of it all to save her—and find out why he's the only one immune. Accompanied by his jaded ex-boyfriend, Touya’s nosy classmates, a part-time fortune teller, and a cantankerous old hag, Touya dives into the murky underbelly of Soma Lux, where the realities have begun to bleed together between his world and the next. 

That's all for now! >:3 Here's to an amazing 2024! (also my actual blog is a mess right now please do not mind it ksjndfskfn)

[themindcrowave]

recurring jing yuan thoughts #2... a spiderverse AU

so i've been thinking about spiderverse jing yuan lately..... trying to decide whether he's a spider or a gwen/MJ

- if he was a spider he'd be able to travel dimensions,,, he'd definitely have a backstory similar to miguel o'hara's about trying to find a reality where everyone he loved was back together again, but unlike miguel, once that reality inevitably goes wrong he either:

- decides to really focus on his emotional healing and grief processing or

- becomes a compartmentalization master like he is in the game

because either way he knows he can't properly help others and be a leading figure if he can't move past his own grief first. he would rather gnaw through his own arm than push his old emotional scars onto the young spiders he's met and formed family with along his journey. he might have lost his first found family but he'll be damned if he loses his chance at another.

- and then just like in-game, jing yuan will meet the people of his past again... i'm thinking dan heng is a spider from a parallel universe where dan feng's weakened consciousness ended up after he was completely wiped from jing yuan's dimension, so basically dan heng was always his own person of course but then he started having visions of a lifetime parallel to his own lived by someone who looked exactly like him (insert my gwen stacy theory bc WOW does it fit him)

- blade would be kinda like the usual spiderman villain setup where his undying situation is all because of a terrible science accident and his main motivation is to find the ones involved in what happened to him (the og high cloud quintet friend group) and exact vengeance so that maybe he can finally disappear in peace (basically the same as in-game)

- baiheng's death was probably jing yuan's first devastating "canon event". i think he wasn't around to save her when she died (and he couldn't have been, he didn't even know where she was or what happened to her until he heard the news) and that guilt will forever eat away at him... i'm thinking she died in an aircraft accident but i haven't decided what kind yet

- dan feng was a genius scientist. he experimented with a lot of things that he probably shouldn't have and always pushed the boundaries of scientific possibility,, especially after baiheng died. he started secluding himself in his lab and only yingxing ever had any success at visiting him there for any substantial period of time... which is exactly how yingxing got caught up in dan feng's plan to bring baiheng back (think kingpin bringing his family back with the alchemax super-collider) and subsequently cue the horrible accident which turned him into the immortal blade

- oh and then of course jing yuan, being spiderman, has to track down and apprehend dan feng for what he did and decide his sentence (life imprisonment) but dan feng's family clan had him assassinated in prison for reasons jing yuan was never able to completely uncover (and a nagging little part of him will always feel like dan feng's fate was his fault)

- i think jingliu was jing yuan's superhero mentor... not sure if she was a spider too, or just another masked hero in the area who took him under her wing when he was new to his powers. just like in-game, she was the one who introduced him to the rest of the group, and just like in-game she will go completely berserk and become a vigilante with no clear morals or objectives after baiheng dies. like with dan feng, jing yuan has to track her down and try to get her back. unlike with dan feng, jingliu decides that given her shattered mental state the safest option for society as a whole would be for jing yuan to defeat her then and there, once and for all, simultaneously saving the day and proving his graduation from her mentorship. and, well. he did.

- there's yanqing (young spider, official mentee, and unofficial son of jing yuan) thoughts rattling around in here too, but words are difficult so unfortunately you'll have to put your full imagination to work here and just try to feel the "i'm-putting-this-character-in-a-jar-and-shaking-it-like-a-mixed-drink" vibes for yourself! cheers

[silentxsymphony]

Seven Sentence Sunday

I've missed a couple weeks, but I am once more bringing a small offering from my Loki/Don variant WIP (which is now up past 11k words, oh my goodness). Really and truly trying to finish this before the end of the month.

Loki healing from the trauma of captivity following a different unfolding of events after the Battle of New York. Slowly learning to experience comfort in his own skin again. And maybe even accept affection from others.

aka a remix/elaboration of trauma!Loki from @dreamycloud’s stunning “i bet on losing dogs.”

This week’s snippet is a look inside Loki's headspace when he realizes Don's boys are watching footage from the Battle of New York. Quotes in bold italics from the source story.

Eventually Kevin looked up from the screen to ask his father, “Loki won’t hurt us, will he?” Loki’s breath caught in his chest. He wanted to break things. He wanted to scream out that he’d sooner die than allow any harm come to this little family that had opened its home to him. The fact that the fear of him would even enter the mind of this innocent child as a possibility made a resurgent sense of self-loathing claw its way through him.  He steeled himself for Don’s response that would surely include some platitudes about how Loki clearly wasn’t a threat in his current state and would be out of their hair before he could possibly cause any trouble. The words he once shouted at his father about being “the monster parents tell their children about at night” rattled in his brain and sunk their barbed talons in his chest.  Instead, Don’s unending kindness once again surprised Loki with his almost immediate reply – “Of course not. You heard Agent Mobius. But you have to remember to respect Loki’s space. The rules exist for a reason.” Loki felt himself go slack with relief. He had no idea why this Midgardian continued to think the best of him and allow space in his home for him to heal, but the reality of it soothed Loki like a balm. 

Tagged by @elodiah @lokimobius and @kcscribbler <3

Posting late as usual and everyone has probably already posted but lol here we go... @dreamycloud @mirilyawrites @in-my-loki-feels @doomed-spectacles @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @ilaytrapsfortroubadours

[ratasum]

Asura and Gender

I've talked about this in the past but it rattles around in my head every now and then so I wanted to elaborate on my hcs regarding asura, the concept of gender, and gender as it plays into their overall society.

Basically, to start: in the native asuran language, I do not think there are gendered pronouns. It's simply not important to them as far as how you speak to someone (though there are times when that identification is important). There are multiple other pronouns for various identifiers, but the words for "can have children" and "can't have children" are largely the biggest ones that exist, and those are typically used in the process of contracting and how individuals are listed on contracts in regards to partnerships, children, and how a relationship will progress/how long it'll last. But this also includes "may want to have children," "currently not having children," and a variety of other breakdowns. And even someone who is capable of having children can be listed as "can't have children" be it medically or by their choice.

Not to say one's identification doesn't matter. It matters a great deal, in LEGAL matters. Contracts and legal identification, things like that.

And in this way, they're both far more complicated and far more simple than how gender is traditionally viewed by, say... humans on the surface.

Once arriving on the surface, asura were exposed to far different gender rules than they were used to. But instead of changing their identifiers, they instead folded the new ones into their existing system. If you hear an asura talking in native asuran, you may hear "he" or "she" get dropped in common, and sometimes even "they." Now they have even more ways to sort and apply things.

The biggest ramification for coming out as a different gender id for asura is largely paperwork. It's not seen as something bad or weird, there's no real pomp or unease regarding changing one's gender, they're honestly very chill with it; updating how you identify is like changing your hairstyle. Their culture is far more fluid. But you should probably expect to go down to the Office of Identification to sign 37 forms, print them out in triplicate, get forms to your dean or krewe chief (make sure to have copies), also to the RA of your dorm if you're still in college, get a new ID holo taken if you go into any classified areas, and don't forget to fill out this notice to be sent to all your known acquaintances and family to alert them to your knew ID, name, and identifiers.

Or have your parents/legal guardians do it if you're not in college yet!

If an asura can make things needlessly complicated, they will. But as there are no gender roles in their society - instead being a meritocracy based on what you're capable of as an individual intellectually (not even physically) - this always seemed to make more sense to me.

[greetingfromthedead]

Five Hugs (Vash x GN!Reader)

Plot: Five occasions, worthy of a hug. (5 drabbles)

Series: A Set of Five [more coming soon]

Pairing: Vash x GN!Reader

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: fluff, no use of "y/n", a touch of angst, cozy, cuddles, dancing, Vash being a hero as usual, affirmation, Vash just deserves a hug in general

Word count: 2k

Author's Note: I've been torturing Vash a lot lately so I decided to give him five hugs. Probably five kisses soon too and if there is something else you want to see, let me know.

You had to run again. Chased out of town for something as little as showing your face at the saloon. Or rather, it was Vash's face that sparked the whole ordeal. The bounty on his head doesn't make it easy to take life slowly and enjoy it. But you refuse to leave his side.

You slide down along the smooth surface of the rock. The suns beating down on you as you grip the water bottle tightly in your hand. Your heart beats ferociously in your throat, and you wait for it to calm down to take a sip. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of your tomas rattling her gear.

"Well, where should we go now then?" Vash's calm voice asks, breaking the tension in the air.

You don't answer him, instead leaning your head back against the hard rock. The fear finally leaves your bones, as you know you are far enough away from the town to be safe. It still stings to be treated this way, to constantly have to be on edge and alert.

"We could head more east; we should come across a small village before nightfall. Maybe we can camp in someone's attic. Hopefully we can stock up on water too." He sounds so lighthearted and carefree as he starts formulating a plan in his head.

You watch him with curiosity after drinking from your flask. He turns his head from side to side while looking into the distance before taking off his glasses and inspecting them. He seems to find a spot on them as he grabs the lower edge of his black turtleneck. He pulls it up to rub the lenses with it. The small action reveals a bit of his scarred skin on his stomach, which he usually carefully hides under fabric. This simple act reminds you just how much he trusts you. He wouldn't willingly show his old wounds to just anyone.

"Are you okay?" you ask quietly, but just enough for him to hear you.

"Mh?? Ah, yeah, I am fine." Vash straightens his shirt again and puts the glasses back on. "Eehh, I don't really care if they chase me and try to capture me for the bounty. They have their own problems, and I'm sure that money would help them. I'm just worried I will drag you into the crossfire."

You noticed the change in his carefree tone towards the end. He does worry about you a lot. Despite what he says, you know that the truth is a whole lot more complicated. He holds no grudges against anyone, but you doubt that he doesn't care. A man who loves humanity so deeply is bound to have his heart broken when he is forced away from what he holds so dear. You can see the pain in his eyes, despite his attempts to hide it.

Words don't come easy in this situation. What could you even say to that? Instead, you push yourself up again, slide the flask into the saddlebag, and walk up to Vash. You glance at his curious eyes, but you can't force your gaze to stay on them. You approach him decisively and only stop once your arms wrap around his torso. The moment your head rests against his chest, you squeeze him tighter.

He stands there with surprise for a moment before putting his arms around you too, his gaze softening as he holds you close. You don't say anything; instead, you just bury your face in his black shirt and hug him as tight as you can. He has been through so much in his long life, and you can't change the past. You are powerless against the present, and perhaps there is nothing you can do about the future. All you can do is hold him close and show him that you care. That you believe in him.

"Thank you." Vash speaks softly, his large hand stroking your head.

A loud bang echoes through the town square just as the grip of your captor loosens around your neck. A collective gasp echoes through the crowd of onlookers, and you push yourself free, running towards the source of the noise.

"Son of a…!" The enraged voice of the bandit leader calls out, but you keep sprinting without looking back. You hear the slightest thump behind you as his gun hits the ground, but you don't care anymore. It's like you can still feel the barrel pressed against your temple, the tears of fear turning into ones of relief in your eyes.

You jump into Vash's arms, knowing that you are finally safe. He catches you with his left arm, the prosthesis wrapping tightly around your back as your feet lift off the ground. His right hand still holds his gun, ready to take another shot as needed. You bury your face in his shoulder, feeling grateful and protected. He turns his whole body and sets you back on the ground, positioning himself between you and the bandit that held you captive. You hear him whisper, "I've got you now."

Even as your grasp on him loosens, his stays firmly around your shoulders, pressing you more into him. He's not letting go. Your vision is obscured by his large coat, and you don't see as the large man is being cuffed and dragged away by the others. Only then dares Vash to put away his weapon into its holster and release his tight grip on you. He grabs your upper arms and leans back as he looks you over.

"Are you alright?" he asks with a tremor in his voice. He notices the redness on your throat, and his fingers gently touch the bruising skin. "I am so sorry!"

"I'm okay! I'm okay!" you say frantically as you nod, your breath escaping you in short gasps.

"Thank goodness!" he exclaims, relief washing over him. He grabs you into a tight hug again, his cheek pressing against the top of your head.

"Would you do me the honor of joining me for a dance?" Vash says with a crooked smile as he offers you his hand. You blush a bit at his public tomfoolery and down the rest of your drink before leaving the empty glass at the bar. You take his hand with a smile.

"Gladly," you reply softly as his fingers grip yours. You feel a rush of excitement as he leads you onto the dance floor. The saloon is filled with lively music and people dancing to the beat. The liquid courage definitely helps you in this situation and gives you the confidence to let go and enjoy the moment. Vash's hands rest on your hips, and yours find his shoulders. A goofy smile is plastered on his face as he starts to lead you in a twirl. He does not mind that he occasionally bumps into someone else or that a few people start laughing at his exaggerated style. He is just too excited to have you in his arms, dancing with him. Their laughter is drowned out by the music and the joy in his heart. The giggle that escapes you as he sweeps you around only encourages him further, making him take longer steps and turn you faster. He chuckles at your expression, and one dance turns into many.

You have no hope of keeping up with his long strides, and as you get more and more tired, you end up stumbling over them a few times. His arms keep you steady, and your clumsiness only makes his smile wider. The looks of others do not matter; all you see is Vash's enchanting face, and all he sees is you. In that moment, you realize that you are exactly where you are meant to be, no matter how ridiculous you might feel.

As you gaze into his eyes, your foot gets stuck behind his again, but instead of just keeping you steady, Vash pulls you up and wraps his arms around you, right under your butt, to keep your feet off the ground. You grab him into a hug, giggling by his ear as you hold on to him. Vash twirls you about and continues to dance around the room as you embrace each other.

Vash lays halfway on top of you, his head resting on your chest, his arms wrapped around you. It is a peaceful night as you've settled into an abandoned house in an empty village. The room is dusty, but it is cozy and filled with a sense of safety and warmth. Your fingers brush through his hair as you listen to the sound of his steady breathing. You know he isn't asleep yet, but there is no need to fill the quiet of twilight with words. You both find refuge in the peaceful silence that envelops you.

Vash is curled up against you, his legs somewhat entangled with yours. The tall and surprisingly burly man seems almost tiny as he enjoys your touch, your other hand resting on his back. He takes comfort from your heartbeats under his ear and the feeling of your touch. Anywhere is home if you're by his side. Your hug is all he needs to feel safe; your love gives him the strength to face anything.

You let your nails run over his scalp, and you feel a slight shudder move through him, a little moan escaping his lips, a sign of pure contentment. You wish you could wrap him up more, keep him even closer, and protect him like he protects you. You want to keep him in your heart, protected from all harm. But the best you can do is this. Having him hold on to you, your arms around him, as he snuggles close all night, or at least until you need to settle into a position more suitable for sleeping the night away, but even then, he enjoys your cuddles and doesn't want to let go.

"Are you sure about this?" you ask as you look up at him, pain reflecting on your face.

"Yes. I have to. I am the only one who can put an end to this," he says, but his eyes are down turned and mournful.

"Then let me come with you!" you insist, grabbing hold of his right sleeve.

"Please…" he says with a sigh, his tone pleading, "I need you to evacuate as many people as you can, even if it is only yourself."

You look at him dumbfounded and then turn your head to look at the streets of July. The town is massive; how can he expect you to make any difference here in getting people out? Wouldn't you be better off with him, trying to prevent the thing that could put people in danger?

"I need you to be safe," he murmurs, his voice full of concern as he takes your hand into his, squeezing your fingers gently. You can feel his worry radiating off of him. He has so much on his mind; you know he doesn't want to be worrying over you too. He wanted to leave you at Home, but you refused. You need him on his A-game for this, you have realized just how dangerous the situation really is.

"That goes for you too!" You press, "You have to come back to me! You understand? You have to! So promise me!"

"I promise, I will come back to you!" He says resolutely and releases your hand, instead pulling you into a hug, and you melt into his embrace, your arms securely around him.

"Can we wrap this up already?" the dark haired man asks, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Vash holds you tight for a moment longer, ignoring Wolfwood as he leans closer to your ear.

"I love you," he whispers, his breath tingling your skin.

He lets go, and you take a step back, looking at him with determination. You will both get out of this alive.

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