#ii of iii: blood in the water

[dirtbra1n]

the river looks different than it normally does.

it’s nighttime. the moon hangs gaunt and yellowed over his head.

more than that, masato stands knee deep in the water and watches people walk the paved riverside, red neon carving shadows into the hollows of their eyes.

the river looks different than it normally does, but so does he.

a white kimono, fitted too well, is wrapped wrong over his chest.

the water tugging at him is murky, the smell over-sweet. the kimono is taking on the color.

evidently, though he can scarcely see, it’s red.

his room is pitch dark when he opens his eyes. masato damn near throws up. moving to stand, his knees buckle beneath him. gravity acts particularly cruel in the dark.

—

aegri somnia, latin; a sick man’s dreams.

—

it’s usually green. the space outside the water is usually green. masato would even go so far as to say it’s always green. washed out, sun bleached, makes him feel a little like he’s always being watched, but it is always daytime and it is always green and the water is always clear enough for him to see his hands in front of his face as—

this doesn’t actually matter right now.

what matters is that it has never been anything but green before.

(when he was sitting cold and dying in a frozen river, that was a fluke. that doesn’t count.)

ordinarily, he stands in the river—unpaved, the riverbank wasn’t ever paved either—and watches what he’s decided has to be centuries old scenery exist, only here, to torment him.

then masato drowns himself. ordinarily.

(with the development in the subconscious violence he’s inflicting upon himself now, he figures he might as well admit that much plainly.)

masato is good with history, not that this topic takes much savvy—river valleys universally birth societies. they tend to be fertile and bursting with opportunity. lively. full of life.

all those flood myths are universal because the destruction is always catastrophic.

the overlap of history and literature here isn’t something he’s left wondering about; he’s had plenty of time stuck with himself to think it over.

what existed must be razed to be remade.

what masato is wondering is if he missed something else.

—

all those drownings, but the coffin bobbed downstream to save him only once.

but this last time… he didn’t drown, did he?

—

he doesn’t know what he was expecting.

when masato finds himself, this time, past his knees in changed river water, yellowed moon hanging over him like a sickle, deep blues of the night muffling the sound of his own breathing, lantern light and buzzing neon so red that it masks the dyed water creeping its way up the same white kimono as before…

he doesn’t know what to think. it’s horrifying. it’s gorgeous.

it has to be blood, though.

why the hell is there blood?

masato squints up at the masses of people shifting on the pavement. their faces are indistinct, their movements stiff.

they don’t so much as glance at him. he’s standing in the river with an audience for the first time and no one even looks at him.

reluctantly, he looks down at himself.

he’s bleeding.

—

it wasn’t really the first time, though, was it?

—

masato forgot how annoying it is to be in this situation. he got too used to the old scenery, and he forgot.

he only wishes that this scenery wasn’t so breathtaking. only one thing is supposed to be taking his breath away, and it hasn’t done it in… a while.

(he doesn’t remember. he figures that’s bad, but look where he is. everything, it turns out, is bad.)

his latest observation: the moon, waning and never any closer to full, is getting sharper. its reflection in the water is rippling harmlessly, but the real thing, when he squints, looks to be pointed right at his stomach.

and the water is past his hips now.

oh. oh, good.

his new latest observation: time loops, and it warps the blood in the water over and over and over again. every time the water level’s higher. every time the moon gets sharper.

every time masato is surrounded by ghosts, and every time masato is the only one dressed for a funeral service.

as the corpse.

—

so what if graduation is less than a week away. yes, masato has been waking up in the middle of the night because of an unsettling now-recurring dream where he is a corpse in a world of faceless ghosts. yes, it sucks.

but he and tashiro are playing rock paper scissors over which of them has to turn off the gym lights and make a run for the lights outside, and this is the last time masato is ever going to hold any responsibility here.

and they both keep tying on rock.

so they agree to do it together.

tashiro’s the one to flick the lights off, and they both drop into a dead sprint towards the open doors. they hear a noise. they find it in themselves to run faster.

they make it outside in one piece, and masato fumbles the key into the lock, and they fall halfway into each other’s arms from the adrenaline and the fear. and masato is laughing.

as they’re walking away from the gym, towards the front gate to head home, masato is hunched over, clutching his stomach.

tashiro walks alongside him with his hands on the back of his head, pouting a little. “we could have DIED, you know.”

so it’s like that.

—

the moon is falling. pierces his lungs clean through.

—

tashiro gonzaburou doesn’t actually dream very often. this is something he can tell you in confidence, and he will tell you in confidence.

but this is definitely a dream, and he has no idea where something like this came from.

to set the scene: he’s at the bank of a river. he’s alone. the sun beats down on him, and the glare of it on the water makes him turn his eyes away.

apparently, in this time, the river floods. it, also apparently, took basically everything with it. including the sun.

it’s night now, and everything that was green is either dark orange or blood red. dim and damp alleyways run jaggedly between impersonal skyscrapers and crumbling, very old storefronts.

gonzaburou’s scared as hell about it. it’s all really cool.

he’s standing on damp cobblestone, staring down at his scattered reflection. his hair is loose, and his roots have grown out way more than he likes. a dark kimono hangs loose off his frame. he frowns.

he looks back up and around. it looks like there are other people, but he can’t get a good look at anyone’s face. the lights glazing their skin are distorting common features, or they’re facing away from him, or their hands are resting over their eyes.

for all his sightseeing, the river never lets him forget that it’s there. from two steps away he looks into murky water, sees a yellow crescent moon flickering, like it’s trapped, in its reflection. then he sees the briefest trace of a hand, and white cloth, and bubbles surfacing.

and then he sees his room’s ceiling fan. dusty.

gonzaburou feels a little like he wasn’t supposed to see that. and he feels even more strongly that he definitely isn’t supposed to remember it awake.

but how could he forget? how could anyone forget something like that?

it was really pretty. up until he saw what looked like someone drowning, anyway.

—

masato sits up. lays down. sits back up.

he wants to break his windows. he doesn’t, though.

he was underwater looking up, and he was bleeding, and he saw the moon, yeah, but what matters is that he also saw the faintest silhouette of a person against the red light, ripples only just obscuring his face.

and then he gasped, and the water burned as it flowed into his lungs and made him heavy.

he’d been in that situation before, usually by choice, but it hasn’t ever been that thrilling.

4:00 in the morning. not a chance in hell he’s getting back to sleep.

…he has to have weird tastes, right?

—

hanzawa masato is a high school graduate when he eats shit on the pavement.

a little flatly, masato tells tashiro, “I’m usually better at compartmentalizing than this.”

tashiro, his sole witness, only replies, “I know.”

[stromuprisahat]

When the septon had completed his recitation, Ser Marston Waters said, “Lord Rowan has confessed to all these crimes,” and beckoned to the Lord Confessor, George Graceford, to bring the prisoner forward. Manacled at ankle with heavy chains, his face so bruised and swollen as to be unrecognizable, Lord Thaddeus did not move at first, until Lord Graceford pricked him with the point of his dagger, whereupon he said in a thick voice, “Ser Marston speaks truly, Your Grace. I have confessed to all. Lotho promised me fifty thousand dragons when the deed was done, and another fifty when Viserys took the throne. The poison was given to me by Roggerio.” So halting was this speech, so slurred the words, that some upon the battlements thought his lordship must be drunk, until Mushroom pointed out that all his teeth were missing. The confession left King Aegon III bereft of speech. All that the boy could do was stand and stare, with such despair upon his face that Mushroom feared His Grace might be about to leap from the battlements onto the spikes below, to rejoin his first queen. It fell to Prince Viserys to make answer. “And my wife, Lady Larra,” he shouted down, “was she a part of this plot too, my lord?” Lord Rowan gave a heavy nod. “She was,” he said. “And what of me?” asked the prince. “Aye, you as well,” his lordship answered dully…an answer that seemed to surprise Marston Waters, whilst greatly displeasing Lord George Graceford. “And Gaemon Palehair, ’twas he who put the poison in the tart, I’ll venture,” Viserys went on glibly. “If it please my prince,” mumbled Thaddeus Rowan. Whereupon the prince turned to the king his brother and said, “Gaemon was as guilty as the rest of us…of nothing,” and the dwarf Mushroom called down, “Lord Rowan, was it you who poisoned King Viserys?” To which the old Hand nodded, saying, “It was, my lord. I do confess it.” The king’s face grew hard. “Ser Marston,” he said, “this man is my Hand and innocent of treason. The traitors here are those who tortured him to bring forth this false confession. Seize the Lord Confessor, if you love your king…else I will know that you are as false as he is.” His words rang across the inner ward, and in that moment, the broken boy Aegon III seemed every inch a king.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Viserys ruuuuuuulz!

Aegon's having none of your shit now!

[horizon-verizon]

Septon Eustace (who had no love for the queen) tells us Rhaenyra laughed when she beheld the ruin of Sunfyre the Golden. “Whose work is this?” he has her saying. “We must thank him.” Mushroom (who had much love for the queen) tells a different tale. In his account, Rhaenyra says, “How has it come to this?” Both accounts agree that the next words were spoken by the king. “Sister,” he called down from a balcony. Unable to walk, or even stand, he had been carried there in a chair. The hip shattered at Rook’s Rest had left Aegon bent and twisted, his once-handsome features had grown puffy from milk of the poppy, and burn scars covered half his body. Yet Rhaenyra knew him at once, and said, “Dear brother. I had hoped that you were dead.” “After you,” Aegon answered. “You are the elder.” “I am pleased to know that you remember that,” Rhaenyra answered. “It would seem we are your prisoners...but do not think that you will hold us long. My leal lords will find me.” “If they search the seven hells, mayhaps,” the king made answer, as his men tore Rhaenyra from her son’s arms. Some accounts say it was Ser Alfred Broome who had hold of her arm, others name the two Toms, Tanglebeard the father and Tangletongue the son. Ser Marston Waters stood witness as well, clad in a white cloak, for King Aegon had named him to his Kingsguard for his valor. Yet neither Waters nor any of the other knights and lords present in the yard spoke a word of protest as King Aegon II delivered his half sister to his dragon. Sunfyre, it is said, did not seem at first to take any interest in the offering, until Broome pricked the queen’s breast with his dagger. The smell of blood roused the dragon, who sniffed at Her Grace, then bathed her in a blast of flame, so suddenly that Ser Alfred’s cloak caught fire as he leapt away. Rhaenyra Targaryen had time to raise her head toward the sky and shriek out one last curse upon her half-brother before Sunfyre’s jaws closed round her, tearing off her arm and shoulder. Septon Eustace tells us that the golden dragon devoured the queen in six bites, leaving only her left leg below the shin “for the Stranger.” Elinda Massey, youngest and gentlest of Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting, supposedly gouged out her own eyes at the sight, whilst the queen’s son Aegon the Younger watched in horror, unable to move. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm’s Delight and Half-Year Queen, passed from this veil of tears upon the twenty-second day of the tenth moon of the 130th year after Aegon’s Conquest. She was thirty-three years of age.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pg 545-546

[hokkoshi]

✧. tag dump: chojuro

[kasagia]

Right hand II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: After you miraculously escaped from his arms the other night, you tried to stay away from him as best as you could. You have to put a lot of effort into escaping from the na-baron, who is tirelessly and constantly chasing you, or into avoiding another invitation to his chambers late at night. However, on Arrakis, the situation between you changes drastically... And you're losing control over your life, and it's not because of Feyd. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART I ~•♤♤♤•~ PART III ~•♤♤♤•~

You are standing in front of the window of the ship that is taking you to Arrakis. You nervously play with the edge of the shawl that covers your head. You don't have good memories of that planet. Before you escaped with Feyd, the Bene Gesserit sent several of their young apprentices to… train in the sands of Dune. Including you.

You still remember the screams of some of your companions who went crazy from a lack of water and decided to end their lives. And sometimes at night you dream that the sandworm swallows half of your group, leaving you practically on your own.

Arrakis didn't just kill your friends. It killed any belief in the Bene Gesserit in you, only confirming that you would rather die than be completely subject to them.

And now you're going back there with someone who had full control over your life again. It's funny how history likes to come full circle. And how, despite their repetition, people still fall for tricks and fall into fate's traps, acting in exactly the same way.

A cold hand on your bare shoulder snaps you out of your stupor. You act fully automatically,drawing the dagger attached to your belt and twisting the attacker's arm. You pin him to the wall, placing the blade against his pale neck. You freeze as your eyes meet Feyd's icy blue gaze.

"Good reflex. If you were anyone else, I'd kill you for this, but I'm in a particularly good mood today, so I won't punish you as I would like. What were you thinking about, my little witch, that you didn't hear me sneaking up on you? Or maybe I have finally surpassed the master?" He asks with a mocking smirk, showing off his black teeth. You snort, shaking your head at him.

"Keep dreaming." You say, taking advantage of his amusement. This time, you are not keeping your mouth shut for fear that he will deprive you of your tongue for your boldness towards him. You move away from him, which he takes with clear displeasure, and return to your place by the window.

"If I dream about you, I prefer to dream about something much more pleasant." He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. He slides your shawl off your head with his teeth and nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent.

You feel him sigh deeply, leaning against you a little as he relaxes into your scent and closeness. You frown, but let him hold you because you feel calmer having him close to you. Despite everything that had happened in the past two weeks, you still found his presence reassuring. It didn't make any sense to you, but apparently, over the years, you had begun to involuntarily associate him with something akin to a safe shelter. Herkonnen. A psychopathic, bloodthirsty future baron. How ironic…

However, being in his arms helped you come to the conclusion that the demons of the past should remain in the past. And you should focus on the newest one that is now wrapped around you.

You stare at your reflection in the glass, shuddering as his scent surrounds you, mixed with the blood that stains his uniform. You wonder which soldier you will have to find a replacement for this time.

"What were you thinking about?" He whispers that he doesn't loosen his grip on you even for a moment, knowing full well that the moment he does, you'll wriggle out of his arms and find another excuse to leave him.

You checked the condition of engines and fuel 8 times. He started counting after the ship's captain complained to him about your constant presence. He beheaded him without giving him the opportunity to complete his complaint against you. Feyd smiles, remembering the irritated frown on your forehead when you had to clean up his mess. Of course he followed you then. Of course, 'just to make sure that the next captain you appoint will be more competent'.

"It doesn't matter." You sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. He would enjoy your submission and willing closeness if he didn't see that, by doing so, you only wanted to distract him from the main topic. Clever little witch you were…

"It must be important if you stopped paying attention to your surroundings. You are always alert and aware of the things that happen around you. No matter what. I remember how, during one of our escapades, you were the only one who didn't fall into the trap."

"Well, that one was actually obvious." You say it with a mocking smile, remembering how you had to save him and his soldiers.

For the rest of your life, you will never forget how you had to dig Baron Feyd-Rauth Harkonnen out of the mud and save his ass from the Assassins who planned his execution. Of course, he killed any witnesses, leaving only you and him alive. After all, his uncle and brother couldn't find out about it.

He growls in your ear, tightening his grip on you as a warning, when you make him replay that day in his head.

"Don't brag now. I was… busy observing something much more interesting than muddy swamps." He grumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The warm air he exhales makes you shiver.

"Which was?" You ask shakily, placing your hands over his to stop him from roaming them over your body.

"You." His answer is short and simple, as if it were the most obvious thing you should know. He doesn't hide it anymore; he doesn't keep his desire to himself. He wants you. He craves you. He shows it to you so clearly and thoroughly that you laugh at how naive you were to believe that you had only a friendly, platonic relationship. But how could you not believe that he only saw you as a means to an end when he treated everyone else around him like that? Since he treats people like things to play with and break whenever he wants? How could you have predicted that you would become his obsession, a precious jewel in his collection that he would want to protect and have just for himself? "I'm asking for the last time. What were you thinking about, little witch?" He asks, wrapping his hand around your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes.

You have no escape from him now. And you certainly won't tell him that lately you've been thinking more and more often about how to run away from him, or what would happen if you stayed with the Bene Gesserit, or how your life would have looked if you escaped from them on your own. You wonder if it wouldn't have been better to bury yourself in the sands of Arrakis all those years ago with your friends and die there. You are sure that it would be a much more dignified death.

"I... I thought about Arrakis." You decide to respond safely and carefully, so as not to reveal too much to him. You didn't want him to become suspicious of you. Not when you had to handle him carefully, lest you fulfil any of the Bene Gesserit's sick plans and visions.

"So what about this? Are you scared?"

"No. I am not. I'm never afraid. Fear is the mindkiller. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration." You repeat the mantra automatically without thinking much about it.

You flinch as you realise that you are answering quickly with the Bene Gesserit litany of fear, which they've made you learn by heart. A great deal of anger grows within you as you realise how much they have influenced your life, even so many years after you ran away from them.

"You're quite tense. More than when I usually hold you." He points this out, starting to gently stroke your back in an attempt to relax you. You give him an angry look instead, suddenly understanding why he was irritated with you for reading him and his emotions perfectly when he was the one who was flustered and furious.

It was always easier for you than for him to hit sensitive places or to read the other one like an open book. Apparently, you're not the only one who's learned this over the years. He knew you as well as the back of his hand. He just never showed any trace of concern for your well-being.

You had your… tender moments when you allowed yourselves to be vulnerable with each other once or twice, but you both treated them more as minor lapses in maintaining your impenetrable façade of indifference and neutrality. In the end, everyone is on their own. And looking for a friend in him was a completely stupid thing—an act of true naivety and a sign of self-destruction, maybe even masochism.

"Maybe you shouldn't hold me at all, then?" You growl at him furiously, unable to control yourself. He just frowns, more surprised by your behaviour than offended by this blatant act of disrespect. He had rarely seen you so nervous or furious.

Of the two of you, you were the one who was the most calm and composed. You were always able to hide all your emotions behind a mask of indifference. He's fascinated by how you really behave when you don't have a filter on. He often throws you off your balance only to see your cheeks flush with anger; you take out your anger in a fight (just like him); or you bite your lip to avoid saying something back to his taunts.

"Or maybe you should drop your attitude and just let me do it?" He asks, his lips brushing against your earlobe. He doesn't wait for your response; he simply catches the tip of your ear between his teeth. He bites in gently, sucking and caressing your skin with his lips, as if your ear's superior helix were the sweetest delicacy he could enjoy.

"I'm not fighting or trying to escape, am I?" You respond, enduring his treatment with dignity. At the ship's window, you can see a small smile appear on his lips at your words.

He decides to pull away from you, but he is not giving you even the smallest chance to run away from him. He presses you against the cold glass, entering your personal space even more than when he had you close against his chest. You lift your chin, looking at him defiantly as he puts his hands on your hips.

"You are not. But you also don't want to be here in my arms." He replies, cupping your chin with two fingers. He leans closer, making you feel the metallic scent of blood that still lingers on him, probably from his fight with some prisoners on the ship. "And I don't like it at all." He whispers hoarsely into your ear.

"Since when do you care what others want? I don't remember you spoiling your concubines like that." You snap, causing him to laugh mockingly and shaking his head in amusement.

He leans in, making you tense up slightly. You think he's doing it to kiss you, but instead of feeling his lips on yours, you feel his cheek brush against yours, and his lips blow hot air into your ear again as he whispers softly:

"Because they weren't you, Y/N." You shiver at the sound of his dark, hoarse whisper in your ear. You can't say you don't feel the effects of his... seduction. But you promised yourself long ago that you wouldn't be any man's whore, concubine, plaything, or broodmare. And certainly not HIS. No matter how... tempting he could be.

"And what is so special about me? Hm? My body? My appearance? That I can fight well? You would get bored of me. Like you did with all your concubines."

"Did they understand me like you do? Have you ever seen them look at me as anything other than a wild, bloodless beast in the heat?" He answers your angry questions with his, dismissing your attempt to start a verbal fight with him.

His thumb traces the line of your jaw, examining you closely. Looking into his light blue eyes makes you feel uncomfortable. He shouldn't have reacted to you like that. You weren't used to anything he had been doing these past few weeks. You preferred to fight him than... when he showed you so much tenderness, appreciation, and affection.

"Have I ever looked at you differently?" You ask defiantly. He smiles, licking his plump lips. You give in to this provocation, and, without controlling it at all, you move your gaze to his lips. His dark chuckle makes you look back into his eyes.

"Yes. Yes, you did that... you don't even know how often." He hums, his fingertips moving towards your mouth. He caresses your lips with incredible tenderness and delicacy. He presses on them gently, but you squeeze them as tight as you can, preventing him from doing anything he planned.

You react faster than him. You bite his wandering fingers, take advantage of the fact that he is still trying to process what has just happened, and quickly pull away from him. He laughs, shaking his head, looking at you intently as he deliberately crosses the distance between you two. He doesn't have to say anything for you to see how clearly he's mocking you and daring you to continue to defy him.

"We're not even on Arrakis yet, and you're already delusional, my na-Baron? Or maybe the black sun of Giedi Prime made you start seeing a mirage?"

"If you are a mirage or an illusion, then I never want to be sane again, my little witch." You gasp, as he wraps his arms around you tightly, clinging to you completely. He leans in, his nose tracing a line along your temple, inhaling your scent before burying his face in your hair.

He keeps a firm grip on your shoulders. You place your hands on his, trying to loosen his tight grasp somehow, but it only makes him hold you tighter. He tilts his head slightly and brushes his nose against yours.

You shiver, feeling how close he is and how his musky smell, mixed with a hint of metallic blood, surrounds you. He presses himself against you so tightly that there's practically no space left between your bodies. You close your eyes, letting out a small, shaky breath. And just as he's about to press his lips against yours, the metal door to the room slides open with a loud bang.

You jump away from him, grunting as a young recruit enters your field of vision.

“My lord na-Baron. Lady Y/N. We will land in fifteen minutes."

"We would rather notice it ourselves." Feyd growls at him. You see him reach for the hidden dagger. You walk over to him, resting your chest against his back, and grab his hand before he places it on his dagger and throws it at the poor man.

"Thank you, Oliver." You say with a smile. The man swallows in fear at Feyd's furious glare. He bows and leaves the two of you alone.

You step away from Feyd, letting go of his hand. You frown, seeing that he's even more furious than when one of the soldiers entered. You raise your eyebrow questioningly, not understanding why he's practically huffing in anger now.

"What?" You finally ask him, not understanding the reason behind his behaviour.

"Oliver... do you call all of them by their names?" He asks, spitting out the soldier's name in disgust. You sigh, rolling your eyes as you reach for the shawl he had thrown off you and put it back on your head.

"If I know them, then yes, why?"

"You've never called me anything other than my lord and na-baron." He speaks in an almost accusatory tone. It takes a lot of strength in you not to burst out laughing when you realize he's completely serious and not joking right now. You try to come up with some excuse, wondering how to safely answer his question.

"And you always call me your little witch." You answer. Using his name somehow never felt right to you. At first, out of respect for him, maybe even fear. After all, he saved you from the clutches of the Bene Gesserit. Calling him by his name was out of the question. With time, you did it out of habit. And now… now you didn't want to call him by anything else because you knew that it would be a small step on his way to make you his.

"So this is supposed to be our thing?" He asks with a challenging, teasing smile.

"We don't have a thing." You huff, walking towards the exit. He, of course, follows you faithfully. You can feel the excitement radiating from him. He was definitely planning something big to do on Arrakis. Something he didn't tell you. You just hoped that he would be too busy with his brother and securing the spice mine to take care of you at the same time.

"Don't we?"

"You should focus on what you tell your brother. You're finally taking the reins. Rabban won't give them to you that easily. And we need to establish a final plan of action on Arrakis." You say, returning to your matter-of-fact, cool tone. He smiles, nodding.

"Don't worry about that… I'll make him kiss our shoes." You snort, shaking your head in amusement at his words. It might be true, but it's still hard for you to imagine him actually putting this plan into action. As you'll see in a few minutes, he actually intended to do that. "And the plan was decided a long time ago. I told you I wouldn't let us split up. And not because I question your leadership skills or loyalty. You are the only competent and worthy person to lead half of my army. But we, little witch, work together. Always. You don't change something that works perfectly. Get ready. We're landing soon." He leaves you with a quick kiss on your temple.

He walks away from you with a sly smirk, as if he's managed to trick you. You sigh as you watch him walk out of sight, walking with a spring in his step towards his room, probably to grab his things and get his harpies ready to leave.

You look out the ship's window at Arrakis for the last time. You close your eyes, promising yourself that since the Bene Gesserit, Feyd Rautha, Giedi Prime, or the Harkonens hadn't killed you, this damn planet wouldn't do this either. You weren't the same Y/N from 10 years ago. You were more powerful. Your bones won't sink into the sands of this damn dune... you'd even rather become the mother of that Kwisatz Haderach.

You practically jump out of bed with your heart beating fast as you wake up from another nightmare. You sigh shakily, pressing your hand to your mouth, trying to calm your breathing as best as you can as your heart pounds frantically against your chest.

The screams of your companions echo in your ears, and the images of the Fremen pumping the water out of them replay in your head. And that damned sandworm...

“Y/N, look at me.” His cool hands on your bare shoulders and his raspy, commanding tone bring you back to reality.

As soon as you look into Feyd Rautha's blue irises, you stop trembling. You snap out of this strange trance, trying your best to forget about the returning memories that haunted you more often during this week of your stay on Caladan. You suspect that this may have resulted in a rather close relationship with Lady Jessica. You breathe slowly, focusing on his pale skin that looks like snow, illuminated by the moonlight that streams through the window of one of the Caladan's inns.

“Breathe in and out.” He gives you another order. You nod, imitating the pace of his slow breathing as you slowly begin to calm down. "I will kill that witch as soon as I get my hands on her." He growls, brushing your sweaty hair away from your forehead with his hand. You see immense anger in his eyes and the seeds of a plan forming in his head as he thinks of many ways to make that Bene Gesserit pay for your nightmares.

"You can't. She's the prince's mother. Besides, it's not her fault that she recognised me from somewhere. I could have been more careful."

"You covered your face with a mask for an entire week, all the time, even to sleep. What can you call that other than being careful? Besides, the baron knew that these negotiations were doomed to failure anyway. It's not like her suspicions ruined them. I would have decided to leave this damned palace even without it." He assures you, slowly lowering the two of you back onto the mattress. He wraps one arm around you, his tight embrace grounding you in the moment and helping your mind focus entirely on the present rather than the dark memories from your past.

"The Baron will be furious with you. It's all my fault. You should have killed me." You say, focusing your gaze on his daggers, which are strapped to his hip. Feyd follows your gaze and snorts. He grabs your neck, forcing you to lift your head and look into his eyes again.

"And get rid of the only competent right hand I've had in years? I'd rather suffer his punishment for this... small act of disrespect towards the Atreides. And who knows? Maybe he'll even like it? Harkonnen chooses inns over Atreides' palaces. I can always say that I saw rats running freely around my chamber and decided that such conditions are not worthy of a na-Baron and they are an insult to my person that I could not allow them to do." You roll your eyes at him, but you can't help but smirk at him.

Feyd finds himself smiling slightly at the sparkle of amusement in your eyes. He decided he preferred seeing them in your eyes rather than the emptiness and terror that didn't even let you breathe normally. He reveled in the fear of others. But yours brought him more pain than joy. Unpleasant pain.

It was starting to worry him. And maybe he would think about it more if you weren't lying so close to him now, practically in his arms. At his fingertips if he wanted to play with you. But, surprisingly, he didn't. And even if so, he wanted it only if you were as desperate for his touch as he was for yours.

"There are also rats on Giedi Prime. And you have to share a room with me because there's not enough space here for all of us. I'm sure your harpies are furious. You'd probably rather do something else with them, too, than hold me through my nightmares like some scared little child." You tease him, snapping him from his thoughts. He looks at you carefully, admiring the way the beads of sweat on your forehead glisten in the moonlight.

He feels a strange, new desire to make them be caused by him... or rather, by the activity he would subject you to. His gaze returns to your eyes and your lips, and he feels himself harden slightly as his thoughts turn to fantasies about you—something he's been doing a lot more of lately. One of his harpies mentioned something about him moaning your name...

"Maybe you actually deserve this punishment? Such sharp language…" He whispers huskily, tracing the line of your jaw with the pad of his thumb. He watches you carefully, and, as usual, he sees no fear in your eyes. Even when his fingers travel to your neck and then to the fabric of your nightgown, imagine how close he is to touching what you hide from him and everyone else behind your outfits designed to fit you into staying in the shadows and fighting. If he could, he would dress you in the most beautiful silks and jewellery so that he could feast his eyes on the only beautiful view of Giedi Prime. You see a crease form on his forehead as he becomes aware of this strange desire. He removes his hand before he goes too far to come back, and he clears his throat as he focuses his gaze on your eyes again. "What was that? That dream?"

"I... I don't want to talk about it." Feyd feels how you tense up just thinking about your nightmare. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't care. He wouldn't spare a thought or, if he was curious enough, force them to talk. But with you... he just nods and gives you space, turning to lay on his side of the bed.

"Feyd..." His heart beats faster after you use his name for the first time. He turns to your side of the bed so he can fully look at you. He hums, pretending that you're not giving him a heart attack and that he's not replaying the soft, gentle tone with which you said his name in his head. And he wants to hear it again. In many ways. A quiet whisper, a cry, a scream of pleasure as he makes you come... "I... can you..."'

He doesn't wait for you to ask him. And he could. He could make you beg for him to bring you the comfort you need or mock you for being so defenceless and scared, but how can he make you do that when you look at him with those doe eyes? How can he do anything other than pull you into his chest, place his hand on your head, and play with your hair, guiding your face into the crook of his neck as you look at him like no one has ever done before? 

He wasn't the type of man you turned to for comfort or solace, and yet here you were, lying next to him, just wanting to feel his safe embrace around you again. He smiles when he feels your breathing and pulse slow as you fall asleep against him, allowing him to be with you in your unconscious state. He could do many things to you. He could slit your throat, stab you in the heart, scalp you of all your beautiful hair, and touch and taste any part of you he wanted. Satisfy himself with you and give yourself to his concubines when he ends using you.

But all he can do, as you sleep so peacefully on his chest, is pull the covers tighter around you and place a gentle kiss on your head. He doesn't remember the last time he felt such peace or the last time he felt wanted—not because of his status or the benefits he could bring to someone, but simply because someone wanted to be close to HIM.

"After all… I guess Caladan isn't that bad, my little witch." He whispers, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

Feyd liked to think that the moment you first said his name and clung to him after the nightmare for comfort and security (IN HIM) was the moment he fell for you. But the truth was that it was a day later, after his uncle had punished him, inflicting various wounds with a blade on him, that you returned to the Giedi Prime without the expected agreement with Atreides. And, of course, he didn't rat you out. He took the blame. After all, it was his fault. He put your well-being above anything else and ordered to leave Caladan when Lady Jessica became too attentive to you. And he would do it again. He couldn't lose his right hand.

You felt guilty and took care of him. And those few days when you played the role of his nurse were the best ones in his life.

Feyd learned to love pain. Numerous punishments made it impossible for him not to do that. But he loved your gentle touch even more, esepcially when you tried your best to heal him. And he could get a thousand cuts or even more if it was the price of feeling your tender, caring touch on his skin once again.

And lying there with a torn back, looking at your sleeping form next to his bed, ready to meet his every little wish; he promised himself that he would do it. He will feel your hands on his body again. In better, less bloody circumstances. And definitely not with worry staining your beautiful eyes. But desire. Passion. Affection. Maybe even love.

"Uncomfortable, my lord?" You mock him with a little smirk as you both lie on the sand, observing the surroundings.

"Shut up, or I'll put you over my knee." You huff, shaking your head at his words. You know it's the last thing he'll actually do at this point. You use your binoculars to zoom in on a specific sand dune, in the middle of which there should be a Fremen base.

"Someone woke up with his left foot. I thought you'd be more enthusiastic about the upcoming fight." You say, trying to spot any movement, silhouette, or anything that indicates that your informant was right, and this is the place where one of the more important sietches are.

"I am. But it's damn hot here. Besides, sand gets in where it shouldn't." You smile, barely holding back your laughter, as Feyd allows himself to grumble next to you. You squeal in shock as he spanks you. You look away from the dune and give him an offended, shocked look when he chuckles hoarsely at your reaction.

"You're lucky that it's just a desert and that you're not dressed all in black like our soldiers. If this shipment of new equipment, weapons, and uniforms does not arrive this week, I will return to Giedi Prime and slaughter these useless scientists and engineers. Besides, your harpies will probably be more than happy to help you get rid of every little grain of sand from your body."

"Jealous?" He asks as you go back to watching the dunes.

"I wouldn't willingly be around these cannibals even if you paid me." You say, ignoring the fact that he was clearly asking if you were jealous of HIM, not the fact that he has his concubines and you don't. You shiver, feeling his piercing, burning gaze on you.

You're a little annoyed that he's doing practically nothing. Apparently, he too must have felt the effects of spending many weeks in that damn desert, and he had enough. Just like all of you.

"Arrakis brings out your more feisty side… I like it." He takes the binoculars from you and looks in a completely different direction. You snort, trying to see what caught his eye. You frown as you see a sandworm scurrying in the distance. But it wasn't under the sand... "Tell squad six to kill it. Those rats must be moving around again."

"Will you waste the bomb on a sandworm?"

"Only the most important Fremen travel like this. Whoever's on the back of this is not just anyone." You nod. You turn on the communicator and share information with the group, giving them the orders. You feel Feyd's eyes focused on you all the time. You roll your eyes and shift your gaze to his as he continues to stare at you curiously.

"What?"

"You've been here before, right? You may not know the ways of the Fremen, but I can see in your eyes that this planet is no stranger to you."

"The Bene Gesserit prepared us for every circumstance." You answered him deceptively. However, this does not quench his curiosity. And you know that since you're doomed to wait here for a good hour before anything happens, you're doomed to keep him entertained.

"Did they send you to Giedi Prime too?"

"No. But I was often send to Caladan." You say, not realizing how bad a move it was. The wrinkle on his forehead and the gentle tightening of his hand on his blades prove to you what an idiot you are. But you can't keep an eye on the dunes and anticipate his mood swings at the same time. Which he's had quite a lot of since you came to Arrakis. He didn't show it to anyone else, but you could see that the heat was bothering him just as much as it was for all of you.

"Why? Breeding program? Don't tell me you were supposed to be Atreides' pet." He spit out from his mouth the names of the people who were his family's greatest nemeses, as if it were some kind of dead poison. Even though the Atreides were long dead, buried in the sands of Arrakis, he still talked about them with huge hostility.

No. I was supposed to be your pet.

"I don't know." You slide off the sand to get out of sight of your possible opponents. There's no point in observing the area now. You know that your best men and their troops are positioned around you, so you could have left them to make the first attack. For now, you had to defuse a bomb that was about to explode next to you.

"You don't talk about it often. About the Bene Gesserit." He pursues the topic further, following in your footsteps. You both are standing on a small ledge, with your backs pressed against a sandstone. You don't have much space, so you have to rest your arm on his so as not to fall down and crash into the rocks below you.

"I don't want to remember it. I have another life now. Better one." You say, fiddling with your communicator. You issue a surveillance order to the rest of your units and turn it off, waiting for them to notice something. You take the shawl off your head and wipe your sweaty forehead with it.

"I won't let them hurt you again. Or anyone else." You freeze for a moment at his words. All you can do is stare at him in shock as he reaches for your face and grabs your hair. He ties them awkwardly, making sure they don't get in your face. It's a sweet gesture... even too sweet for him. And you wonder how the hell he knows how to tie someone's hair back.

You are about to tie your shawl around your forehead again when Feyd suddenly takes it from you. He wipes the back of your neck and makes sure there isn't a single bead of sweat on your face before he ties your shawl around his wrist.

"Who said they hurt me?" You ask, swallowing. You try to hide the tremble in your voice, but you suddenly become very aware of how close you are to each other. And that you two are completely alone...

"Your eyes and actions tell me more than you can let through your mouth, little witch."

"Shut up, or I'll put you over my knee." You respond with what he told you earlier without thinking much about it.

You gasp in shock as he presses you against the sandstone behind you, guiding the two of you deeper. His dilated pupils, slightly clenched jaw, and rapid breathing confirm how fucked up you are. You've lost your damn guard. Again. And now he will use it to his advantage.

"Oh, my darling little witch… you don't know how much I want you to do this…" He growls in your ear. His nose traces a path from your hair to your neck, inhaling your scent. You shiver as his lips brush against your neck.

"What are you doing?" You moan as he sucks your neck and bites it lightly, leaving a hickey there. He moves his head away from you and looks at the trail he created. He hums lightly, planning where to leave the next one. And another one. And another. And another...

"Shhh... We have a few minutes before they stop bombarding them. Another few before the dust settles and before we enter those rats' canals... let me make sure that my right hand is properly relaxed in the meantime."

As usual, he doesn't give you time to respond. He leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. His chapped lips brush against yours, gently urging you to open your mouth for him. You try to tighten them as best you can, but he somehow manages to bite your lip, which makes him immediately clear the way for his tongue.

You gasp as his hands cup your ass. His fingers dig into your flesh, and you know that if it weren't for the thick tactical suit, it would have left bruises in the shape of his fingers. He picks you up without breaking the kiss and presses you against the stone-sand wall of the small cave.

You moan as his bulge rubs against your clothed core. You dig your fingers into his shoulders, holding yourself up as he peppers your neck with hickeys, grinding against you.

On Giedi Prime, you would struggle with him, trying to break free from his grip. But here, while you've been busy planning, tracking, fighting, and increasing your spice production for the last few weeks, you haven't had any opportunity... to take care of yourself. He wasn't helping either, following you around and acting like a fucking guard dog. And from what you heard from your room next to his in the night, he wasn't denying himself anything. Damn bastard.

What you didn't know was that he was fucking his fist thinking about you all this time because, since the two of you shared a bath, none of his concubines have been able to please him. So he's just as desperate as you are.

You moan as he thrusts into you, especially hard. He also purrs against your neck at the sounds you make. You're well aware that if it didn't take you forever to put your clothes back on, he'd already have you naked beneath him, fucking you wildly and giving you orgasm after orgasm... and you almost want to let him. If only those fucking witches weren't planning on breeding you with him, you would have been riding him wild a long time ago.

At one point, he bites into your neck, making you scream uncontrollably. You blush furiously when he pulls away from your neck with your blood on his full lips and gives you a hungry, lustful look.

"Take off your pants." He orders you. He licks the blood from his lips and leans down to lick the rest from your neck, leaving a few more hickeys on it.

"We… can't… we... battle..." He suddenly stops making any movements, but instead of moving away from you, as you think he will, he grabs you tightly by the throat. He squeezes lightly and leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He breathes deeply and heavily, nuzzling his nose against yours before opening his eyes to fix his wide pupils on yours.

"Are you defying me?" You shake your head, always being a good soldier. "Good girl. Pants down, or I'll rip them off, and you'll have to walk back to the base without them."

This is a very real threat. And even though you know he would rather kill any man who dares to look at you in this state than expose you to the… lust of the hundreds of men who were on the base, you have no desire to parade around Arrakis with your bare ass. You start to take off your pants, slowly unbuttoning them. He won't even let you take them off of you all the way. As soon as he sees your exposed pussy, he drops to his knees in front of you, holding your hips in a tight grip.

"She blocks me so much when she has a damn spring between her legs… a real desert oasis…" He mumbles, his fingers collecting your wetness. You gasp as he looks you straight in the eye, sucking your juices from his finger. You lick your lips unconsciously, your brain completely stunned by the suddenness of the situation, the lust overwhelming you, the sight of him on his knees for you, as well as the spice in the air.

You don't even protest when he licks the stripe of your pussy and tightens his grip on your hips, pressing his face against your crotch. As he begins to lick and suck on your more sensitive parts, you scratch his scalp with your nails in a vain attempt to grab something. His dark, raspy chuckle against your clit makes you even wetter, as the vibrations and fingers teasing your entrance only fuel your desire.

He eats you like he's really dying of thirst. He brings out in you sounds that you would be ashamed of if you were in a better, saner, more aware state. And you try to maintain the last of your dignity and stifle your moans by placing a hand over your mouth, but he growls in protest and removes your hands so quickly that you have no idea when it happened. He places it on his shoulder, encouraging you to dig your nails into him as he devours you like his life depends on it. Like he would die if he didn't make you cum, lick up every last bit of wetness from between your legs.

At one point, he puts your leg over his shoulder. He's even closer to you (if possible), but you're not really paying attention to what he's doing as long as his mouth and fingers are still working their magic on you. You pull him closer, chasing your sweet release, when suddenly, he pulls away.

You growl in anger, opening your eyes. He's still on his knees in front of you, his face covered in your juices, and he's staring at you hungrily as if his face wasn't buried in your pussy moments ago.

"Say my name." His demand throws you off balance for a moment. You open your mouth to argue with him, to taunt him, but instead you close it quickly, biting your lip as his finger lazily moves in and out of your needy pussy. "Scream my name and I'll let you cum."

You don't want to give in to him like that. You don't want to show any weakness. But his fingers stretch you so wonderfully, hitting your most sensitive spot. You tremble around his fingers, biting your lip until it draws blood, too proud to admit to yourself how weak you were.

You escaped from the Bene Gesserit and from your fate to the only safe place; it's darkest under the lamp. No one in their right mind would willingly hide in the house of the man to whom you were supposed to submit. But it turned out that you were following the path these witches laid out for you anyway. But damn, he made you feel like you'd never felt with any man or woman...

You growl furiously as he removes his fingers again—right when you're finally about to come. He laughs hoarsely, sucking his fingers clean of your wetness.

"You're extending my fun, little witch. You must like it as much as I do." You protest as he dips his fingers inside you again, taking you close the edge again. You grab his neck, trying to pull him towards you, but he just laughs, intensifying the work of his fingers and fending off your feeble attempts to pull his face back to your needy cunt. "You know what you have to do to cum." He reminds you with a cocky smirk, watching your trembling, panting form.

Feyd drinks in the sight of you, so needy and desperate to orgasm. And it's all because of him. Every little moan, the closing of your eyes and the tilt of your head in pleasure, the ragged breathing, the quickening of your heartbeat, the wetness between your legs, the sweet nectar of the gods dripping down your thighs—it was all because of him. His cock hardens as he imagines how you'll react as he pounds into you like an animal in heat, stretching your tight walls for him. How you'll clench around his length and dig your nails into his back to feel him as close to you as possible. Or when you swell beautifully with his heir...

He will have you there. Willingly. He will prepare you as he is now; he will fuck out of you any thought until nothing except the desire for him remains.

"Feyd..." You moan as he unconsciously speeds up the movements of his fingers, thrusting them into you at breakneck speed. He smiles, blowing air at your pussy, making you moan even louder.

"Again." He demands, licking the small trail of your juices that has formed on your thighs. He welcomes the way you wet his hand and your shawl that was wrapped around his wrist. He'll save it for later this night.

"Feyd!" You pull on his head and he obliges. He couldn't be cruel to you in this state.

You come suddenly, quickly, and intensely. Your vision is blurry and unclear, and your blood is rushing through you as you moan loudly, holding on to him with all your might.

The next thing you know, he's holding you tightly by your trembling legs as he lowers you to his lap. You straddle him, hugging him tightly as you breathe slowly, trying to get back to a state of relative using after he fucked the orgasm of your life out of you. You hide your face in his neck, too disappointed in yourself to see the proud smirk on his face. He lazily rubs your back, holding you as you regain your strenght.

"You owe me, little witch. And you know, I always collect my debt." He growls hoarsely in your ear and presses a kiss on your temple. You can smell your scent on him. You blush, embarrassed, as you can feel desire rising in you again. "No response? Not a single malicious comment? Did I make you come so hard that now you are speechless? Are you really just a little mouse in need of my attention under that strong witch façade?"

"I'm not a fucking mouse." You snap at him in anger, finally coming to your senses.

"So that's the first one. Even better for me." He stands up, slowly carrying you from his lap to the ground. He reaches for your pants and helps you put them on. He grabs your hands and pulls you closer to him. You can't stand alone. You can't fucking stand alone. He laughs as he realises it, which irritates you to the point where you can't control yourself anymore.

"Shut up." You use your voice on him before you bite your tongue to stop yourself. Silence falls between you for a moment. You swallow, realising what you've done. You open your mouth to explain yourself, but, as usual, he beats you to it.

"Hmm… interesting. So you have that fire in you…" He tangles his hand in your hair and watches you closely, fascinated by the way you used your voice on him for the first time. "As sweet as I thought. Better than any water… Use that voice on me in a way I don't like, and I will really punish you, little witch. And this time, it will only be pleasant for me. Understood?" You nod your head with clenched teeth. "Good girl. Let's go. I believe they stopped dropping bombs right when you came on my face and fingers." He brags, letting you go when he sees you can stand on your own. You roll your eyes, realising how often he'll brag about it. You draw your blade and follow him, looking forward to hunting for Fremen.

You try to ignore the sand that… got where he was a few seconds ago and where he had it himself too. Damn bastard.

You walk through the corridors of your base. You're covered in blood, but it doesn't bother you much. Maybe a little when you remember that you will have to remove clotted blood from your hair. You sigh, adjusting the scarf around your neck that you took from some fremen to hide the hickeys as you walk to the war room to give new orders to the soldiers.

The Sietch has been completely destroyed by you. You murdered most of the fremen, and those left alive were taken prisoner... or to the camp brothel. You preferred not to go into details.

As you walk through the halls, you hear rustling behind you. You take a few slow steps and turn around, with your hand on your dagger, only to see na-Baron's harpies. You tense up as you watch the three women carefully and distrustfully.

"How can I help you?" You ask them, trying to avoid showing them genuine disgust and hostility. After all, they had somehow kept Feyd away from you… for now.

"The little witch is in trouble…"

"Our master will be very angry with her…"

"Maybe he'll even let us suck her bones when he's done with her…"

They say one by one, tilting their heads as they observe you. You shiver slightly, but you quickly adopt a hostile, intimidating stance, not caring much about what they say. They may have been cannibals, but you were a trained soldier and killer. You would kill them in a heartbeat if they weren't useful to you in some way.

"What do you want, vultures?" You growl at them, expecting them to get scared and return to their master's chamber, waiting for him like faithful dogs.

"The little witch's friend is here…"

"Our master is interrogating her…"

"And he learns very interesting things about the witch."

"When he's done with her, he'll be ours again."

"We will eat her meat and feast, celebrating our victory."

And what really should scare you more is the part about them saying they're going to eat you, but all you can think about is that friend he's interrogating. Another Bene Gesserit? Impossible. You made sure that everyone who came into contact with you either believed you were dead or forgot that you existed. Except for one… No. No, that wasn't possible.

"I have the blood of hundreds of rats on me. Get out of my sight unless you want yours to adorn my armor. And believe me… I will do it with great pleasure. I bet your master would fuck me on your corpse as a reward." You snap at them, still processing what may have been happening in the interrogation room. If your suspicions were true... you didn't even want to think about it. This couldn't be happening. You're paranoid. After so many years of keeping everything a secret... you couldn't lose control that easily.

You pay them no further attention and continue walking, ignoring their hisses and mocking laughter as you change your plans and head to the interrogation room.

You had to run away. As far away from here as possible. But if you do, he will chase after you. And when he finds you, and there is no doubt that he will, he will gut you and throw your remains to his harpies.

So you couldn't escape. You had to face him and try to tame him somehow. But how the hell are you going to explain to him that you ran away from the Bene Gesserit with him because you didn't want to be his concubine? Maybe a few years ago he would have understood it, but now that he has found this strange obsession with you, how could you get out of this situation? He'll cut you up before you even try to say anything.

You pass soldiers standing at the door of the interrogation room. They nod at you, letting you in as you hesitantly walk over to see for yourself if the situation is actually as dire as you think.

You feel the cold metal door on your back as it closes behind you with a bang. You freeze in place, swallowing nervously, as you see the Fremen Reverend Mother handcuffed to a chair. What scares you much more than the fact that it is really a Bene Gesserit is that it's Lady Jessica. Your former trainer in that sick sisterhood.

Feyd is standing right in front of her. His hands are gripped tightly around his daggers, and his gaze is focused on the woman in front of him. He strokes the blade of his dagger with his thumb as he is lost in his thoughts. He behaved as if he were completely oblivious to you, but you know him better than to even think for a while that he didn't notice your entrance. But he doesn't say anything as he continues to stare at her intently.

"She can tell you that herself. Right, Y/N?" Lady Jessica looks at you, raising an eyebrow defiantly. Even captured, she looks proud, as if she were the one who had power over what was happening in the room. "I should thank you. If it weren't for you, Paul would never have taken over the Kwisatz Haderach's way. No matter how hard I tried..."

"Feyd…" You ignore her and walk over to Harkonnen. You place a hand on his shoulder, but he just flinches at your touch, moving away from you. His eyes were fixed on the floor; he wasn't giving you even a single glance.

"I'm not surprised. If they sent me to breed with such a monster, I would also run away... not necessarily into his arms, but I really admire your skillful mind. To come up with such intrigue. No one would ever imagine that a little scared girl would run straight into the lion's mouth to take shelter there. I remember how you cried down my skirt when you found out what your mission was. I never would have imagined that my apprentice would go so far."

"Silence!" You shout at her, using the voice, and surprisingly, you succeed. You don't have time to try to understand what just happened—that you used your voice against a much stronger woman than you, the Reverend Mother. You walk up to Feyd and cup his cheek with your hand, forcing him to look at you.

His gaze is blank. He's wearing his mask, blocking out any emotions that might get through and reveal what he's thinking. He takes your hand and moves it away from his face, pushing you away from him like a bug.

"Would you like to see a monster, concubine of the Atreides? I'll be more than happy to show you one…" Before either of you can react, Feyd swings, creating a long gash across her chest. The woman gasps in shock, placing her hand on her wound, from which blood is now flowing down on the floor.

Before you can take a breath to talk some sense into him, he plunges the blade into her chest. You tremble as you hear the sound of cracked bones under the movement of his dagger and the witch's screams.

You don't do anything. You just stand there, watching as Feyd takes out his anger on her, disembowelling her. The metallic smell of blood hits your nostrils, but even that doesn't cause you to react. All you can do is stand and watch. And wait for your turn.

You feel sick as Lady Jassica's screams remind you of your friends who died on Arrakis. You deny what's happening in front of you as your thoughts return to that fateful day.

You weren't sent to Arrakis to try to survive. No, the plan created by Bene Gesserit was much worse. You were sent there to kill each other. This sick test was intended to eliminate weak individuals, leaving only one Bene Gesserit alive, the one who was the strongest among the young generation of women trained by these mad witches.

You were sent on one ship, thrown into the desert with weapons and one bottle of water, as an act of mercy. There were fifty of you. You killed half of them. Or at least that's what the Reverend Mothers told you after the Sisterhood took you back from there..

You were the only one left alive.

From that day on, you promised yourself that you would never let them control your life or make you go through these tests again. You didn't want to take part in their sick games ever again. You preferred to die rather than become their tool again, a monster that blindly follows their orders.

You never wanted to feel powerless or furiously frustrated again.

And now, standing there and staring blankly as Feyd killed the woman who was your mentor in front of you, you felt as if you were once again that helpless girl who is forced to do as she is told and who has no power over anything that is happening around her.

You flinch as blood reaches your shoes. You look up to see Na-Baron turning towards you. Blood was dripping down his armour as he cleaned his blades on her clothes, which were already soaked in blood.

For a moment, you delude yourself, thinking that it's not what you think. That he didn't actually discover the truth about your past in the Bene Gesserit by accident. That everything will be all right, just how it used to.

But by the look in his icy-blue eyes, you know he knows. He gives you the same angry, bloodthirsty glare that he gives his victims moments before they die. But there's something else there. Pain. Betrayal. Without knowing why, you feel a flood of guilt wash over you, outweighing your fear. But you didn't owe him anything. No loyalty or sincere devotion.

You gasp as he pushes you against the wall and presses the knife to your neck, breathing heavily. You feel it gently pierce your skin, causing blood to leak from the wound and run down your neck. He doesn't move away. He doesn't bend down to lick it off your skin. He presses further and harder, looking straight into your eyes. And you don't know if he's just testing you or if he really wants to kill you.

Suddenly, fucking him wasn't the worst solution to the situation you found yourself in...

Part IIITaglist: (I hope that everyone is here...) @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13

[queenlucythevaliant]

clean your sword

i. Peter had thought many times about dying for his brother, killing for his sisters, as all oldest children do.

ii. He'd imagined it a hundred times: how if his mother and father were ever killed, he'd get some low-skill job and make sure Lucy's clothes still fit her as she grew. How he'd make fists and fight dirty if Susan was ever threatened. What he'd do if Edmund ever had to flee the country on a dark, windswept night.

iii. Yet when he heard Susan's horn that day, he still froze. Only for an instant, he thought, "this can't be my job, right?"

iv. The blood on his sword shone red when it was all over. When he wiped it on the grass, the stain it left was almost black.

v. They'd put Susan in his arms when he was two years old. Peter didn't remember it, but he knew he'd been waiting for her till then. He wasn't a real person until he was a brother.

vi. And when they walked back to the pavilion, Rhindon bumping Peter's hip, all he could say to his sisters was, "I'm sorry I didn't come faster."

vii. The High King was almost obsessive in the way he cared for Rhindon. When he grew older and required weapons larger than those made for a child, he obsessed over them too.

viii. He told the others, in no uncertain terms, that if it ever came to it in battle, they were to leave him and live. As their brother and high king, he commanded it.

ix. The first time Edmund risked himself for Peter's sake, Peter didn't speak to him for a week.

x. He was oiling his sword when Edmund found him. "See, the thing is, Peter, being brothers goes both ways. If you can love me enough to die for me, than I get to love you just the same."

xi. Peter agreed with him then, to avoid the argument. He was sick of not talking to his brother. Yet privately, he knew that Edmund was wrong. That sacrifice was Peter's special prerogative, as the first-born.

xii. Back in England, his mother noticed that Peter had become more fastidious. She didn't notice that his protective streak has grown - and maybe it hadn't, really.

xiii. It was uncanny, how Peter would always show up just when his siblings needed him. He'd round a corner, and there was Lucy stamping her feet and scowling at a bully. There was Susan, crying, and now his knuckles were bloody.

xiv. He cleaned the blood off in the sink so carefully. The water ran red for a second, and it almost seemed black.

xv. When Caspian asked for the High King's advice, looking so very young, Peter jerked his chin towards the sword a Caspian's hip. "Be ready to use that," he said. "Keep it clean, and close."

xvi. Susan forgot Narnia and she forgot Aslan. Yet selfishly, Peter still hoped that she would never forget how quickly he came when she called.

[not-neverland06]

How About A Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII

Series Masterlist

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: I see a lot of comments talking about how you guys wished they would just communicate. They are communicating its just that neither of them know what they want. Summary: All you want is to just be clean. He offers to show you a nice little spot where you can finally scrape the grime off of you. What could go wrong?

“So,” you shifted your bag further up your arm. You were favoring the left today on account of the giant gap he had left in your right bicep. You were still pretty pissed off about that. “Do you ever, you know, bathe?”

He looked over his shoulder at you, he seemed caught off guard by the question. “Bathe?” He repeated, face raised in surprise.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, “Yeah, bathe. I’ve been out here over a week. I’ve got about twenty layers of blood and sand stuck in every crevice.” Your skin crawled thinking about the different types of bodily fluid you’d been sprayed with since coming out of the cryo pod. 

There was a lot of blood, of course, but Hollywood doesn’t show everything that gets excreted in death. You were itching for a good shower. You know that’s out of the question, but there’s got to be something. 

He laughed and ripped off a piece of jerky. He offered you some, grinning when you shook your head. “Buckle up, sweetheart, you’re in for a rude awakening. You can always use the water, but that’s a waste of Radaway if you ask me.” You should have known. It’s not like anyone you’d encountered seemed particularly gung ho about personal hygiene, but you had hoped there would be something. 

You reached down, digging your nails into your arm and scratching off flakes of blood and who knows what else. You shouldn’t have bothered, though, it only made the rest of you feel a hundred times worse. You looked crazy, scratching at yourself like a dog but you couldn’t help it. 

“Alright, damn, I’ll give you some of my Radaway, you look half rabid.”

You stopped with your scratching and stared at him in shock. “You’ll give me some of your Radaway?”

He rolled his eyes, stopping only when he noticed you’d quit walking. “Is that not what I said?”

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “You’re not exactly known for your generosity. What’s the catch?”

He frowned and clutched at his chest like you’d actually done damage, “Now, that hurts darling. I’m just trying to help you out.” He turned around, walking to the right now, further towards greenery and away from the desert. “Plus, it’ll get rid of that fucking smell.”

You kept your mouth shut but he was one to talk. He hadn’t exactly tasted wonderful when he’d kissed you. Nor did he smell amazing. Still, he had made your heart race and it wasn’t from pure terror for once. Though, any positive feelings he’d caused within you had been negated the second he dropped you to the dirt like a used up toy. 

You knew better than to try and bring it up to him, but it had stung. Attacked that vulnerable part of you that made you want to put up walls so high even the sun couldn’t get through. 

With no other choice you sped up and caught up to him. Your hip was still bothering you, but it wasn’t dragging behind you as much as it was a few days ago. The only thing really bugging you now was your throbbing arm. He’d assured you that it couldn’t rot, he’d dealt with that, but that didn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch. 

“Through here is a lake you can use.” He pointed towards the area where the trees started to thin out. 

You looked at him skeptically, “You’re really letting me do this?”

He scoffed and glared at you, “The fuck did I tell you?” You don’t know if he’s talking about his new rule to stop questioning him or about giving you the Radaway, but you keep your mouth shut anyway. He hasn’t been as much of a dick today and you’d rather keep it that way. 

“Here,” he motions through the trees and you stumble into an abandoned neighborhood. It’s been submerged in water, you can spot some old apartment buildings peeking up through the top. 

Briefly, you wonder if you’ve ever passed your old home and just never realized it. You dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes, not willing to let your mind linger on thoughts like that today. 

You slowly make your way to the water, still not entirely trusting of his intentions. He’s made it clear he’s keeping you around for the long haul, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped tormenting you. “You’re really gonna let me use your Radaway?” You call over your shoulder. 

He sighs and leans against the trunk of a tree. “Get your ass in the water, I won’t wait around all day. 

You’re not dumb enough to fully submerge yourself in radiated water. You just rip a piece of your shirt off and dunk it into the startlingly blue lake. You use it to scrub yourself down, rubbing your arms until they’re raw and feel clean enough. 

You shuffle closer to the water, trying to bend over enough to scrub your face a bit. But when you gaze down into the water you find something gazing back up at you. You scream, scrambling back just as that thing leaps out of the water and towards you. 

Something pink and wet slams into your chest and knocks the air out of your lungs. You grope blindly in the mud for your gun as it opens its mouth. Horror and disgust fill you when you see what’s in its mouth, human fingers dangle like disgusting uvulas. It darts forward, jaw posed to clamp around your whole face. 

A loud bang echoes through the lake. The thing goes flying back and causes ripples to drift across the surface of the water. You clutch your chest, trying to get your breath back and scoot closer to get a better look at whatever attacked you. It’s the size of your torso and looks startling like some deformed axolotl. He’s left a large bullet hole in the middle of it’s head deformed head.

“What the fuck?” You whisper, shakily getting to your feet and groaning when you realize whatever you’d manage to clean off had been replaced by a thick layer of mud. 

You turn around, hoping for some sort of explanation from him, but he’s just bent over laughing, gun still smoking. You grab your bag out of the muck with a huff and glare at him. “Really?”

He straightens up, still grinning and shakes his head. “You should have seen your face, you were petrified.”

”Well, I’m glad someone enjoyed that.” You glare down at the corpse, eyes wide with horror, “It’s got fucking fingers in it’s throat. Human fingers!” He saunters over to you, entirely too pleased with himself. He grabs his inhaler out of his bag and loads it with Radaway. He tosses it over to you and you catch it with your good arm. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” You press down and take in a deep breath, ignoring how bitter the juice tastes. 

“Never trust anything, rule number one of the Wastelands darling. Can’t even trust the water.” There was a loud roar off towards the middle of the lake and he nodded his head back towards the tree line. “Come on, that one was just a baby Gulper. Momma’s gonna be by soon and I can’t imagine she’ll be real happy.” He walks off without you and you’re stuck staring at the dead mutant. 

“That was a fucking baby?” He laughs at you again and when you catch up with him, you can't help but laugh a little yourself. You probably looked ridiculous, wrestling in the mud with what, apparently, was only an infant. 

He grins at you, “You got a lot to learn.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I know.”

He’s kneeled down beside you, fingers prodding at the reddened area around your wound. It feels a bit better now, more like touching a fresh bruise rather than raw nerves. He poured some water from his canteen over the area and retied the bandage. He stood up and moved away from you while you dug around in your bag for another ration bar. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You’ve got the bar positioned between your knees, and you’re trying, hopelessly, to open it up with one hand. Your fingers, now dusted with dried mud, slip uselessly against the packaging. 

He looks up at you and lets out a loud sigh. “Give it here.”

”I’ve got it-”

“Give. It. Here.” You huff but toss the bar over to him. He rips it open in one smooth move and throws it back to you. You catch it with your good hand and take a large chunk out of it. It feels like rubber and tastes oddly like dried out meatloaf. You’re not exactly sure what flavor it’s supposed to be replicating, but you figure it’s so old it doesn’t really matter as long as it fills you up. 

He pours some water from his canteen onto a ripped piece of cloth and tosses it at you. You’re unprepared, bar in hand and midchew, it slaps against your face and you scowl under the fabric. “Really?” You mutter, mouth half full. You yank it off your face and give him a questioning look. 

“Just clean yourself up.” 

You drag it across your face and arms, trying to get off as much residual mud as you can. Your clothes are a stained, lost cause, but this will do for now. Not like you’re going to get much better without going up against some mutant monster. 

“You’re being nice today?” It comes out like a question more than anything. Probably because you’re having trouble trusting him, especially after the Gulper incident. You wished you could say you can’t believe he would do something like that, but you’re pretty sure he’d been hoping the mom would get you, not the baby. 

He shrugged and leaned back against a fallen log. “Feelin’ chivalrous.”

You hummed but didn’t push. You forced down another lump of your ration and reached for your water. “Where are we heading anyway? Been walking for a long time but we haven’t seem to have gotten anywhere.”

“There’s a compound I took a bounty for. We’re on our way to deliver it.”

You tilted your head as far back as you could, tongue out and hoping to catch the remaining drops of your water. “Shit,” you tossed the canteen back in your bag, already knowing it was hopeless. 

“Ah, hell,” you glanced up and saw Cooper rifling through his supply box. 

“How are you on Radaway?”

He sighed and chucked the box back into his bag. “Got two vials left.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, a pensive expression on his face. 

You sighed and rubbed idly at some mud left on your fingers. “You’re gonna need more soon.”

He cut you off with a sharp laugh. “Faster than soon, this is the diluted shit.” He rubbed at his chest and you wondered if he was already starting to feel the effects of being so low on the medicine. You can’t believe he gave you a vial of his own with so few left. 

Bastard must’ve really wanted to see you get jumped by a gulper. Your face twisted up in distaste and any twinge of sympathy you’d felt for him dissapeared. You wished he would cough so hard he’d choke on his tongue, at least then you wouldn’t have to listen to his bullshit anymore. 

He looked over at you and then your bag. “Got any of that purified water left?” You shook your head, crumpling the wrapper of your bar up and tossing it somewhere behind you, 

“Just ran out, not sure where I’m gonna find more.”

He chuckled and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I do,” you stood up and grabbed your own bag, following behind him. 

Loud laughter and rowdy conversation drifts into the night air. You sit perched behind a large boulder, staring into the building across from you. It’s an old supermarket, refurbished to fit the Wastelanders' needs. “They’ll have what we need?”

He doesn’t look at you, his sight is dead set on the men milling about in front of you. They’re clearly guards, switching positions every couple of minutes and loaded to the teeth with weapons. Cooper silently tracks them, eyes darting between them as they switch positions yet again. 

“Yep,” he lifts up into a squat and watches as one of the men turns his back to lace up his boot. “Now!” He grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and drags you along as he weaves between the guards. He throws you in front of him, practically tossing you inside the store. 

You hold back your gasp of shock and duck behind a waist-high shelf. There are only seven or eight men walking around inside. They’ve got a fire burning in the middle of the store, the empty shelves pushed back against the walls. Behind them is about the largest pile of supplies you’ve seen since being up here. They could give Ma June a run for her money. 

You peek your head over the shelf and try to get a look at just how many weapons they have. You hear the familiar sound of spurs walking behind you and twist immediately to see Cooper walking calmly towards the group with his hands raised in surrender. He catches your eye and winks before he fully addresses them. 

“Gentlemen!” You sigh and sink back against the shelf, an irritated look on your face. The shelf screeched forward slightly and you scrambled off it, you caught Cooper twitch a little in irritation but he didn’t say anything. He’s been fully noticed at this point, the others all glaring at him with their guns raised. 

He had a full view of all eight men from his perspective. What he couldn’t see, which you could, was a ninth man sneaking up behind him with a knife. He had it poised, aiming to strike right through the back of Cooper’s neck. 

Without thinking too much on it, you leapt out of your hiding spot and used your good arm to point your gun in the man’s face. He came to a stop almost cartoonishly, eyes wide and the knife in his hands trembling when you popped out. 

Cooper barely gave you a glance out of the side of his eye and you figured he knew all about the ninth man. He must have been testing you, see if you really had his back. “Hey!”

“Who the fuck is she!”

“What are you doing here?”

You ignored the sounds of their voices, you kept the gun trained on the boy and motioned him towards the left of the room. He followed, letting you guide him backwards until he was scrambling to hide behind his friends. It’s then that you finally got a good look at just how many guns were trained on you. 

One of them pumped their shotgun and you pulled back the hammer of your gun. Cooper’s guns were still tucked away in their holster, it was just you and however much firepower they could cram between ten pairs of hands. 

“Now, I suggest that you gentlemen put those guns down or my friend here is gonna get a little too friendly with her trigger.”

One of them scoffed, gesturing with the barrel of their pistol towards your right arm hanging limply by your side. “She got a bad arm and a shaking hand.”

“Maybe,” you call out, “but I got a working finger. I only need one of ‘em to kill you.”

Before he can respond there’s another one stepping forward. “She can get real friendly with me.” He’s got a lecherous grin on his face and a look in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. You sigh, sick of the men up here being so predictable, and turn your gun on him. His eyes widen, like he hadn’t seen you pointing it at his friends, and you pull the trigger. 

Your aim is a little off and the recoil is harder to handle with only one hand available to you, but you’ve got a sawed off shotgun in your hand, don’t have to have a great aim to kill a man with that. His twitching body has barely hit the ground before you’re diving to the right and ducking behind a shelving unit. 

Cooper goes to the left, eyes wide in the same astonishment as those men. Bullets started flying the second their friend was on the ground. They were shouting all sorts of insults and threats at you but it was hard to make out over all the shooting.

“You shot him!” Cooper shouted over the hail fire of bullets.

You rolled your eyes and did your best to reload the gun with your wobbly hand. “He pissed me off,” you shouted back at him. You leveled the gun over the top of the shelves and fired blindly. There was a loud yelp and then another Bitch shouted at you, so you must have hit something. 

“You know, I was trying to handle this civilly,” Cooper jumped to his knees and turned around quickly. He fired off a quick succession of shots, four bodies dropped as he did. The rate of gunfire slowed a bit as more men fell. He ducked down and ran across the room, throwing himself down next to you. He tossed his guns at you and tugged yours out of your hand. “Reload me,” you nodded and tugged some bullets out of his bandolier while he used your gun to shoot at them. 

“I’m sure you handling it civilly would have ended the exact same fucking way.”

He grinned and sat back next to you, “Well,” he shrugged, “maybe. Maybe not, doesn’t matter now.” You handed him his reloaded guns and he dropped yours in your lap. “Only a few left, use the shelves as cover and circle around behind ‘em.” He didn’t stay to make sure you understood his plan, he immediately set off, drawing the fire away from you and making a run for it. 

“Shit,” you hissed, struggling to your feet and following his instructions. With only a few of them left it should have been quick work to get rid of the last few stragglers, but the guards from outside had heard the scuffle and were rushing in. Cooper shot most of them but one got close enough to snatch his gun from his hands and throw it to the floor. 

Cooper struggled against the man, his towering form easily overpowering Cooper. Though, your friend didn’t seem particularly worried, if anything it looked like he was letting the man live to draw out the fight, like he was enjoying it. 

You were going to just leave him to it when you saw the same bastard from before with the knife sneaking up behind him again. You rush forward, scooping up Cooper’s gun as you go and shove the man backwards. 

He grunts at the impact but he refused to be deterred. He charges at you, eyes red with rage and blackened mouth frothing like a rabid dog. You try and keep your guard up but you’ve got a gimp leg and a useless arm, it’s not a fight you’re going to win. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and yanks you into him. You grunt, breathing out slowly as you feel his knife slide into your gut. You glance down at the rusted blade and shove your gun under his chin. His eyes widen when you draw the hammer back but you don’t flinch when you pull the trigger, not even when chunks of skull and hair start raining down on you. 

Cooper must have finally noticed the tussle happening behind him because he draws his second gun out from under his coat and ends his little fight with the last of them. You must be in shock, you still haven’t fully experienced the pain that you should. 

There’s a knife sunk past the handle slammed into your gut, you should be feeling something shouldn’t you? You’re sure it’s the adrenaline still pumping through you. Your body is warm from how fast your blood is pumping, your ears ringing from all the gunshots and head spinning from the amount of blood steadily leaking out of the wound. 

“Hey,” you turn around to face him and his eyes widen ever so slightly. You lose your footing and he darts forward, quick arms grab you and draw you into his chest. You clutch onto the sleeve of his jacket, letting all of your weight rest on him while you try and get your panicked breathing under control. 

You’ve had worse injuries than this. As hard as it is to believe, in your time up here, you’ve survived a lot worse than some measly stab wound. 

So why does this feel so fucking bad?

“Oh,” you moan in pain, nearly doubling over. A feeling like a million exposed nerves being set on fire stops you from falling to the floor, instead you push off Cooper and struggle to your feet. 

“Alright, come on,” he grabs your arm again and you have the ridiculous urge to just shove him off you. Your head is swimming,  you feel like you could float away. You look down at the knife again and finally realize just how large it is. One of those hunting ones that was about the width of your hand curled into a fist. 

Well, fuck.

“Hey,” he snaps when you stumble away from him again. “Sit your stubborn ass down, you need help.” He yanks on the straps of your shirt, holding you up and dragging you to a chair, you don’t have much choice as he forces you to sit. Though, the motion causes a wave of excruciating pain to flare through you. 

He kneels in front of you and rips your shirt open, you’re in too much pain to complain about it right now. He hums low in the back of his throat as he takes in the wound. With no warning whatsoever he grabs the knife by the handle and yanks it out like he’s ripping off a fucking bandaid. 

You nearly scream, lurching forward and shoving him away from you. The sudden shock of pain has left you half blind and panting like an animal. “What the fuck was that?” You force out through gritted teeth. He plants a hand on your shoulder and presses you firmly against the back of the chair. 

“Need to get you a Stimpak.” He takes your hand in his and presses it against the wound. Where blood was once oozing, it’s now gushing. You hadn’t realized just how much keeping the knife in had kept the blood at bay. With how rapidly it’s leaving you now you’re afraid. 

You’re afraid that you might not be able to make it back from the edge with just a Stimpak. You can already feel your fingers going cold, pretty soon you won’t be able to flex them and then you’d lose feeling in your arms too. 

“Hey,” he uses the grip he has on your hand to press down on the wound. You groan but he keeps the pressure steady. His eyes bore into your dazed ones, some odd expression in them. “You don’t get to give up. Keep pressure on this, understand me?” Your head flops forward in a lazy nod. 

He could have been gone for a minute or an hour, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Your head is foggy, coherent thoughts replaced by loopy ones. You’re struggling to remember where you are or what you’re supposed to be doing. 

Just as your hand slips from the wound, he comes back. He grabs your hand and places it back, holding it there with his own. You appreciate the way he warms your fingers back up, but the rest of you is freezing too. Maybe he’d share his jacket. 

The thought of him sharing anything makes you laugh and he gives you a frustrated look. “Don’t go losing it on me. Not yet at least.”

You lean forward, face nearly pressed against his and grin. “You know, I haven’t heard a thank you yet.”

He scoffed, opening the Stimpak with one hand and preparing the injector. “Yeah, for what?”

“Saving your life, dick.”

You’re caught off guard when he slams the needle into your stomach, your lips part with a silent gasp and you wince at the cool rush of medicine. He grins at you, “Well, thank you for being the only dumbass to get herself stabbed in a gun fight.”

The medicine works fast, you learned that from when he’d shot you. You can already start to feel the pulse of blood slowing and your head clearing up slightly. “Asshole,” you hiss, leaning away from him. But his eyes stay trained on you, on both of your blood covered hands and where they still rest, linked together, on your stomach. 

You find yourself taking advantage of his distraction to really look at him. It bothers you, how after everything, his eyes are still so pretty. It’s the first thing that drew your attention when you were younger. Those eyes of his had you swooning from the first time you saw him on the big screen. 

He catches you but you can’t find it in yourself to care. There’s something odd in the air, a lingering tension from the kiss you’d never discussed. From the silent partnership you’d never voiced. You’d nearly gotten yourself killed for him tonight, the thought finally seemed to be dawning on him. 

His eyes drop to your lips and he leans in. He doesn’t get very far, lips just barely brushing yours before you’re jerking back in surprise. You’re bleeding out in his hands and he kisses you? Your hand is up and cracking across his cheek before you can think about it. 

His head whips to the side with a satisfying crack. He lets out a breathy chuckle, using his free hand to soothe the area you’d hit. He stretches the tension out of his jaw and shakes his head before he looks at you again. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed you. You definitely shouldn’t be further entertaining his ideas that he holds any sort of possession for you, but you’d just realized what that look in his eyes had been earlier. He had been worried about you. 

Cooper has always been the one who protected you. Not the other way around. And as twisted as he’d become, it still relatively remained the same dynamic today. You’d caught him off guard earlier, putting yourself in danger like that for him. And he had been worried about you. 

You grab him by the collar of his jacket and drag him forward before he can decide what to do with the fact that you slapped him. Your lips meet again and he hovers over you on your chair. The hand on your stomach pushes harder against you, deepening the pressure and making you groan into his mouth. 

He doesn’t waste time, deepening the kiss and letting his other bloodied hand drift into your hair. His fingers curl around the strands and he yanks your neck back, manipulating you how he wants and bending you to his desires. You melt into it, into the complete control you allow him to momentarily wield over you. 

You let your mind go blank and just focus on him. You can pretend, for now, that you’re in his old house. You’re coming back after a date at one of those fancy restaurants that he hates, but he takes you there anyway so you can have an excuse to dress up. 

He’ll whisper I love you and drag you to the couch. You’ll start there, his kisses traveling lower until he’s dragging you back to his bedroom. You’ll feel valued, cherished, loved. Cooper will take care of you. 

He parts slowly from you, still keeping a firm grip on your hair. It takes a moment for your eyes to flutter open again. You’re sure you look like a mess, staring up at him with glossy eyes and swollen lips, completely drenched in your own blood. 

“Don’t think about him when I’m the one kissing you, darling.” Your eyes widen and he lets you go. He shoves back from you and paces towards his bag. Any warmth in his eyes, any care, was gone. 

You want to say something to drag him back but the moment has passed. It’s not like he was wrong, you were pretending he was someone completely different to make yourself feel better. 

But you couldn’t make yourself feel guilty when you remembered half the reason you needed the comfort was because of who he was now. He comes back with a needle and thread. He lets the needle hover over the men’s fire for a moment before he approaches you with it. “Stimpak will only do so much, need to sew you up.”

You nodded and looked away as he knelt down and pressed the needle into your skin. You barely felt it,  could barely pay attention to him when your thoughts were on what it was like before. What he was like before. Sometimes it makes you sick to your stomach to look at him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[mistydeyes]

Sorry to bother and I completely understand if you dont have time or if you're busy but I saw this tiktok and was like worth a shot to ask, if you could write something kinda angst with it.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT82P5PHR/

OKAY when i saw this tiktok it literally made my jaw drop like this idea is so good and also so angsty. this my first time ever writing something like this ahh but thank you so so much for requesting!!

behind closed doors

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: When all signs lead to you as the mole, the 141 demands answers and they will get it whatever way necessary.

read part ii here! and part iii!

pairing: Taskforce 141 x gn!reader (but like not even a pairing at this point lol)

okay real talk here please do not read if you are not comfortable with ANY OF THIS! it is upsetting in all aspects

warnings: torture/violence, mentions of blood, bruises, and cuts, swearing, abusive language, ANGST WITH NO HAPPY ENDING

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"No, no, no," Ghost whispered in a sickly soft tone, "Keep your eyes open, Eclipse." He held a gloved hand to your face and sharply pulled your leaning head upright. "Please," you hoarsely coughed out, "I don't know anything." Your eyes stung with salty tears as he coldly looked back into your eyes. "We all know that's bullshit," he spat before turning from you and looking at a variety of tools at his disposal. You gritted your teeth and shut your eyes in preparation. Each member had their own method of "questioning" from Gaz's psychological mind games and sensory deprivation to the degradation and waterboarding methods from Price, you were thrown into hysterics after each session. You had long forgotten the comfort of a warm meal by now as you were fed the bare minimum and received the smallest of water droplets. While your limbs were sore from the restraints and the small burns from the cigarettes and cigars from your former team, you always feared when Ghost was in the room. The cruelty you had endured these last few days specifically from your lieutenant made you feel like you had gone to hell. 

You heard a variety of tools clatter around as you tried to think of a paradise far from the one you were in. A week ago, your team was compromised on a mission with an assassination initiative. After the dust settled, the internal hard drives, records of communications, and hidden listening devices lead to you as the mole. Despite your protests, you were dragged into an all too familiar area. "Open your eyes, Eclipse," Ghost demanded but you shook your head violently. Your insolence was met with a hard punch to the nose and as blood dripped slowly onto your bruised face, you saw in your clouded vision the violent sparks of a taser. You couldn't help but sob upon seeing him tease you with the device, activating it close to your face and mocking you with it. "Just tell us where Makarov is and we'll let you go," he comforted. You shook violently in protest before you were sent teeth gritting and toes gripping into a violent shock sent to your abdomen. "I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING." you protested but the assault continued with your screams becoming enveloped into the soundproof walls. Despite being a trained soldier, there was nothing that could prepare you for this. Every time you fell out of consciousness, you would wake to his cold eyes staring back at you. "I'm getting Soap," he said with the same nauseating tone, "I think it's time you get some rest."

You shuttered and tried to hold in the tears that burned into the various cuts on your face and chest. When Soap entered the room with a bitter demeanor, you tried to scream in a fruitless attempt at ceasing this ordeal. "No one can hear you," he joked before he violently pushed your chair backward and you fell in a painful thud on the floor. "What are you going to do with me?" you whispered in fear before you felt him turn the chair back over with your face hitting the cold concrete. Before he could do anything more, there was a knock at the door. Ghost and Soap looked at one another before Ghost opened the door to reveal Price and Gaz with horrified expressions. "Yes, Captain?" Ghost asked impatiently before Price gestured for Soap to come closer to the group. While your ears rang in pain from the sudden movements, you knew you heard what your captain said. "It's not them," he uttered and you could see everyone's stained boots turn to your beaten, bruised, and broken form. Price and Gaz rushed to undo your binds, screaming apologies and promises for treatment. You couldn't help but have a tired smile on your bleeding lip as you looked at Ghost. Despite your gaze on his, he couldn't bring himself to look back at you. He only knew that the hands covered in blood, your blood, were irreversible.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Main Masterlist || Navigation || All works are F!Reader || All images sourced from Pinterest ||

SONGS THAT SOUND LIKE SEA-FOAM || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In which a lone mermaid finds good company with a handsome fisherman who trespasses in her cove. But the word isn't what it used to be...hunting ships patrol the waters.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

FANART: “You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” & "Mermaid Interpretation" by @thedevillovesflowers

2. RUN AWAY TO ME || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

SYNOPSIS: The night started with wine and ended with blood. Racing through the woods after having escaped your wedding, you find a lone homestead in the middle of a rainstorm. Alone, wounded, and bordering on unconsciousness, you have no option but to knock.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

3. BLOOD-STAINED WOOL SPUN AT MIDNIGHT || 18 + Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

SYNOPSIS: When you left the town in the year of our Lord, 1897, to buy more wool from the local farmer, the cobblestone streets had come up to meet the hooves of your neighbor's horse.

Along this trip of false hope, the open fields at your sides had led to the backdrop of a brimstone forest; an old shadow seems to loom there. A black thing. A devil with eyes like a burial mound. You were told to fear the Ghost of the Forest, but never had you known you'd be caught in his blackened claws.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

4. BLACK METAL AND BOURBON || 18+ Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Ghost x F!Bartender!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You've been in this small town for your entire existence, giving up dreams and aspirations to carry on life as a simple bartender despite your hatred of two things: the smell of cigarette smoke and the disrespect from regulars, namely, your ex and his buddies. But on a still-air Sunday, almost overnight, a mechanics shop pops up right across the street - giving sight to new faces and a fresh group of men with a love of motorcycles. One, in particular, seems to only like Bourbon.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

5. TO HUNT A SILVER STAG || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Fae!Princess!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Promised to a greedy king to try and preserve the magic of the land, a princess instead finds herself drawn to a chivalrous knight and his gentle words. But everyone knows magic has a mind of its own.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

6. HOW TO ADAPT TO FIRE || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There is an arsonist in your city, and you're going to catch him. As one of the most prolific investigative journalists in the city, you make a lot of enemies the second your papers are released to the public. Your informant - and perhaps something more - in the local fire department makes a point to tell you to be careful.

But everyone knows he's right beside you when the fires start sparking.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

7. MOSS, BONE, AND A FALLING STAR || Mini-Series || Not Started

PAIRING: Witch Hunter!Price x F!Witch!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Humans have not been kind to you, but they usually are to things that they don't understand. You're offered a deal when a rugged-looking Witch Hunter shows up at your secluded hut. Make him see you for what you truly are in three stories or less. You oblige and give him the limit - a story of moss, of bone, and of a falling star.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

8. VIVAMUS, MORIENDUM EST || Undetermined || Not Started

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader (Reincarnation AU)

SYNOPSIS: In every lifetime you made a promise to one another: even if you must die, you will find a way to live together for all of eternity, be that five or a hundred years from now. You'd not broken your promise yet.

CHAPTERS: Undetermined

[apoemaday]

Mayakovsky

by Frank O’Hara

I. My heart’s aflutter! I am standing in the bath tub crying. Mother, mother who am I? If he will just come back once and kiss me on the face his coarse hair brush my temple, it’s throbbing! then I can put on my clothes I guess, and walk the streets. II. I love you. I love you, but I’m turning to my verses and my heart is closing like a fist. Words! be sick as I am sick, swoon, roll back your eyes, a pool, and I’ll stare down at my wounded beauty which at best is only a talent for poetry. Cannot please, cannot charm or win what a poet! and the clear water is thick with bloody blows on its head. I embrace a cloud, but when I soared it rained. III. That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks what a funny place to rupture! and now it is raining on the ailanthus as I step out onto the window ledge the tracks below me are smoky and glistening with a passion for running I leap into the leaves, green like the sea IV. Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern. The country is grey and brown and white in trees, snows and skies of laughter always diminishing, less funny not just darker, not just grey. It may be the coldest day of the year, what does he think of that? I mean, what do I? And if I do, perhaps I am myself again.

[serpentandlily]

Untouchable IX - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand'sSister!Reader

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court’s spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he’d eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on—with Elain, your brother’s mate’s sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that—more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: angst, physical torture, violence

a/n: guys, I’m so sorry this part took a long time to come out. I hope this chapter is worth the wait! Part 10 will be the final chapter/epilogue :)

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part IX

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Days might’ve gone by…days…months…years. Time was an elusive being to you. Had been since the moment the mating bond had snapped between you and Azriel. Since that one last second you got to have with him—your mate. 

Koschei kept you strung up in chains, your wrist shackled above your head, your feet barely touching the floor. Your entire body ached with pain. Blood crusted on the white slip he had you put in. 

When he had shadowed you back to his small cabin on the lake, you had assumed he would turn you into one of the swans, like he had with the other girls. But apparently, none of you had ever learned the full story. 

Vassa had certainly never mentioned this part. Not that you blamed her. You wouldn’t want to talk about it either. How he liked to beat the girls he captured, break them in, before transforming them into one of his pets—forever tied to this lake. 

You didn’t want to give up but it was getting harder and harder each day. But you had to. You couldn’t let that day in the clearing be the last time you got to see Azriel…to see your mate. 

A few tears leaked from the corner of your eyes at the thought of him, of how he must be feeling with you gone. Everything you both had wished for had come true only to last for a mere second in time before the universe tore you apart once more. It was cruel. It was… no word could come close to describing it. It couldn’t be the end of your story. You couldn’t let it be. 

The door to the room you were confined in opened and you whimpered at the sight of the sorcerer. 

“Oh, little pet,” he purred, “Are you not happy to see me? And here I thought we were finally making progress.” 

“Fuck you,” you groaned, swaying on your shackles as you tried to distance yourself from him. 

He gave you a serpentine smile. “The stubborn ones are so much more fun to break.”  

You glared at him as he stalked over to you, a cup of water in his hands. You had kicked and bucked the first few times but after all of the torture he put you through the past hours, you had no energy left to do anything but dangle there. 

“Now, are we going to do this the hard way or the easy way?” He held up the water to your mouth but you twisted your head away, slamming your lips shut. “Ah, the hard way it is.”

Excitement filled his eyes as he landed a punch straight in your gut, knocking the air right out of your lungs. You gasped and he grabbed your chin roughly, squeezing the sides of your mouth and making it impossible to snap your jaw shut. 

He poured the water into your mouth but you spit it back up, right on his face. You knew it was full of faebane because this was the third time he had come in here to give it to you.

He growled as he wiped away your spit before slapping your cheek hard enough that your head whipped to the side and blood swelled in your mouth. You heaved, letting it trickle down your jaw and onto the floor. 

He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to face him again, hooking his fingers over your bottom teeth and yanking your jaw open once again. This time when he poured the water into your mouth, he quickly slammed it shut and plugged your nose.

“Drink it,” he ordered. 

You glared at him defiantly but it did nothing to help you as you ran out of air and choked the water down. He let go of you and you greedily sucked in air. 

“Good girl,” he grinned. “See how much easier it is when you listen to me?” 

You said nothing. You couldn’t. Not as the faebane coursed through your body, extinguishing all the magic that had started to replenish as the last batch wore off. Not as your wounds and bruises stopped healing and pain slammed into your body. 

The faebane he liked to give you was partially diluted. Just enough to let it wear off quicker so you had time to heal in between his sessions but not enough to fully heal or get your magic back. He liked working with a clean canvas but didn’t let your magic linger enough to rid you of pain entirely.

Koschei circled around your hanging body and you heard him fiddling behind you. The sound of leather in his palm had you squirming.

“Now, where were we?”

The crack of the whip against your back rippled through your body and you couldn’t fight the scream that erupted from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push your consciousness into the deepest crevices of your mind, where you might find the tiniest bit of solace as one name constantly repeated in your thoughts.

Azriel.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Azriel growled at his High Lord. “I’m leaving. Now.”

Both Azriel and Rhysand looked worse for wear. Rhys’s face was littered with bruises and cuts and Azriel was sure he looked no better. But he didn’t care. All he cared about right now was that his mate was in the hands of that fucking sorcerer and he was going to rip that male apart limb by limb for ever thinking he could take her.

“We need to think this through, Az,” Feyre pleaded. “If you rush in, you’ll end up dead and be of no help to Y/n.”

Azriel’s hands tightened into fists. These past two days had been hell. Once Rhys had misted the Prince in the clearing, he had winnowed the three of them back to Velaris—to start planning their rescue mission.

He hadn’t even gotten two words out before Azriel pounced on him. He could barely remember those first few hours after she had been taken. All he knew was the anger he felt—the rage. The mating bond snapping into place. The bargain breaking. And her…his love being taken away from him, his heart and soul with her. 

And Rhys, the fucking asshole, had been at the center of his anger. For making him agree to that bargain with him in the first place. For making him stay away from her—his mate.

It had taken Cassian, Mor and Feyre to pull them apart that day. 

He had stopped starting fights with Rhys but his anger still pulsed under his skin, ready to strike at a moment's notice. 

"We've had plenty of time to think,” Azriel snapped at his High Lady, causing Rhys’s head to shoot up with a warning glare. 

“Watch your tone,” Rhys bit back at him.

“Fuck you, Rhys!” Azriel slammed his scarred hands down on the desk between them. “I’m going and I swear to the Gods if you try to stop me, I’ll rip your throat out!” 

“No, fuck you, Azriel!” Rhys yelled, standing up to his full height. “Stop acting as if you’re the only one affected by this! She was my sister long before she was your mate! Maybe if you hadn’t gone behind my back—” 

“Maybe if you hadn’t made us make that stupid bargain with you in the first place, we would’ve never had to! I could’ve had centuries with her. You stole all those years from us!” 

The second the bond snapped between him and his mate, Azriel swore he lived a whole lifetime. A whole lifetime they hadn’t been afforded. It had all flashed right before his eyes. His mate…His beautiful mate. She deserved so much better than this and as soon as he got her back in his arms, he would give her the whole world. He'd tear the sun from the sky if it would make her happy. 

“Guys, stop! This fighting between the two of you has only made things worse! Fight all you want once we get Y/n back, but you need to focus. Both of you. For her sake,” Feyre snapped.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, letting out a noise of frustration. His shadows swarmed around him like a monsoon—screaming his mate’s name over and over again in agony. “You don’t understand, Feyre. Every single time I feel her…during those tiny moments she slips through to the bond…all I feel is her pain. He’s torturing her. How am I supposed to sit here while my mate is being tortured?” 

He turned away from them, unable to look at Rhys any longer as a few tears slipped down his cheeks. He had completely and utterly failed his mate. Had let her get into the arms of an enemy. This was all his fault…all of it. She would’ve never even ran away from Velaris if he had never tried to move on with Elain last year. He put those thoughts in her head and there was nothing he regretted more in his life. He had never wanted Elain. He had never even wanted Mor. He had tried, when he thought Rhys’s sister was off limits, to move on. But he had never, ever stopped loving her. He had never felt anything for anyone other than her. 

And she had been ripped away from him before they could even have a life together. 

“That’s it,” Rhys whispered from behind him. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“What?” Azriel snarled, whipping around. 

“You said you can feel her sometimes—through the bond, right?”

Azriel nodded his head, crossing his arms. 

Rhys stroked his jaw in thought. “He must be drugging her with faebane. But not consistently. There must be small moments when it wears off before he gives her another dose. That’s why you can feel her sometimes.” 

“Where are you going with this?” Feyre asked.

“We can use the mating bond to tell us when to act,” Rhys explained. “When Azriel can feel her, we know her magic is regenerating. We should stop looking at this as battle and more like a stealth mission. We bait Koschei into coming to the water’s edge the moment Azriel feels my sister down the bond—act like we are declaring war. Keep him distracted long enough for her to get back most of her power. Meanwhile, Azriel can slip into the cabin, release her from whatever binds he has her in and get her out.” 

“What about the wards around the cabin? No one can winnow in or out. Even Az’s shadows might set it off.”

“I’ll have to get inside without using any magic,” Azriel said. “I can do it. I can get to her. As long as you keep him distracted and buy me enough time.” 

“Helion has given Y/n some lessons on setting and breaking wards,” Rhys added. “Once she sees you, once she realizes she’s being saved, she can start working on breaking them so she can winnow the two of you out.” 

“And you trust that she’ll be able to do that?” Feyre asked. 

Rhys let out a long sigh. Azriel knew how much it would pain him to have to force his sister to save herself. Rhys had always been the one doing the heavy lifting for their family, always keeping his sister as protected as he could, especially after she almost died. But he couldn’t save her this time. 

He’d need to have faith in her.

“She can do it,” Azriel declared, full of confidence in his mate’s abilities. “She is not that little girl in the woods anymore, Rhys. You’ve trained her. I’ve trained her. She is more than capable of this.”

“I know she’s not,” Rhys whispered. “She hasn’t been. Not for a long time. And I’m sorry, Azriel, I truly am. You’re right. I should’ve never forced you to make that bargain.”

“Save your apology for when I get my mate back,” Azriel spat out. Maybe it was unfair, but he was not ready to accept any apologies from Rhys. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

If their plan worked, Azriel would have his mate back in his arms, back in Velaris, safe and sound by tonight. It had to work. It had to work because there was no way he could go through another sleepless night in an empty bed. He needed her like he needed the air in his lungs; he simply could not live without her. He would either be back in Velaris tonight with his mate or six feet under because he wasn’t leaving this damn lake without her. 

The Valkyries are ready, Az. 

Rhysand’s voice in his head caused his fists to clench. He was not any closer to forgiving him than he was yesterday but that was a problem for a different day. Right now they’d have to work together to get his mate back and nothing would stand in his way, certainly not his own pride. 

The plan was simple in theory. They had decided to use Koschei’s weakness against him—females. Some of the Valkyries were willing to help and he trusted their training. If things went correctly, they wouldn’t even need to fight. 

Azriel was crouched, hiding and waiting for the mating bond to begin singing again. He hated that he couldn’t just rush in and take her. Hated that she was likely being tortured as they sat out here waiting for the right moment to begin their plan. Azriel was used to having to wait around like this. It was a part of his job, after all. But right now, it was excruciating. 

But finally… finally he felt it. That tiny spark. That gold thread reforming. 

It’s time, Rhys. 

Okay, wait for the signal. 

They had to lure Koschei out. He couldn’t see though because he was waiting behind the cabin on the other side of the lake, ready to fly to one of the landings so he could sneak his way inside. 

Alright, we’ve got his attention. Good luck, Azriel. Bring my sister home but make sure you come home too.

He couldn’t promise his brother that. He wasn’t leaving here without her, no matter what happened.

I will. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A noise caused you to look up despite the pain the movement caused. Your eyes widened in surprise as a shadowed figure stood in the doorway, blue light emitting from their form. Your vision was going in and out of focus, blurring everything. You blinked one…twice…

The person finally stepped into the light. 

“Az?” You wheezed out.

Azriel swore and rushed forward until he was right in front of you, holding your face in his hands. He was speaking but you couldn’t hear anything through the ringing in your ears. You must be hallucinating. There was no way Azriel was really here in front of you. It was not possible…

“—can you hear me, baby? Fuck, we’ve got to get you out of these chains.”

“Az,” you rasped again, “Is…is this real? Are you real?”

His beautiful hazel eyes met yours again, the emotion swimming in them threatening to tear your heart right out of your chest. Pain, rage, desperation, guilt. Your eyes flooded with tears of relief.

“I’m real. I’m here with you, baby,” he said, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m going to get you out of these chains, okay? And then I’m going to get you out of here.” 

“H-how?” you stuttered out because you had no idea how he was standing here in this cabin when it seemed like an impossible feat. 

“Later. I'll explain later. Do you think you can start trying to take down the wards around this place?”

"I'll try," you whispered but your magic had barely started regenerating. The wounds on your back weren't even beginning to heal yet.

The sound of a door slamming open rang through the house. You let out a whimper and Azriel’s eyes widened in fear as he looked at you but not fear for himself…fear for you. 

“Fuck, we’ve got to go. Now,” he said, frantically. 

The fear in his eyes faded to cold, hard rage and he grabbed the chains above your head and yanked them apart with his bare hands. You collapsed to the ground, crying out in pain, your legs unable to hold you. Azriel caught you on the way down, kneeling with you.

“I’ve got you, babygirl,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” 

You could still feel the wounds on your back bleeding, some ripping open as you curled in towards Azriel. Your head was still pounding, your body still in agony. Azriel wrapped his arms around you and helped you stand up, letting you lean your entire weight against him. Stomping footsteps were coming down the hallway, almost to the room you were being kept in.

“We need to get out of here,” he was frantically whispering, his hands holding you by the upper arms, your wrists still in cuffs with a bit of the chain attached. 

You stood on shaky legs, raising your head to see Koschei standing in the doorway, his face twisted into a grin that sent chills down your spine.

“Az!”

Azriel twisted around, his wings flaring out protectively to block you just as Koschei sent a blast of dark magic careening your way. It came at the two of you so fast, Azriel was unable to throw up a shield.

You were able to yank Azriel behind a stack of crates just as the wave of darkness clipped his wing. He let out a cry of pain, his entire body tensing as the darkness ripped through tendon and bone. You nearly cried out with him as the wing that was hit fell limp.

“Did you think you could fool me with your little plan, shadowsinger?” Koschei purred out as the two of you hid behind the crates. “Did you think I’d let you steal my pet? You’re a fool!”

Despite the agony he was in, Azriel twisted the two of you around, covering your whole body with his. Another blast of darkness caused the crates in front of you to explode to pieces, sending splinters of wood flying that pierced through any exposed skin and you let out a tiny scream of fear. 

Azriel pulled you up and helped you run further back in the room, unable to leave with Koschei blocking the door. Another blast of magic hit the both of you just as you ducked behind a rack of the weapons and tools Koschei had been using to torture you with. 

You cried out in pain, your jaw smacking against the floor with a sickening crunch. Blood filled your mouth as you pushed yourself up, your whole body aching, turning to make sure Azriel was okay. 

But Azriel had taken the brunt of the hit, shielding your body as much as he could. A deep laceration cut across his torso, blood seeping over his leathers. His body was tense, his wing still limp on the floor. You knew he was holding back his cries of pain for your sake. 

The sorcerer strided into the room, leisurely, as if this was at most a minor inconvenience to him. Darkness seeped from his figure, tendrils running along the floor towards the two of you. 

“I’m going to distract him,” Azriel whispered to you. “You need to make a run for it. The Valkyries will be waiting for you, okay? They’ll help get you home.”

“No,” you cried out, clinging to the front of his leathers. “I’m not leaving you behind, Azriel!”

Azriel stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re going to have to, princess. I need you to get out of here, do you hear me? Get out of here and go as far away as you possibly can. The others will find you, I promise.”

Tears filled your eyes as he held your face with such care and tenderness. His own eyes were filled with that same cold rage and a heavy resolve. You shook your head rapidly.

“I’m not leaving you, Azriel,” you repeated. 

“Why don’t you come on out, shadowsinger?” Koschei called out, his voice filled with amusement. “You can fight me for the girl. I’ll even let you make the first move.” 

Azriel was the most powerful warrior you knew but even he would be no match for a Death God. Facing Koschei would mean certain death and by the way Azriel was staring at you, he knew that. His eyes traced over your entire face as if he were committing it to his memory. 

“I’m so sorry, princess,” he whispered to you, his thumbs stroking away your tears. “I’m sorry for ever making that bargain that kept me away from you but I want you to know that even after all those years, it has always—will always—be you that I love. You were my first and only love and I’m so sorry that I can’t give you the life you deserve. I will find you in the next one, I promise, even if I have to crawl my way out of hell to get back to you. Even if I have to tear apart the universe, I will find you. You are my mate and even death can’t take that away from us. I love you. I will always love you.”

“Azriel,” you choked out, your fingers tightening on his leathers, but he simply placed his hands over yours and lightly tore them from him. “Az, you can’t—”

Azriel cut you off, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. A kiss full of love and despair. You tasted your salty tears through it, tears that kept pouring at the realization that this was the very first kiss the two of you shared that didn’t cause him any pain.

And it would be your last. 

Azriel stood up as much as he could, his right wing still dragging along the floor. Bruises were appearing on his jaw, blood still poured from the wound on his chest. 

“Azriel, no!” 

You reached out for him, to yank him back, but he stepped away, exposing himself to Koschei.

“Look at you,” Koschei said with a grin, “So ready to die for your love. I’m going to enjoy killing you in front of your mate.”

“Fuck you,” Azriel snarled as he spat out some blood. “If I’m dying here then I’m dragging you to hell with me.” 

Shadows exploded from Azriel in a swirl of never ending darkness that launched itself towards Koschei. But Koschei’s own darkness seemed to absorb it and grow in size before he sent it careening back to Azriel. It burned through the blue shield Azriel had thrown up and knocked straight into him, sending him flying through the room until he collided with the back wall which nearly buckled under the force. 

You screamed out for him, trying to stand but falling once again. You were dehydrated, starved, and beaten within an inch of your life but you pushed your body as much as you could, using the edge of the table to help you stand as Koschei stalked towards your mate.

Azriel had wanted you to disable the wards....If you could do that, if you could tear them down, you could try winnowing to Azriel so the both of you could winnow away before Koschei killed either of you. You were wheezing as you forced yourself to stand and concentrate. You had to do this. You had to get Azriel out of here.

Koschei descended on him once again and they began a battle of shadows and darkness. You could hardly keep track of either of them as they began to disappear and reappear in other places with their shadows, each taking shots at each other. You winced at every noise of their magic colliding, winced at every brutal hit Azriel took from the Death God. 

You could feel more of your magic renewing itself, the open wounds on your back finally starting to heal. As more and more pain wore off, you focused your energy into tearing down the wards, trying to drown out the sound of the fighting in the room for now. 

It was like an intricate spider web of silver light. One you'd have to disentangle carefully to not trigger. You had no idea what sorts of traps lay in the magic around this place. So strand by strand, piece by piece, you worked on taking it apart. It just had to be enough, enough to give you a small window of opportunity. 

You heard Azriel cry out and your focus slipped for a second. You frantically looked over your shoulder and screamed his name as Koschei slammed him into the ground a few yards away. His condition had worsened, his face had gone pale from all the bloodloss, less shadows seemed to be swirling around him as his magic weakened from all the use. You had to hurry. 

“Go,” he rasped out, glancing your way. “Y/n, go—run!”

But you wouldn’t…couldn’t. You couldn’t leave him to face this alone. 

You tried to remember everything from your lessons with Helion on spellcleaving. Tried to remember how to spot what strand to pull and when, as if the ward was a symphony of sorts and you were playing its violin. One after the other. Twisting and pulling each and every way until finally… finally, you were able to carve out a small hole. But it needed to be bigger. Big enough to winnow through.

Suddenly, something sharp struck within your chest and you fell to your knees in pain, losing your concentration. You clutched at your chest, your heart feeling like it was tearing itself into two. A feeling of dread and terror washed over you when you realized the mating bond that was beginning to fray as life was being sucked from Azriel. Another stab of agony made you crumble all the way to the ground, crying out.

You looked up to see Azriel on his knees in the center of the room. His breathing was heavy and slow, he was covered in his own blood, his leather armor torn to pieces and bruises decorated his beautiful face. His wings were slumped on the ground, the right one still nearly shredded. And above him stood the Death God, his darkness wrapped around your mate's throat, ready to squeeze the remaining life out of him. 

Time seemed to pause in that minute—like the whole world was about to collapse in on itself. The breath was sucked right from your lungs. The very fiber of your being was crying at the sight of your mate on death's door, ripping itself apart as you felt his pain like it was your own. Your hand inched on the ground towards Azriel as you weakly called out his name. 

His head turned slightly, his eyes widening as he realized you hadn’t ran away like he had hoped you did. That you were still here with him. He shook his head at you, unable to speak, trying to will you to get up and make a run for it before it was too late. But you would die here with him, because no part of you wanted to live without him. 

They always say your life flashes before your eyes when you're on the brink of death. 

But that is not what happened. 

Instead, a life you never lived did. 

A private mating ceremony with Azriel, declaring your love for each other as a priestess tied a ribbon around both your hands, linking you forever. Azriel painstakingly building a small cottage for you on the edge of Velaris with his own hands just because the ones you toured weren’t like the one you had dreamt of. A life where you and Azriel were together, mated and married, living in that cottage on the outskirts of Velaris. You and Azriel on a balcony watching starfall as he gently placed a hand on your round belly. Azriel with his arms wrapped around you, pressing kisses to your neck as you watched two children who resembled the two of you running through the tall grass in the meadow behind your home. 

A whole life that they two of you could've had. A life that was stolen from you because of a bargain made three hundred years ago. A life you would never get to live because this would be your ending. Two lovers torn apart for centuries, finally able to be together as they wished only to met their demise before their life together even began. 

No.

No.

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, crawling on your hands and knees towards your mate.

No.

This would not be your ending. You wouldn't allow it. No, too much had been stolen from the two of you and this...this was not how your story together would end. 

You channeled all your magic, pulling from the depths of your soul, pulling from parts of yourself you didn't even know existed, all the way down to the core of your being. You were the Princess of Night—a child of night and shadow, for Gods’ sake. A child born with the darkside of the moon in her. A child blessed with magic. You pulled and pulled at your darkness until it was pouring out of you, seeping from your skin and bones. 

It lurched forward and slammed into the Death God, pushing him away from Azriel—away from your mate. 

Death would not have him today because he was yours. 

Azriel fell forward onto his hands, gasping for air. You stood up, limping over to Azriel and standing in front of him, glaring at Koschei. You didn’t have any armor on, still in the tattered night gown with your wrists shackled together, didn’t even have a weapon, but you had your magic back and it would have to be enough. 

Koschei chuckled, standing up and dusting himself off. Although he had brought Azriel to his knees, the Death God hadn’t escaped without injuries of his own, a testiment to Azriel’s power. 

“You know,” Koschei said, striding towards you. “I thought we’d have more time together—you and I. But it seems like you’re more trouble than you’re worth, child. So now, I shall end you and your mate. Hm, two mates dying together, how romantic.”

“Fuck you,” you snarled, your darkness curling around your form. Azriel was weakly calling out your name from behind you, his hand reaching to grab you so he could push you away but you didn’t let him. 

“You know, this is the most excitement I’ve had in a long time. I’m feeling rather charitable so I’ll offer you this—become one of my swans and I’ll let your mate go.”

Azriel let out a growl from behind you that nearly shook the room but you stepped forward, as if considering it. Koschei’s body relaxed, thinking the fight was over, like you hoped he would. 

But the darkness that was curling around you shot forward like a chain and wrapped itself around his neck before he could deflect it. You yanked on it, causing him to choke as he fell to his knees—in the same exact position he had Azriel in before. 

His hands clawed at the darkness but you didn’t let up, not for a second. Not as that life you dreamed about replayed in your mind over and over again. Not as you thought of Azriel, your mate. No, you wouldn’t let up. You sent all your hatred, all of your anger into that darkness. 

Your darkness spread around the Death God and started shoving its way into him from all orifices, his ears, his mouth. Everywhere until he was being consumed by it. 

“You should’ve never laid a hand on my mate,” you growled at the Death God who was gasping for air and then you yanked your rope of darkness tighter and tighter—ignoring the agony you felt as your magic burned through you until your well was drained entirely. 

Koschei’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over finally—crashing to the floor. He…he wasn’t dead. You could still hear his faint heartbeat but he was out cold. You let out a breath of relief.

“P-princess…” 

You whirled around as Azriel rasped your name. His hazel eyes met yours for a second, blinking lazily before they closed and he fell to the ground. You let out a cry of alarm and rushed for him, falling to the ground next to him. You wrapped your arms around his limp body, pulling him into your lap. His breathing was labored, heavy. His heartbeat barely audible.

“Azriel,” you cried, brushing some hair from his face. “Come on, baby. Don’t—you can’t…you can’t do this to me. Wake up, please!”

His eyes blinked open for a second and some of your tears fell on his cheeks. You pressed a hand to the deepest wound on his torso, trying to stop some of the bleeding. 

“H-hey, princess,” Azriel choked out, a soft smile on his lips, still in a haze. 

“Hey, shadowsinger,” you whispered, smiling at him weakly. 

“You’re…,” he coughed, a bit of blood dribbling from his lips. He was in bad shape. You needed to get him to a healer. Now. “You’re touching me.” 

“I am,” you choked on your own sobs, running your hand down his face. You tried to reach out to your brother through your mind. You didn’t have enough magic left to winnow the both of you out of here. 

Rhys…Rhys, please, I need you! 

“Y-you’re touching me,” Azriel repeated, his eyes closing. “And i-it feels like…heaven.”

You couldn’t help the bittersweet laugh that escaped as you wiped at the tears still pouring down your cheeks. 

Dove, I’m here! Are you okay? Where is Azriel?

“Az, I need you to stay awake, okay? Can you open your eyes for me? Please, baby, just for a little longer.”

He’s here with me but he’s in bad shape, Rhys. I don’t have any magic left. I can’t get us out of here. Please…I don’t know what to do.

“Mm…‘mm so tired,” Azriel slurred out. 

“I know, baby, but you’ve got to stay awake. Just for a bit and then you can rest as long as you want to, okay?” 

I’m coming, dove. Hold on. 

You let out a sob as Azriel’s eyes shut again and his breathing slowed. “No, you can’t do this! You can’t leave me, Az. Not when I finally have you. Come on, baby, wake up!” 

Darkness swirled around the cabin and for a second, you thought Koschei had woken up but you sobbed even harder as your brother finally emerged from it. Rhys glanced at the passed out Death God before he saw you holding Azriel on the floor. 

“Rhys, please! Please, he needs a healer,” you cried.

Your brother’s eyes widened at the sight of his shadowsinger. He rushed forward, falling to his knees beside you.

“Let me take him,” your brother whispered. You didn’t want to let your mate go but you knew you couldn’t lift him. “It’s okay, dove. Let me help him.”

You passed Azriel over to him, watching your brother take your mate into his arms and lift him off the floor. You stood on shaky legs, your own vision beginning to blacken as the exhaustion of all the magic use finally caught up to you. The last thing you remembered was Rhys winnowing the two of you to some makeshift camp away from the lake and crying out for Azriel before darkness consumed you. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

One week later

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The sound of the door opening stirred you from your slumber. You sat up with a groan, your back aching because of the way you had fallen asleep—hunched over in a chair, next to Azriel’s bed where he still lied unconscious, as he had been since the day he’d help you escape from Koschei’s grasp. 

You blinked the sleep from your eyes, taking notice of your brother in the doorway. He hesitantly stepped inside the room, closing the door shut behind him softly. You hadn’t spoken to him since you had woken up a week ago. Not when he was part of the reason for all of this, for ever making Azriel stay away from you. 

And he knew he deserved your resentment and had kept away for the most part. But you noticed how sometimes after falling asleep you’d wake up with a blanket thrown around your shoulders that smelled like him or there’d be food waiting for you on the bedside table that you knew came from him. 

You grabbed Azriel’s hand, squeezing it lightly. You felt comforted by his warmth. Madja wasn’t able to tell how long it would take for Azriel to heal. He had taken a lot of damage, all of it mostly internal because of Koschei’s magic, and that was taking far longer to heal. 

You were so scared he’d never wake up. So scared that you never left his bedside. You'd sit here for the rest of your life if you had to. 

Rhysand was staring down at Azriel’s limp body, his eyes swimming with tears. You could see the guilt he felt written all over him. He’d almost lost someone he’d considered his brother because of that stupid bargain he’d made him make. 

He came around the side of the bed until he was standing beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. Part of you wanted to cringe away from his touch but another part also just really needed him as a brother right now. 

“I am so sorry, dove,” he whispered. “Making Azriel make that bargain with me is something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. I’m so sorry I kept you away from your mate. I’m so sorry for ever thinking it was my right to control who you loved. I understand if you never want to talk to me again—if you hate me now.”  

A moment of silence passed before you stood and looked at him. “Rhys, you fucked up. You really did. I know you were traumatized after mother died—after I almost did, too. What you did has caused me and Azriel so much pain and maybe I’ll be mad at you for it for the rest of our lives but I Rhys, you’re my brother. I could never hate you.”

A small sob escaped from his lips before Rhys pulled you into a warm embrace. You crumbled into your brother’s arms, seeking a type of comfort only he could provide. Your own tears slipped down your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry, dove. I’ll keep apologizing until I can’t speak. When Azriel wakes up, whatever you guys want, it’s yours—all of it.” 

“I’m so scared, Rhysie,” you cried, burying your face in his chest. “I’m so scared he’s not going to wake up. I’m so scared I’ll never get to talk to him again…” 

“Azriel is the strongest person I know,” Rhys whispered into your hair. “He’s going to wake up, dove. As long as you’re here, he will fight his way through whatever is keeping him from you. He’s going to wake up.”

“I never even got to tell him how much he means to me. I never told him how much I love him or how ready I am to accept the mating bond. I never…I never—”

You fell into a fit of sobs again, unable to even speak. Rhys held you tightly, stroking your back. 

“He knows, dove. He knows how much you love him. And you’ll get the chance to tell him, okay? You will.” 

But all you could do was pray to the Gods that you would get that chance. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A few more agonizing days passed by. Days that seemed longer than the span of your entire life. Days spent next to Azriel’s bedside, praying each and every morning that this would be the day he finally woke. You didn’t lose hope, you couldn’t because just the thought of him never waking up would send you into a spiral so deep, there’d be no pulling you out of it. 

You let out a sigh and dropped your head into your hands. 

Is this how he felt while you’d been chained in Koschei’s cabin?

You still felt so guilty…guilty that you hadn’t trusted Azriel’s reassurances that there was nothing between him and Elain, guilty that you had fallen for the Prince’s cruel trap. If you had just trusted your mate, he wouldn’t be lying here after nearly dying for you. 

“P-prin…p-princess?” 

Your heart leaped to your throat and you looked up so rapidly, you almost cracked your neck. Azriel blinked at you in a daze. His eyes held confusion as he glanced around, realizing he was in his room back at the House of Wind. His beautiful hazel eyes met yours again, glowing gold in the soft faelight. 

“Azriel,” you breathed out, reaching forward to grab his hand. “You’re…you’re awake.” 

“I-I think I am,” he said, his words still slurring a bit. “But you’re touching me and I’m not in pain and normally this usually only happens in my dreams.”

You smiled through the tears sliding down your face, tenderly cupping his cheek. 

“You’re awake,” you replied. “You’re awake and I’m here, touching you and it doesn’t hurt because the bargain has been broken. You are my mate, Azriel.”

A dopey smile took over Azriel’s face. “I’m your mate.”

You nodded with a small laugh. “You’re my mate, Azriel. And I am yours.”

“You are mine,” he repeated softly, then lurched forward like all of his memories finally came back. You jumped into action, helping him sit up.

“Careful,” you said. “You’re still healing. You’ve been asleep for a little over a week now.”

“What! W-what happened?”

You brushed some of his hair from his forehand, running your fingers through it. Now that you could touch each other without causing him pain, you weren’t ever going to stop. He leaned into your touch, looking up at you with such reverence and love, it caused your cheeks to turn pink. 

“I kind of…lost it when Koschei was about to kill you,” you finally answered, your voice a mere whisper. “My magic erupted and I choked him out. I didn’t kill him but it gave us enough time to get out of there. I broke the wards like you told me to and my brother came for us.” 

“Are you telling me that my mate choked out a Death God?” He grinned at you and you lightly smacked his shoulder. 

“It’s not funny, Az. You nearly died! Do you know how awful this past week has been? I…I thought I might never talk to you again. I thought you might never wake up!” 

Azriel lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. “I know, babygirl. How do you think I felt all those days you were trapped with Koschei? I wanted to get you the minute he shadowed you away but Rhysand wouldn’t let me go.” 

Well, Azriel using your brother’s full name told you exactly how he was feeling towards his High Lord at the moment. 

“I’m glad he didn’t,” you said, sternly. “You would’ve died and I would’ve given up. The only thing that kept me going in there was the thought of you, Azriel. The thought that maybe, maybe I could find my way back to you.” 

Azriel wiped at the tears falling from your eyes, gently. “I’m so sorry, princess. I’m sorry for everything.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I wouldn’t change a single thing if it meant that the mating bond finally snapped between us…if it meant that I could have you now.” 

“I’m yours in any way you want me, princess,” Azriel reaffirmed, yanking you down onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you despite your protests because of his injuries. He placed a kiss on your forehead. “I’m yours from now until always.” 

You pulled away to look him in the eyes, your heart pulsing at everything you found in them. 

“And I am yours, Azriel,” you whispered. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

He smiled, fully smiled. “Good, because I’m never letting you go.”

And then he pressed a passionate kiss against your lips. A kiss free of pain. A kiss that was full of every single emotion he felt towards you—admiration, craving, devotion, but above all else, love.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

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[stromuprisahat]

... whereupon the king commanded the bridge [of Maegor’s Holdfast] to be raised, the portcullis lowered, and the gates barred. The castle-within-the-castle stood secure. And so it would remain for eighteen days. ... In the days that followed, Munkun made several further appeals, assuring Aegon and Viserys that all that had been done was lawful, Ser Marston went from pleas to threats to bargaining, and Septon Bernard was brought forth to pray loudly for the Crone to light the king’s way back to wisdom, all to no avail. These efforts drew little or no response from the boy king beyond a sullen stubborn silence. His Grace was roused to anger only once, when his master-at-arms, Ser Gareth Long, took his turn attempting to convince the king to yield. “And if I will not, who will you punish, ser?” King Aegon shouted down at him. “You may beat poor Gaemon’s bones, but you will get no more blood from him.”

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

The king soon developed a strong antipathy for his new master-at-arms as well. Ser Gareth Long was a skilled swordsman but a stern taskmaster, renowned at Starpike for his harshness toward the boys he instructed. Those who did not meet his standards were made to go for days without sleep, doused in tubs of iced water, had their heads shaved, and were oft beaten. None of these punishments were available to Ser Gareth in his new position. Though Aegon was a sullen student who displayed little interest in swordplay or the arts of war, his royal person was inviolate. Whenever Ser Gareth spoke to him too loudly or too harshly, the king would simply throw down his sword and shield and walk away. Aegon seemed to have only one companion he cared about. Gaemon Palehair, his six-year-old cupbearer and food taster, not only shared all of the king’s meals, but oft accompanied him to the yard, as Ser Gareth did not fail to note. As a bastard born of a whore, Gaemon counted for little in the court, so when Ser Gareth asked Lord Peake to make the lad the king’s whipping boy, the Hand was pleased to do so. Thereafter any misbehavior, laziness, or truculence on King Aegon’s part resulted in punishment for his friend. Gaemon’s blood and Gaemon’s tears reached the king as none of Gareth Long’s words ever had, and His Grace’s improvement was soon marked by every man who watched him in the castle yard, but the king’s mislike of his teacher only deepened.

Gods! Aegon really did have a shitty childhood, didn't he?!

[horizon-verizon]

Sandoq tore Viserys’s battleaxe from the wood where the prince had buried it and split Ser Amaury’s head and helm in half from crest to gorget. Leaving the corpse to topple onto the spikes, the Shadow paused long enough to shove the dead and dying from the drawbridge before retreating inside Maegor’s Holdfast, whereupon the king commanded the bridge to be raised, the portcullis lowered, and the gates barred. The castle-within-the-castle stood secure. And so it would remain for eighteen days. The rest of the Red Keep was in the hands of Ser Marston Waters and his Kingsguard, whilst beyond the castle walls Ser Lucas Leygood and his gold cloaks kept a firm grip on King’s Landing. Both of them presented themselves before the holdfast the next morning, to demand that the king leave his sanctuary. “Your Grace does us wrong to think we mean him harm,” Ser Marston said, as the corpses of the men Sandoq had slain were brought up from the moat. “We acted only to protect Your Grace from false friends and traitors. Ser Amaury was sworn to protect you, to give his own life for yours if need be. He was your leal man, as I am. He did not deserve such a death, at the hands of such a beast.” King Aegon was unmoved. “Sandoq is no beast,” he answered from the battlements. “He cannot speak, but he hears and he obeys. I commanded Ser Amaury to be gone, and he refused. My brother warned him what would happen if he stepped beyond the axe. The vows of the Kingsguard include obedience, I thought.” “We are sworn to obey the king, sire, this is so,” replied Ser Marston, “and when you are a man grown, my brothers and I will gladly fall upon our swords should you command that of us. So long as you remain a child, however, we are required by oath to obey the King’s Hand, for the Hand speaks with the king’s voice.” “Lord Thaddeus is my Hand,” Aegon insisted. “Lord Thaddeus sold your realm to Lys and must answer for it. I will serve as your Hand until such time as his guilt or innocence can be proved.” Ser Marston unsheathed his sword and went to one knee, saying, “I swear upon my sword in the sight of gods and men that none shall do you harm whilst I stand beside you.” If the Lord Commander believed those words would sway the king, he could not have been more wrong. “You stood beside me when the dragon ate my mother,” Aegon answered. “All you did was watch. I will not have you watch while they kill my brother’s wife.” Then he left the battlements, and no words of Marston Waters could induce him to return that day, or the next, or the next. On the fourth day Grand Maester Munkun appeared together with Ser Marston. “I beseech you, sire, end this childish folly and come out, that we may serve you.” King Aegon gazed down on him, saying naught, but his brother was less reticent, commanding the Grand Maester to send forth “a thousand ravens” so the realm might know the king was being held a captive in his own castle. To this the Grand Maester made no answer. Nor did the ravens fly. In the days that followed, Munkun made several further appeals, assuring Aegon and Viserys that all that had been done was lawful, Ser Marston went from pleas to threats to bargaining, and Septon Bernard was brought forth to pray loudly for the Crone to light the king’s way back to wisdom, all to no avail. These efforts drew little or no response from the boy king beyond a sullen stubborn silence. His Grace was roused to anger only once, when his master-at-arms, Ser Gareth Long, took his turn attempting to convince the king to yield. “And if I will not, who will you punish, ser?” King Aegon shouted down at him. “You may beat poor Gaemon’s bones, but you will get no more blood from him.”

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pg 685-686

[afewfantasies]

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - III - Charms

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: Danger is imminent, as is Feyd-Rautha's birthday celebration in the arena. Passion and fear abound as parties try to nagivate through new realities. Your desire for Feyd-Rautha is growing, along with the trust between you. Secrets are revealed and sexual appetites explored.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: mentions of a sex dungeon, masturbation, aftercare, choking, inexperienced reader, heavy petting.

Part I 🖤 Part II 🖤 Masterlist

ᴘᴀʀᴛ - ɪɪɪ - ᴄʜᴀʀᴍꜱ

Trembling with anger Feyd-Rautha watches as the water runs crimson at the bottom of the cleansing chamber. The self cleaning mechanisms are turned to full capacity in attempt to free him of the sticky blood and debris of the nights terrors. A thousand cuts could never be enough. Your tears were more than that to Feyd. He’d broken his promise to protect you always. He had to send a message, cruelty had never truly come easy to him. After his father’s passing he learned quickly that brutality was the best means of survival. The worse his behaviour the more celebrated he became, soon the fear and respect in peoples eyes became his preferred drug. Pushing out the sadness and replacing it with a simmering rage did wonders for him. It opened the world to him. He’d earned the fear his name illicited. It had been a decade since he felt fear like the fear that nearly paralyzed him last night. The words in his headset had to be repeated several times. He found his chest heaving violently, there was not enough air in his lungs. He’d killed three men while still in the ship from lashing out, he couldn’t get to you fast enough. It was all taking too long. The journey back needed to happen at light speed. His chest felt tight as his head spun. How could he lose you so soon? How could anyone be so bold? So disrespectful, so careless with their life? The thought of losing you before he could ever truly be a husband to you tortured him more than he could bear. He’d found no relief in the fear of your eyes , how you clung to him, your trembling, your racing heart. Typically he revelled in it, but not then not with you. It was harrowing. He’d only found reprieve in the slowing of your heart rate, the slow relaxation of your muscles, the way you melted into him for safety. Then, he was able to take in your scent and how perfectly you fit in his arms. The softness of your flesh, the trust in your eyes, the feel of your lips on his. He hadn’t expected a kiss, nor did he feel he deserved one after failing you.

  Drying himself off Feyd dresses before heading to his armoury, too angry to rest before meeting the Baron. Hesitating he stops in front of your door as he had every day the past week. He’d decided against trying to enter then, but now things have changed. He needs to lay eyes on you before starting his day, physically - a screen won’t suffice. Sliding his hand into the reader it opens. He finds you brushing your hair into place. Your usual apprehension replaced with a surprised smile at the sight of him. He watches you as you put down the brush and walk into him. It takes him a moment to return the warm gesture taking in your scent and the feel of your body against his. Relief at your well being and resilience washes over him. It feels like it’s been minutes when you pull away and Feyd can’t remember the last time he engaged in something as pure and intimate as a long hug.

“Have you slept?” You ask looking into his weary eyes.

“I have to meet the Baron” Feyd responds feeling the need for you more. He stands behind you breathing you in and his hands hovers over the covered bruises on your skin.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, I was able to brew a tea” you explain and he takes your hands looking at your bruised knuckles once again. It he could revive the men who’d harmed you to give them another million cuts he would. Bringing your hands to his lips he places kisses onto them hoping last night is the first of many kisses.

“I can postpone my fight if you need me to” Feyd says considerate of your mood and mental state. There’d been no time to watch you sleep last night while he had been administering your retribution but he had quickly scanned through the footage from your bedroom finding you tossing and turning all night. He’d never missed a night, not even while with his pets, his pleasure slaves had only been a slight distraction from his need for you.

“No, you must uphold your traditions” you advise.

“New traditions can be made” Feyd interjects.

“na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen has a reputation to protect. The people want to see you in the arena” you remind him.

“The people are not my concern” Feyd says looking into your eyes. His affection for you is clearer now. His level of attention, his concentration, his agony. Feyd is incapable of false moments. Pure passion personified, that’s the danger of him. His strength and weakness.

“Then they must be mine, Feyd there mustn’t be any perceived changes. As heir the peoples adoration of you is important.” You explain.

“Not more than yours” he confesses. He thought he lost you.

“Feyd, please” you whisper holding his hands. Your eyes look up at his and it’s only seconds before you see him cave. “Go to the Baron, prepare for your fight and I will be here with the guards or in the infirmary with Leia” you tell him just as a buzz sounds at the door. His hands go to his knives as he steps in front of you. After a moment he moves aside and you see Leia. She’s in a wheelchair.

“I can wait outside” she says holding up her hand. Feyd watches the girl with appreciation. Had Leia been killed or brutalized more seriously it would have completely ruined his chances with you.

“Leia please come in, we can have breakfast” you smile. For the first time Leia looks to Feyd-Rautha without averting her eyes, she points a respectfully slow nod in his direction in spite of her injuries. He returns the gesture watching as you make a space for your friend at your table. Content with the state of affairs he gives you a final look before heading out.

“na-Baron!” You call out stopping him in his tracks. He raises a brow and you motion for him to follow you into your private chambers. Tracking your steps he enters the room he already knows intimately from hours or surveillance. “You must try to withhold any affinity you have for me or it will be exploited. You have no other weaknesses and I would prefer to be a strength” you whisper. “Honesty” you whisper as his eyes search yours in confusion. He hadn’t known many women outside of handmaidens and pleasure slaves but what he had heard and learned in his years was that women were proud, they enjoyed affectionate displays and declarations, they were in constant competition with others to show and prove their mate to be the best.

“Would you prefer I stayed away as well?” He asks feeling slighted.

“No” you respond in earnest.

“May I return for dinner after training?” He asks.

“Yes” you respond and he recognizes a blush on your cheeks. He gets a head-rush and smiles pleased with your reception to him. If it was up to him the Baron could wait. The scent of your room is intoxicating. Almost as much as the sight out you without fear for him. Pressing his lips to your forehead he breathes you in, restraining his urges for more. He’d never known fear once his parents had passed only rage. The agony of his father’s loss was a suffering he didn’t want to bear again. He would heed your warning. Stepping back he sets the tone, the chemistry between you two is kinetic. He takes your hand placing a soft kiss over your bruises.

Letting go he leaves through the main room casting Leia an acknowledging glance. The main doors whoosh open and you hear him barking orders before they close. Turning to Leia you place a hand on her shoulder before sitting. She sees the change in you, the fall of your shoulders, the ease of your steps. She’d been worried since the abduction remembering vividly how long it took you to be somewhat alright after fleeing your home world. She had been there for the night terrors and the panic attacks, she had been there through your darkest days. In spite of your sometimes tenacious personality she had never seen you fight. You had taken hits on several occasions. It was against the Bene Gesserit way, each sister was to have a strong predisposition to survival for the breeding program - however with you it was never the case. The other sisters stopped picking on you when you were slow to react and a few of the others intervened. Leia knew more than most it didn’t bother you as they thought it did. But she saw you fight. Saw you fight with precision and intention as you reigned your head back to break the bastards nose. You’d waited for her instead of peeling off for the safety of self-preservation. You’d done that for her, for the both of you. Now you were sitting before her with an ease to you she hadn’t seen in years. Smiling she withholds her need to comment.

“What?” You ask looking up at her.

“Careful with that one or we both may be in these chairs” Leia winks and you shake your head at her vulgarity. “You can feel his affection for you from far away, he’s managing his desire quite well. Keep kissing him like you did last night and that restraint may snap” she warns. Sitting in front of her you feed her breakfast so she can nurse her injuries a little while longer.

“He’s in danger” you remind telepathically.

“It’ll be alright” she responds in the same way. Looking into Leia’s eyes gives you hope calming the nerves that have been on edge since the attack. She takes the fork from your hand holding it inspire of her injuries. You squeeze tight thankful she’s at your side. Leia had finished more of the sisterhoods training then you, she had been a successful component of the breeding program, she had been permitted into rooms and special councils. She was being prepared for espionage.  It was during her training when she had used her telepathic power of persuasion that you picked it up. It had worked on the entire room with the exception of you.

Your silence speaks volumes.

The sisterhood was supposed to protect you from the brutality your fathers fall caused not inflict more torture. Had Feyd-Rautha’s intention been to brutalize you, had he been everything everyone said he was you would have suffered thrice. Once with the fleeing of your home world, then for the weeks with Feyd-Rautha and finally at the hands of ‘The Beasts’ men. It was the kind of cruelty reserved for enemies and not allies.

“I’m finished with them” you speak plainly. Leia swallows seeing the seriousness in your eyes. She gives a slow nod feeling less victimized by the politics of it. She believed in the objective of achieving greater goods. As things stood now Feyd marrying the Princess would be ideal.

“As am I” she nods in solidarity.

________

Looking at your reflection in the shiny black stone table its hard to recognize yourself. Life with the Bene Gesserit, is a life of subtlety and intrigue, veils, headdresses and masks, there’s no room for displays of beauty, style or power outside of specific confines. All behaviour would be governed by the objectives of the order - only now you would be done with that. The curl of your lashes is striking, as well as the black lines on your lids. It’s not the Harkonnen way, but your mothers. Leia had been an advisor of sort as you tried your best to fashion an undo from memory to match the one your mother wore on special occasions. You had called in the seamstresses to adjust the fit on one of the robes provided in your closer. A floor length crimson piece with a hood. Cutting bout the high neckline and taking in the sides to fit your figure is a bold choice but it’s Feyd-Rautha’s birthday tomorrow and you intend to try to make it special for him. The replica sword of the one in your home world lays across the table sheathed in an intricate scabbard Leia helped you create over the last week. There would be little time to present it to him tomorrow, so tonight would have to do.

Looking at the clock you see its far past the time dinner is usually served. You hear movement and sit upright in anticipation. It fades and you slouch at the sight of the Mentat. His expression is regretful.

“na-Baroness, please eat something - I do believe something has kept the na-Baron” he says. Nodding you stand slightly ashamed by Feyd’s rejection - another broken promise.

“I will eat in my quarters” you force a smile. He speaks into his earpiece taking the blade in his hands.

“The na-baron will love it” he says to be encouraging. Nodding you smile sure he will appreciate the craftsman ship that went into creating an accurate depiction of one of the galaxy’s most recognizable blades.

“Do you know if he is with his Harpies?” You ask.

“He isn’t” the Mentat responds without hesitation.

“The Baron?” You ask and he swallows regretfully.

“Among others, but you should not worry” the Mentat assures. Swallowing hard you pause for a moment before turning to Feyd-Rautha’s personal quarters. You cross the dining room and head to the unfamiliar black doors.

“Don’t!” The Mentat snaps as you stick your hand in the reader. To his surprise the doors open without alerting the safety measures reserved for intruders.

“I’ll only be a moment” you turn to him stepping into the dark room. The doors close behind you, lights illuminating slowly with each of your steps until the place is fully lit. The interior takes your breath away when you view all the knives, blades and swords hanging on the walls. A number of large portraits of Feyd-Rautha hang all around the large open space. Stepping back you look for his bedroom and stop an open door. Your steps take you there a large statement bed rests in the centre. It’s high with two marble steps to get up surrounding three quarters of it. Chains hang from the ceiling, with straps of all sorts attached to them. There’s what looks like a cage too, and a large X in the corner near it. Swallowing you try to make sense of it until a screen catches your eye. Stepping in you see a screen showing what looks to be your room, you see your bathroom and bedroom. Before you can confirm a red light flashes into your retinas, before you can blink the screen goes black. Stepping backwards with a shudder you place the blade onto the table with the attached note and exit. 

The Mentat watches you closely shocked by your ability to enter the na-Baron’s quarters. Feyd-Rautha’s security had been noticeably ironclad. He’d seen many try to break in or sneak in with no success and somehow you entered so effortlessly. Your heart races as you try to make sense of what you seen, all of it. 

“Can you have Leia, brought to my quarters?” You ask the Mentat. He speaks into his earpiece to have it done immediately.

Dinner is served and Leia consoles you listing dozens of reasons for Feyd’s absence you tell her about his bedroom, the chains, the empty cage the large X, but you omit the screen not completely sure what to make if it. Leia’s eyes light up her penchant for mischief proving useful as she explains in excruciating detail all of the possibilities. Just as your fear had begun to retreat Feyd’s tastes gave you more reasons. He was into administering pain, and having total control. He’d asked for your absolute submission but you had never considered it would lead to being suspended in the air for his pleasure, tied to wooden blocks, spanked, collared, degraded and hurt. 

After dinner you head into your bedroom casting a quick glance into the area the vantage point of a camera would be. You see a sconce in its place, a black ornamental sconce, there’s one in every corner of the room. Swallowing your about to to begin undressing when you hear the door open. Tensing you stay put afraid of another attack, stepping out of room you peer around to the living area and see Feyd. You sigh relieved.

“Apologies, the Baron kept me” he says before stopping in his tracks. His eyes drink you in, it’s like he’s been placed under a trance. You look him over a little confused until you remember he’s never seen you like this before. All done up for him. Feeling a little nervous under his intense gaze you nod.

“I had dinner already, I’m sorry I waited” you whisper as his mouth closes, his Adams apple bobs as he nods his bald head.

“You waited?” He asks his voice grittier and lower than ever before.

“For hours” you respond a little unnerved by the darkness of his eyes.

“I ought to drown the Baron in his tub” he snaps just over a whisper to himself radiating frustration. He couldn’t dream up a more beautiful woman, and you’d put in effort for him after he’d asked you to dinner. 

“I wanted to give you a gift before tomorrow’s celebrations” you confess.

Feyd blinks nodding, grappling with the gravity of your words. Days ago you were running from him. Now you were within reach and other peoples actions were jeopardizing his happiness.

“It’s in your room, I left it on the table I hope it’s no problem” you tell him but he hasn’t moved. His stillness is unnerving, like a snake before it strikes. His muscles contract before his hands unclench.

“You were in my rooms?” Feyd asks with suspicion.

“I hope that’s alright, I placed your gift on the table and left” you explains but he’s suspicious.

“Follow me” he says holding out his hand. You take it heading to the other side of tour living quarters. “Only you can open this door” he says putting your hand in the reader. The doors open and you’re in his quarters. You step into it extremely surprised. Your thoughts head back to the strange contraptions in his room as Feyd moves quickly having the screens put away before heading to the table. His hands hover over the box and he looks at you taking the scroll.

“Dearest na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,

It is custom to give handmade gifts on birthdays. Please do not take offence, this took me ten days to craft with help from Leia and the Mentat. It’s the only thing I could think of that you may enjoy. 

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays and many more!

Y/N”

He pauses smiling at the strange kindness of the scroll, remembering several before. He’d often thought your gifts were juvenile and silly but he’d kept them anyhow. Bracing himself to put on a show of support he opens the box. His eyes deceive him. Narrowing his eyes he takes the blade from the box. He runs his hands over its sheath having seen it before. Looking back at you he turns to the blade knowing it well. Drawing it out he looks at the shiny metal and blood red centre. As legend would have it, the blade could never be turned against the bloodlines of your home planet. It could cut through anything but would dull against the flesh of its own. It had been made with blood from all of the families and brought to a religious order where it was forged in secrecy. There were none like it in the galaxy.

“It’s a replica” you speak as he admires the craftsmanship of your work. You’d been making this for him while he’d taken space, you’d been preparing this for him while others had been plotting on your life. You’d been making this for him in spite of your fear of him and reservations upon arriving. Putting the blade down he turns to you with dark eyes. It wasn’t the gift of a captive, it was a gift from a betrothed. Fighting for control Feyd kisses you once chastely before coming in for another, and another parting your lips. Your breathing changes as Feyd’s kiss becomes more dominant, the fingers on your chin slide down your throat and his strong hand secures around your neck kissing you with force, marking you, claiming you. His tongue sending sensations of pleasure and lust all throughout your body. Foreign sensations that exhilarate you, you feel your skin tingle as the heat rises between the two of you, your nipples hardening as the sensation in your stomach grows. Your knees grow weak and Feyd moves to his couch sitting with you across his lap without ever breaking the kiss. Your heart is racing, a strange want taking you over. You can feel him beneath you, growing harder and harder with every moment. Your senses and emotions come to a head all at once. You feel it happen, you see Feyd laying beside you, shirtless, with a hand around his manhood. His eyes stare at you while you look at him stroking himself lazily. Another flashes and he’s in the area you’re watching him when he’s sliced across the back after sending a smile up at you., while in the arena. Then there’s another you're standing in a brown palace facing a woman with blue eyes.

Feyd’s hold tightens around your neck and you pull back gasping for air. His eyes are black and his breath rugged. Your eyes hold his as he returns to the moment. Closing your eyes you wrap your arms around him terrified on the second vision. Your lips still tingle with the memory and taste of him. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asks with concern. You can still feel the ghost of his touch on your neck.

“No” you whisper fighting for breath as Feyd places his face against yours, your noses and lashes touch against each other. Feyd allows himself to be intoxicated by you. The feeling was singular, he’d never been one for kissing but it was all he could do without causing you dishonour before the wedding ceremony. You wrap your arms around his neck and his muscular arms hold you close. 

“Tomorrow during your fight, don’t look up to me - just focus” you whisper.

“I will do as I please, no one will best me. In the arena I’m king” he speaks confidently. You. Go to withdraw but Feyd’s hands secure at your hips. His eyes challenge you.

“Do you trust me Feyd?” You ask and he takes a breath never breaking the eye contact.

“I don’t know … should I trust someone as perfect as you?” He asks reaching down to the hem of your dress and tearing the fabric up to your thighs. Your heart races with anticipation.

“Yes” you nod breathlessly in anticipation for his next move.

“May I request another present?”

“If you promise to heed my warning” you nod as he palms the flesh of your thigh. Your eyes close.

“May I taste you on my fingers and with my tongue?” Feyd asks.

“Taste me?” You ask, your uncertainty only thrills him more.

“It would make you feel good, I’d use my fingers to give you pleasure and kiss your centre” his words are illicit. Thinking back to his bedroom you hesitate thinking for the both of you.

“I don’t think we should Feyd, I don’t think it would stop there and you need to be focused tomorrow” you respond causing a guttural groan. Your heart aches for denying him.

“Goodnight” he says standing and putting you back on the ground. He storms to his bedroom. Confused and conflicted you head to the cleansing chambers feeling the sting of rejection. The automatic system does as it should, you cover your body conscious of the sconces and walk into the living room feeling restless. Seeing the separation of his skin as it was sliced is haunting. Such a gash would take a long recovery and impair his ability yo protect you physically, it would make him vulnerable. Dressed in a night set you pad over to the joining doors and place your hand in. It opens and you walk to Feyd’s bedroom. Knocking at the door his eyes widen in surprise at the sight of you.

“Could we lay beside each other instead?” You ask trying to bridge the distance.

“We can” he says leading you back to your bedroom. You watch as he knowingly heads to the side of the bed you don’t sleep on. Your suspicions are confirmed, he has been watching you. It’s a strange thrill. He pulls back the covers and you do the same before lying down and Feyd-Rautha draws you into him. He’s all muscle and all man. His shirtless upper half is impressive and warm. You run your fingers over his sides enjoying the feel of his smooth skin.

“Thank you for my gift” he says placing one hand over your breasts and cupping it as you lay with your back to him.

“You’re welcome” you respond and he places a kiss on your cheek.

“Will you give yourself to me after the wedding?” He asks and you smile at his one track mind.

“Yes but you intimidate me Feyd” you confess. “I’ve never been with a man and I’m not sure life has prepared me for a man with your tastes” you confess amusing him. Moving quickly he positions himself over you and between your legs on his knees. He places his hand over your lady parts he presses a thumb against your entrance over your clothes and the sensation is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Leaning down he kisses your lips pressing slow circles against you. 

“There” he says withdrawing his full lips from yours. “It would feel better than that” he explains going back onto his knees. “I would use your breasts to bring you over the edge too” he says touching your chest, Feyd never breaks eye contact as he kneads your breast over the fabric. Your nipples appear and he pinches one before kissing you gently. You miss the feel of his had at your centre and squirm under him as he deepens the kiss. You want him to show you everything he knows. “I’ll do my best not to hurt you” he whispers breaking the kiss and laying on his back. The dim light over the bed allows the two of you to see each other well. He slides his pants down and removes his cock. A large appendage that looks far more alive than those in the library books. It fills his hand and has a weight to it. Its tip is shaped reminiscent of a cherry and beautiful. It leaks clear liquid and he strokes it slowly without any reservations.

You feel swelling at your centre, and a heat there, the pull to Feyd is almost magnetic, it’s strong and undeniable. His eyes look to yours as he strokes himself lazily, more vivid than in your vision.

“Not before a fight” you whisper knowing the custom but he’s too far gone. With his free hand he pulls you into a kiss imagining its your wetness riding his cock with a vice grip. Your body completely naked under his your soft lips on his like they are now. His mouth all over you claiming you as he fucks you hard. He wanted to make you scream and moan for him and only him. He needed to hear those sounds play like a chorus over and over. He needed you feral for him, he needed you on your knees with your mouth open whenever he entered a room. He needed you waiting naked in his bed with your legs open. He needed your obedience, trust and devotion. You to be open to his toys and predilections. He needs all yeses, for all of his desires. He needs you to take control too, make your demands known and be unrelenting until he satisfies them. He needs to see his pleasure all over you and wearing it proudly.

Seizing the image of you covered in his cum sends him over the edge. You watch as his eyes shut and Feyd biceps flex, his body goes rigid and thick streams of cum sprout from him. His chest heaves his strong pectoral muscles fully flexed as is his neck. He looks vulnerable as he fights for air. He’s beautiful, something primal tells you that this is all your doing. That this is the effect you have on him. Wanting to honour it and him you step out of the bed with shaky legs you take a washcloth and run it under a warm tap. You feel his eyes on you as you return stepping into the bed you pull the drapes obscuring the view of the sconces.  Sitting beside him you place the cloth over the mess he’s made and begin to clean him off. He watches you without words still hard as you clean his manhood, stomach and hands. When you're finished you toss the cloth in the incinerator and wash your hands before returning to Feyd.

His eyes drink you in, his chest burning with love for you and the way you just took care of him. Nobody had ever been so gentle with him. Tucking himself away he reaches for you prepared to give you the world. There was no better gift, there never would be the you in his bed in his arms, no better gift then the wonder in your eyes as he pleasured himself. Exhausted and overwhelmed Feyd slips into sleep with his head on your bosom. Running your hands down his muscular back you begin a few Bene Gesserit mantras of protection over him, needing now more than ever before for him to be protected as your heart races because one of your visions had come to pass.

PART IV

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Thanks for reading 🩶 Don't forget to let me know what you think of this chapter, with a like comment and reblog.

I don't think Margot Fenring survives survived her attempted seduction of Feyd. Can they manage waiting until marriage? Are there more assignation attempts? Does the vision come to pass?

hmm....

TAGS:

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[kasagia]

Let me follow II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Fremen!soulmate! reader Summary: Na-Baron tirelessly pursues and tracks you across Arrakis. You hide in the sands of Dune as best you can, but will it be enough to escape your soulmate with whom you want nothing to do with? Warning: violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; soulmate au!; Taglist: @avidreader73 @wo-ming-bai @shara-ne @alana4610 Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part I ~•♤♤♤•~ Part III ~•♤♤♤•~

You close your eyes and hide your face in the brown scarf around your head. You listen to the sounds of the desert, the gentle sound of sand blowing in the wind, and the gerbils around you, trying to find some shade from the Arrakis' sun.

You breathe evenly and calmly, hearing the blood pulsing in the veins of the animals around you. You freeze, feeling heartbeats that are too loud and rare to belong to any of the creatures of Dune.

Your fingertips brush the sand beneath you, drawing patterns in it. You're manipulating the thick blood in their veins, and by the way you're having a hard time controlling it, you realise who your sudden guests are.

The Harkonnens.

"Did you sense something?" Your father asks while kneeling beside you. You sweep the sand with your hand, making your drawings and patterns disappear from view.

"The Harkonnens. In the southeast. At least 10 of them." You reply, poking your head out of your hiding place. You can't see anything in your line of sight, but you can clearly feel several heartbeats, unlike anything that lived on Arrakis.

"I'll tell the rest. Stay back. We need to make sure we don't have anyone following us if we want to get back to our sietch."

"He won't give up." You answer him, still staring at the desert. "Na-Baron. He will chase after me until he gets me." You don't have to tell him about it. He knows as well as you do that the Harkonnen's patrols have become more frequent and that you have had to escape from them faster than usual.

Na-Baron was looking for you. He made no secret of it. You know from your scouts that he himself commanded one of the units, moving through your territory like a snake, avoiding your ambushes, and entering your sietchs, leaving behind only ashes, ruins, and a sea of blood.

"He will never..."

"Are you so sure?" You interrupt him, scolding him for still clinging to false hope.

One day he will finally get you; the only question was how long it would take you to run away from him again after he catches you. And how long will you be able to enjoy freedom again in the sands of Dune.

"I… really would like to believe that I am." Your father admits it with sadness. You both turn towards the vast sands before you.

The sun burns down on you, making your body sweat more and more. The droplets flow into the tank in the suit. This is your only consolation. At least you're not wasting your water on your run.

"You don't have to protect me. I know Arrakis; I have my power. I can run away as long as I want." You say, glancing briefly at your father.

Now that the threat from the Harkonnens is even more real, you'd rather keep him away from it all. You wouldn't want them to capture him and use him as leverage against you. You didn't want him to get hurt because of you. Or anyone.

"You can run as lons as you are able to." He corrects you and pushes you back towards the rest of the group. You sigh, obediently following him. "And I want to make sure that you... are ready for what is waiting for you at the end of this race."

"Race with fate or time?" You ask him skeptically. You reach for your powers and try to refocus on the location of the Harkonnen group. Their hearts beat faster. You unconsciously wonder if Na-Baron is with them this time...

"You should try to get some sleep." Your father helps you to get on the sandworm you had previously put into a coma. You wait patiently until the entire group gets on the creature and wakes it up. Sand hits your face as the animals start to move and cross the desert.

"I... I have to be aware of our surroundings." You answer evasively, sensing Harkonnens. They were far behind you. For now.

"You can't be like that all the time. Go to sleep. I will take care of everything." Your father assures you and places a kiss on your temple.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You hadn't slept soundly for several nights, too afraid that you would meet Na-Baron in your dreams. If you did nap, it was only during the day and only for a few hours—at times when he couldn't contact you through dreams. You wonder if Reverend Mother could help you block this… connection between you two. But before you travel north, you must first hide out for a few weeks in the safe corridors of your sietch.

Maybe you'll manage to lose the Na-Baron who chased you so tirelessly. You were curious if the stars would show you such a great blessing.

"Thank you, father." You reply with a small smile, deciding to follow your father's wishes and try to take a nap.

So you snuggle up in an unfolded blanket and place yourself on the sandworm's back, allowing the walls of your makeshift shelter to keep you on the back of the rushing creature. The sound of the sand blowing through the air and the heartbeat of other people on it lulls you to sleep.

But as Na-Baron promised, you will soon find that there is no escape from him.

Even during the day.

There is blood around you. A lot of blood. It's pouring through holes in one of your hiding places' corridors. You cover your nose with your elbow and walk forward, your shoes soaked in the crimson liquid as you walk forward towards the exit. The blood reaches your knees when HE stands in your way.

"What is this?" You ask him, letting a drop of blood fall from the ceiling onto your lips as you move your elbow away from your face. The smell of blood fills your nostrils. But you can't hear any other heartbeats than yours and Na-Baron's.

"The future—if you keep running away. I must admit that each time it takes me a while to track you, but eventually you will make a mistake. And I will patiently wait for that to happen." You shiver, hearing his low growl close to you.

He acted so casually, as if there wasn't crimson blood dripping from the ceiling on you. He was too sure that his plan would come true. You wanted to tear away this overconfidence from him.

"And how can you be so sure of that? After all, you didn't even get a chance to take a few glimpses at me these past few days. How is your leg, by the way? I hope it hurts just as much as you hurt my people in your… prison." You scoff, not considering this small, cramped cell in the Harkonnen's stronghold as a real prison. It was a place of carnage, filled with death, the stench of blood, fear, and the helplessness of your people. And behind it all was your own soulmate…

"I'm very glad you are concerned about my well-being, darling. Especially since you were the one to stick a dagger into my knee. Fortunately, I have excellent healers. You'll find out about it yourself after our wedding night." You laugh mockingly at his words, shaking your head in disbelief.

How delusional he must have been to even assume that you would rather marry him than gut yourself before he even had the slightest chance to lay his little finger on you again?

"I would rather be eaten by a sandworm." You reply and push past him to leave. Feyd lets you in, inhaling your delicate scent as you walk past him. He grabs the scarf covering your head and untangles you from it. The material stays in his hands as you run away from him as far as possible.

Feyd takes a second to bury his nose in the scarf and inhale its delicate scent. He promises himself that next time he will inhale your scent directly from you—and definitely not in his dream.

He comes back to you, silently walks up to you, and hugs you from behind. He catches you by surprise and pulls you into his chest. You fight against him, struggling in his grip, but he just puts his chin on your shoulder and nuzzles his nose into your neck, not caring about your attempts to fight him.

"Are you enjoying the view?" He whispers into your ear and runs his tongue over your lobe. You shiver in his arms, and Feyd relishes every moment of how you feel in his strong grip. Like a small, trembling kitten that needs to be taken care of—taken care of by him and only him.

You acted so differently. In his dreams, you were a perfect little mouse that he could play with as he pleased, but in reality, you showed that you had a lot of rebellion in yourself to use. And while he was amazed by your cunning, thoughtfulness, and courage, it became irritating as he chased you halfway across the desert without making much progress. The itch in his pants was equally irritating.

"I'll never let you do that." You snap at him, pained to see the sight of a colonised Arrakis.

The Harkonnen's machines worked to extract the spice, and the bald men themselves... cleaned up the bodies of your men, feeding them to the sandworms. You felt sick just looking at it. And it was just a dream. You're afraid and wonder: What would be your reaction if it all happened for real?

"I'm afraid there's not much you can do. Especially from your little hiding place." He wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes it tight. You gasp in shock, struggling for air. You grab his hand and try to pull it away from your neck, but he's not strong enough for you to even make him move an inch. "Either you leave your little hiding place willingly, or I will chase you out with smoke, fire, and the blood of your people."

“Possibly…” You breathed out, wrapping your hand around the hilt of his sword. "But first you have to find me." You gasp and pull his blade from its sheath.

You swing, aiming for his exposed neck, but he anticipates your attack. He pushes you, disturbing your balance. You fall to your knees on the sands of Arrakis, breathing heavily as air finally flows freely into your throat.

However, this small moment of bliss does not last long. You roll onto your back and block his attack. Your blades clang as they meet, sweat dripping down your forehead and your heart racing, pumping adrenaline further through your system.

Na-Baron is on one knee, pressing his black steel sword at you. You shiver, feeling your muscles slowly give out, tiring as you try to push him away.

You gasp, pushing both of your blades out of each other's hands. You squeeze his neck in a tight grip, at which he does the most astounding, shocking thing—a thing that you didn't expect anyone to do in this situation.

He takes advantage of your surprise and disarms you. You growl, digging your nails into his neck and squeezing as hard as you can, cutting off any air he can get, but that seems to do no serious harm to him. You gasp as he collapses on top of you, pinning you to the sand with his full weight, and captures your lips in a passionate kiss.

There is nothing gentle about this kiss—and you don't expect it to be. You've learnt that the Harkonnens are rough, brutal, and sadistic. Their leader must therefore be far worse than they are, representative of the thoroughly disgusting nature of his people.

And though you fight and squirm, trying to break free from his grip, you can't say you don't like the way his mouth takes control of yours. You find it strange that even though you hate his insides and everything he stands for, somehow his touch, kisses, and scent still numb you in a… pleasant way.

This must be another spell of his, another trick he uses to draw you into him. You're still not sure exactly how he created this... connection between you, but you know it's definitely not natural. He may have been your soulmate, but centuries ago someone made sure you didn't feel any connection to the person you were supposed to be with.

You shiver as he caresses the skin of your wrist, where a centuries-old scar with the initials of your soulmate is visible. His initials, as it turned out.

"Tell me your name." He demands, pressing wet kisses along your jawline. You hiss at the feel of his cold, black saliva on your skin, the way it soaks into you... you can't waste any water...

You shake your head, trying to pull away from his small kisses, but that only gives him more room to manoeuvre on your skin. You can only sigh and bite your lip as he caresses you through the layers of your clothes, searching like a snake for a place he can crawl into to feel the softness of your skin.

"Your. Name. My. Desert. Rose." He growls with each press of his lips to your skin, fighting against your grip on his neck as you try to strangle him. Which proves to be a difficult task since you’re distracted by sensations he is giving you. Sensations you are ashamed of feeling. But your body can’t recognise an enemy like your mind can.

“Fuck off,” you say, glad for the little bit of control you still have over your body. Your lower half inevitably responds to his demands, growing wet and desperate for his touch. It takes all of your control not to join in his fun and grind against his thigh in time with the way he rubs the growing bulge in his pants against you.

"Oh, I will. As soon as I get my hands on you, I will." He growls against your neck with every last bit of air he has.

You shudder as his teeth sink into your flesh; he groans as if he's just tasted the finest, blood-red wine. The fingers of his hand dig painfully into your hips as he grinds against your core. You bite your lip, barely holding back a moan as you feel his hard length.

"I will find you. I will find you and fuck you until you forget you hate me. You will cry with pleasure, scream, and beg for more. I will turn you into my perfect, obedient whore, my desert rose. I will claim you as I claim Arrakis and your people. You will be a beautiful embodiment of my power—my pretty little prize." He growls against your skin, slowly removing your top layer of clothing. Your body shivers; goosebumps rise on your skin with each gentle brush of his fingertips.

You move your hand to the back of his head, digging your nails into the pale skin. He hisses, sucking a hickey on your neck, unaware that you've stolen his dagger…

You feel him freeze as you drive the dagger straight through his neck. Black blood drips down onto you, running along your collarbone and soaking into the fabric of your bra.

"You… will be mine…" He growls with his last strength, spitting blood at you as the connection between you closes. And you fall into the black void of dreamless sleep. A void where you deeply ponder what you've seen.

~•♤♤♤•~ A month later... ~•♤♤♤•~

You stroll through the marketplace, your nose buried in your black scarf. You discreetly observe the Harkonnen soldiers patrolling the area as you push through the sea of people to get to the waterskin stand.

Some women give you a sympathetic look, seeing your "mourning" attire; others try to look away. You mentally praise yourself for choosing your cover. It wasn't so easy to get a widow's black outfit, but it was worth the effort. The Harkonnens, despite their reputation for great brutality, didn't touch widows and didn't talk to them; they weren't the object of any interest or suspicion. It was strange that in all their brutality, lack of morality, and so on, they respected the period of mourning, especially for women.

You had been on the run from Feyd for a month now. During that time, you had separated yourself from your father and your group so that you could at least protect them from the wrath of the furious Harkonnen who was searching for you.

Although you must admit that the chase after you has slowed considerably in the last few days. You suspect that this had something to do with the baron's arrival on Arrakis. And his... unexpected death.

Yes. Feyd-Rautha became the new baron. You suspected that was why his men had been searching for you so intensely. However, to your great disappointment, he did not leave to Giedi Prime but remained on Arrakis.

You had thought long and hard about the reason, Na-Baron... Baron had decided he had to have you. Sure, you were his soulmate, but why had he decided now that he wanted you on his side? What did you have to offer him that made him willing to slaughter all of your men, destroy Dune, and devote practically all of his soldiers to finding you? There had to be something to it.

Your soulmate mark was the same enigma. There must have been a reason someone decided to cut out your skin with Harkonnen's initials tattooed on it, leaving you with only a faint scar.

You buy water, straining your ears to listen to the rumours carried by the Fremen whispering around you. Everyone was talking about only one thing.

A possible attack by Muad'Dib on the Emperor, his daughter, and the new Baron. These three had gathered recently on Arrrakis to discuss some of their business. Perhaps the main topic of their conversations was the new messiah of your people—the one they had spoken of for centuries, the one who would bring heaven to the sons and daughters of the desert.

You had only seen Muad'Dib once. And you preferred to keep it that way. You didn't read his eyes well. Instead of the expected messiah, you saw a coldly calculating man hungry for power, willing to do anything to avenge those who had brought ruin to his house. Paulk Atreides might have been less of a threat to your people than the Harkonnens, but he was still a threat. Especially his Bene Gesserit mother, who had become the reverend mother. And even more so the child in her womb.

The Harkonnens brought destruction and death. But in your visions (on those nights when you didn't dream of your soulmate/nemesis), you saw Paul Atreides pouring a sea of blood onto Arrakis, which seeped into every tiny sand of Dune.

Neither of them were good choices for your people.

You flinch as a hand lands on your shoulder. You peek out from behind your veil and meet Stilgar's stern gaze.

"What you are doing right now is a profanation." He snorts at you, leading you through the crowd of people and away from the watchful eyes of the Harkonnen soldiers.

"At least I don't attract as much attention as I would without this outfit."

"Let's get out of here. Muad'dib will arrive soon. You'll see, he'll do everything right." He assures you as he leads you out of the market. You shiver as you feel the eyes of passersby on you.

You stumbled upon Stilgar a week ago by accident while travelling to the main city. Your original (crazy) plan was to sneak into the landing site and grab one of the less guarded ships. And a pilot of some sort. It's not like you've had a chance to learn how to fly those weird metal contraptions.

However, your plans changed after your conversation with him. He planned a coup with Muad'dib to get rid of the Harkonnens from the lands of Arrakis once and for all. And your... extraordinary abilities were not unknown to him. You were to help in overpowering the troops so that their messiah could get to the council chamber with his men.

It was supposed to be a quick and short action.

So of course it wasn't like that at all...

You manipulate the blood of the guards, quickly and silently stopping the Harkonnen hearts. Stilgar and Muad'dib and their men follow you through the fortress corridors. You stop only in the council chamber, where the Emperor and the new Baron of Giedi Prime were supposed to be.

But there is no one in the room.

A moment later, Harkonnen troops surround you. You reach out to use your powers, but the moment you try to manipulate the blood in the Harkonnen veins, an unimaginable wave of pain passes through you. You kneel, clutching your stomach, and take a few quick breaths, looking around the room. Your gaze falls on an old Bene Geserit, who is whispering something under her breath, playing with a stone in her hand—a moonstone.

As you writhe in pain on the floor, you are oblivious to everything around you. You feel like every fibre of your body has been burned by the sun, but there is nothing you can do to end your agony.

"One more move, and I will kill her!" Muad'dib screams, pulling you roughly by the hair and pressing his blade to your throat.

Bloody tears begin to flow from your eyes. All you can see is red, your lungs burn, and your breathing becomes too ragged for you to make any kind of threat. Besides, in this state, you have a pretty low level of intimidation.

"Put it down, Atreides... before you do something you will regret." You shiver as you recognise the voice of your soulmate.

"Then let us pass, and maybe I'll spare your bloody witch."

You knew that if they didn't come to an agreement, there would be a real massacre here. And maybe the Fremen seemed to be in a weaker position now, but everyone knew perfectly well that one of their warriors was worth six Harkonnens. But neither side could be sure of victory. After all, it happened more than once that the outcome of the battle was unexpected by both sides.

"You know this is non-negotiable. You're in no position to make demands on me… and she's not worth this much trouble."

"Is that why you chased her across half of Arrakis with your men?"

"It was while we were conquering more territories. I never said that this expedition was specifically dedicated to finding her. As far as I'm concerned, you can cut her sweet throat. My only regret will be that I wasn't the one holding the blade that would inflict her final wound." The man behind you tenses, his grip on your hair tightening in anger and the dagger at your throat twitching dangerously, causing a trickle of blood to leak from the small wound he’d inflicted on you.

"One word from me, and the Atreides' explosives around the spice mines will be destroyed. Including those around the stronghold. I may not get out of this unscathed, but I will drag you all with me to my grave."

"You're bluffing." The Emperor replies coldly, but you can sense the underlying fear in his tone. You didn't know Paul Atreides, but from the rumours about Muad'dib, you could tell he was unpredictable. He could lie just as easily as he could tell the truth. You don't know which was worse.

"Let her go and face me if you want to accomplish anything. As you said earlier: Enough blood has been spilt."

"Since when do you dislike bloodshed?" You can actually see the mocking smile on Muad'dib's face without even having to turn to face him.

"Since I'm not the one who's having the most fun with it." The silence and tension in the room become more noticeable to you than the searing pain in your insides. The tears have stopped falling from your eyes, but it still hurts to breathe. However, you've gotten used to the pain enough that your vision returns, and the blurs in front of you become real people. "Let's finally put an end to this. One-on-one. Winner takes all." The growl of your soulmate sends a cold shiver down your spine.

You weren't quite ready for what was to come, and though you saw flashes of visions of this duel, the outcome never presented itself to you. However, you felt that after this, nothing would ever be the same.

"Rautha..." The Emperor begins with a warning, but before he can finish his sentence and express his concerns, Atreides speaks first:

"I accept."

These two face each other, just like in your dream. Both prepare for battle and present their blades to the other with a mocking "May your knife chip and shatter." The fight begins; both of them deal equal blows to each other, but after a while you realise that it is not Harkonnen who emerges victorious.

The visions you had start to replay before your eyes. You know perfectly well that if you don't react, Feyd will die. And while you liked the idea before, now the thought makes you feel sick, and the pain in your chest only increases.

Suddenly, the sounds around you stop reaching you; all you can hear are the whispers of the Reverend Mother. And suddenly, before you know it, your soulmate scar opens up and begins to bleed. Only your blood isn't red—it's black. You bite your lip to hold back a scream and feel SOMEONE reach for your powers. You are forced to direct the blood in Harkonnen's body and stop the bleeding from the Atreides blade.

This gives Harkonnen enough time to launch a counterattack and deal the final blow to the Atreides.

You gasp in shock, unable to explain why your powers went out of control. Or why blood suddenly began to gush from your wrist. But before you lose consciousness and slump to the floor, you see the dead body of Muad'dib fall to the floor next to you.

As you expected, you wake up chained to a bed with a muzzle in your mouth. You try to break free from your bonds, but it's futile. All you manage to do is shake your chains and make a noise that attracts the attention of the bald Harkonnen's servants.

Five women surround you, trying to keep you in place. You scream and struggle, trying to push their hands away from you as the door swings open with a loud bang.

They freeze the moment Baron Feyd-Rautha enters the room.

He barks a few words at them in their language and waits for them to move away from you. You shiver as you are left alone in the room with him, completely at his mercy and whims. He takes a few slow steps towards you, watching you closely.

"I knew you'd look beautiful chained to the bed." He says teasingly and strokes your cheek with his ring finger.

You tremble under his watchful gaze, your heart beating like crazy, but when you reach for your powers to use them, you feel blocked. You hold your breath in shock as he continues to draw patterns on your cheek, moving lazily to your neck.

"Surprised? I'm a patient man. Very patient. As soon as I heard about your little special ability, I had to find out the source of it… and learn exactly how to control it so you wouldn't rip my heart out of my chest the moment we will be finally alone."

His hand slides down to your chest. You sigh as he cups your breast in his hand, massaging it slowly, digging his fingers into it. You hiss, but no sound comes through the gag. Harkonnen hums, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning closer to you as he continues to abuse your breast through the material of the new clothes you don’t recognise and the blanket you’re covered in.

"Hmm… I think I'd rather hear those little sounds of yours." He says thoughtfully and leans towards you. His nose brushes against yours as you lie frozen beneath him. "And kiss those sinful, irritating lips."

Before you can react, he presses the dagger to your cheek. You shiver as the cold steel grazes your heated skin. Harkonnen takes his time. He plays with you, drawing patterns into your skin, drinking in every hitch in your breath, the quickening movement of your chest, and the look in your eyes as you give him one of your furious ones.

"It's amazing how even after having all your fangs pulled out, you don't lose your ferocity, my little, wild, dessert rose." He cuts your muzzle and removes it from you. You grunt and cough, feeling your throat become terribly dry, almost as dry as it was on Arrakis during the worst sandstorms.

He places a few pillows behind your back, moves you into a sitting position, and holds a glass of water to your lips. You have no choice but to drink, hoping that he doesn't intend to poison you since he went through so much time and effort to find and trap you.

His intense gaze pierces through you, and you wonder what is more uncomfortable—the chains around your wrists and ankles or his blue irises focused entirely on you.

As he places his glass on the table, you finally decide to speak to him.

"I see that I should have stabbed you harder." You growl, looking with distaste at how well he moves. His knee is practically healed.

"I see I should have tied you up tighter." He responds to your attack with equal venom.

"What did you do to me? What did your old hag do? Why don't I feel…"

"Take it easy, little warrior. You don't expect me to tell you my tricks before we get home, do you?" The blood is boiling in your veins. You have an irresistible urge to slow down his heartbeat and make him faint and hit his head on the floor, or better yet, some metal rod, but you don't feel anything. You can't manipulate the blood; you can't feel the hearts beating around you. And you feel so damn defenceless because of it.

"I am at home." You growl angrily, trying your best to fight back the tears that were dangerously starting to form in your eyes.

"No, you're not. Your home is where I am. Which is currently Giedi Prime. We'll land there in two days." You stiffen when you hear this. The knowledge that you're leaving Arrakis and that you'll likely never see your friends and father again hits you like a slap in the face.

"What do you think gives you the fucking right to��"

"As your husband and soulmate, I have the right to certain things." Now you freeze completely at his words. Husband? What the hell? What husband?

"What the fuck?"

"Language." He hisses at you and sits down next to you. He gently smooths your hair, and you catch the glint of a black wedding band on his finger. He smiles when he notices you see his newest piece of jewelry. "We'll have to work on that. Since you're a Baroness, a certain degree of… courtesy and manners is expected of you. But don't worry. I'll make sure you learn the skills you need quickly."

"I'm not your damn wife. Or your soulmate."

"Look at your left hand, my darling."

You reluctantly do as he tells you. You gasp in shock when you see that instead of the familiar scar, you have a black tattoo of his initials. And a huge ring on your ring finger. A matching ring to the one Harkonnen wore now.

"How..."

"A Bene Gesserit sister restored the link between our souls that you so brazenly severed. As a child, I believe. Tell me, were you that afraid of me, my love? Did you never even think for a moment that maybe you should get to know me before you try to destroy such a sacred connection?"

"You will pay for this... I swear you will." You vow to yourself and to him furiously, now only reassuring yourself that you were right about him all along.

"Two years with me, and I'll make sure you don't even think about hurting me, let alone running away from me. Besides, it'll be quite a task to run away with a baby on your breast, don't you think?" He whispers, leaning into you. You move to bite his nose, but unfortunately he pulls away before your teeth can even lightly graze his skin and chuckles darkly.

"Once I get my powers back, I'll make sure you die a long, slow death. You'll beg me to kill you." You growl through your teeth, giving him a hateful look.

He just smiles and strokes your jaw gently, treating you like you were a child who has a tantrum. You want so badly to break free from these chains and hurt him...

"Don't worry, honey. We have plenty of time to get to know each other. But let's get started, what do you think?" Before you can react, he straddles you and crushes his lips against yours.

You buck, trying to somehow throw him off balance and push him off of you, but he only tightens his grip on your arms and presses himself closer to you. His hips grind against yours, showing you all too well how lustfully he reacted to your little struggle with him.

He tangles his hand in your hair and pulls your head back, giving himself better access to your neck. He trails kisses from your lips, along your jaw, and down the column of your neck as he settles his attention on your collarbone. You bite your lip as he bites into you with a growl, much like a wolf gnawing at its prey.

"No lip-biting. I want to hear all the little sounds you make."

"Fuck off, psycho." You growl, struggling beneath him and trying to get away from him. He clicks his tongue at you and runs it along your neck, up to your ear, leaving a wet trail of saliva.

"Is that how you address your dear husband? Haven't these wild rats taught you anything?" He mocks you and pulls out his dagger. To your protests, he cuts your dress in half one swift movement, exposing your bare chest to him. You gasp, surprised when he immediately sucks onto your breast, nipping and teasing your nipple.

Your hands grip the sheets beneath you, and even though you hate him with all your heart, the sensations he's giving you are… more than pleasant. You blush as he slides between your legs and moves his mouth lower and lower.

"My beautiful soulmate and wife, I have waited for you for so long." He mumbles against your skin, brushing his plush soft lips against your breast. You clench your thighs, wanting to block his access to you, but it only stops him for a moment.

In one powerful movement, he spreads your legs and buries his head between your thighs. You cry out as he brutally sinks his teeth into your thigh, marking you and drawing your blood. He licks his lips with a groan, as if it were the sweetest nectar he'd ever tasted, and runs a finger over that new, sensitive wound, spreading your blood up your thigh and all the way up to where you were shamefully wet for him.

These sensations are even more intense than when you were dreaming. You don't know if it's because you now realise that this isn't just a dream and that he poses a real threat to you. You also feel... overwhelmed by emotions. Your desire is much greater, and for a moment it seems to you that your emotions are no longer really just yours...

You sigh as his tongue teases your soaked folds. You try to crush his head between your thighs, but that only seems to encourage him more. You moan as you feel his tongue reach parts of you that you didn’t think he could explore in this position.

Suddenly your hands are free. You pretend not to notice as he undoes the handcuffs on your hands. Your brain works at an incredible speed as you think about what you should do in this situation. Without your powers and weapons, you could do very little, chained to the bed.

He clearly wanted you to give yourself to him, to feel what he felt for you. You could play that game for a while—just until you got your powers back. Then maybe you could somehow escape from him again...

So instead of trying to strangle him, you dig your nails into the back of his head, pulling him closer to you with a soft moan.

He groans at the feeling of your hands on his head. He strokes your hips with his thumbs, drawing meaningless patterns. At least for you. Feyd unconsciously 'writes' various words in his language on your skin. Mainly: mine, wife, baroness, darling, etc.

He mumbles words against your cunt that you can't make out, but from the way he takes ragged breaths and grinds against the mattress beneath him, he's probably whispering hoarse curses in his native language.

You are so close to the edge that you no longer care who is between your legs. Well, at least as long as you are about to reach your blissful pleasure.

His fingers caress your aching core, teasing you as he gently slides the pad of his finger into your very empty pussy. But just as you’re about to reach your release, he pulls away from you, a wicked smirk on his lips as he does so.

"Delicious. Perhaps if you learn to respect your new husband, we can both enjoy this, my darling." He gets up from the bed. He licks his fingers, groaning in appreciation as he watches you closely.

You gasp, sweat dripping down your face as you try to understand why the hell you feel, in addition to immense frustration and anger, also... satisfaction and pride. You blink a few times, catching your breath as you look at him suspiciously.

"You'll see, I'll turn you into my beloved little wife…" He speaks in his native language, gently stroking your cheek and playing with your hair. You frown, unable to understand what he's saying.

You gasp as he suddenly turns and walks towards the entrance.

"Wait! You can't just leave me here like that!"

"Rethink your behaviour, honey. A good wife doesn't call her husband a psychopath. I'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Y/N." You scream after him, throwing a pillow at him, but instead of hitting him, it bounces off the closed door behind him.

You groan in frustration, both at the loss of your orgasm and the fact that your ankles are still chained to the bed and you can't even go and grab a blanket to cover yourself with.

As you lie there, you wonder how you ended up here. He admitted to researching you, but how on earth did he manage to block your power? And why did your soulmate mark become a black tattoo again? What gave him the right to marry you when you were unconscious? And how the hell did he find out your name?

You realise you've grossly underestimated him. And now you have to pay the price. You sigh, closing your eyes and listening to your surroundings. The ring on your finger is a stark reminder of your defeat. Luckily, the war has only just begun. And this time, you'll play your cards a lot better.

[lalacliffthorne]

💜 starshine pt. VI 💜

Rhys x Reader

part I part II part III part IV part V part VI

summary: when after more than a century, things finally begin falling into place.

notes: I can't believe how long this took - both writing this next part and the actual things happening *facepalms*. and these twoooo 😭💕. I can't. they make me feel so mushy and happy and all giddy and warm. and all of you, loving this so much, make me feel even more mushy and happy and giddy, so thank you so much for staying with me on this!! if everything goes to plan, this is actually the second to last chapter, and we are, finally, getting somewhere ;)

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With a sharp inhale, my eyes snapped open, and my breath staggered.

The sheets were clinging to my skin, damp with cold sweat, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs. Blood rushed through my ears as my gaze darted over a high, dark ceiling, and for a second, panic and a dull pain rose in my chest, my body frozen still.

Then I realised that a weight was resting over my stomach and a scent was flooding my senses, so achingly familiar, my muscles melted.

Quickly, I turned my head, and my lungs squeezed.

In the silvery light of the moon shining through the windows, I could see Rhys' dark shape stretched out on the mattress next to me, the dips and planes of his muscular back rising and falling slowly with his even breaths. His head was resting on the pillow next to me, his face turned my way, brows smoothed over and eyes closed. His dark hair was unruly and tousled from sleep, the swirls of darkness stretching over his broad shoulders and down the arm that was loosely resting over my waist, his skin radiating warmth through my thin nightgown.

My heart soared before free falling, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, fighting against the echoes of screams and laughter in my ears, the feeling of cruel darkness and bound magic and hands slipping away into nothingness.

Suddenly, the air felt too stiffled, too stale, too reminiscent of the nightmare that had been reality.

Hastily, I slid out from under Rhys' arm, pushing the covers to the side and slipping off the mattress, my feet quick on the cool floorboards as I darted over to the huge windows soundlessly, tearing at them until they were wide open and a soft, cool breeze brushed over my skin.

My heart squeezed tightly, and I breathed in, quick and deep, the scent of sweet petals and night leaving an ache growing in my chest as my gaze darted over the garden below that was bathed in starlight, flowers glowing and faeries floating over the water reflecting the galaxies above.

My fingers curled around the window handle before loosening, and something in my chest quivered when I let my forehead sink against the cool wooden frame and squeezed my eyes shut.

I could still feel the heavyness on my chest, the ache pulsing under my ribs as images flashed before my eyes, and something closed around my throat.

Sliding my hand off the window, I looked over my shoulder towards the bed, and the ache in my chest soared at the dark shape still motionless on the mattress, breathing evenly.

Fighting against the sudden pressure in my throat, I moved, quickly slipping past the bed and out of the room.

The house was silent as I soundlessly hastened down the stairs, my long silk nightgown swishing around my ankles as I slipped past the table and opened one of the big windows leading out onto the terrace. The gentle night breeze whispered over my bare arms and shoulders, and I squeezed out into the night, the stone of the terrace cold under my feet before it was replaced by cool, soft grass as I hurried down the steps and through the high grass.

Faeries were swishing through the glowing flowers, darting towards me and showering me in golden dust, tittering softly and curiously before whizzing away again.

Slowly, my steps calmed, and I closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh air, feeling flowers and high grass brush my hands, a gentle, soothing warmth slowly spreading through me that seemed to stem from the earth itself.

Next to the pond that reflected the galaxies twinkling over the mountains, I let myself sink down into the soft grass, stretching out and staring up into the sky. My palms pressed against the earth, and I closed my eyes, focusing on the soft hum of energy that slowly travelled through me, golden light lazily flooding through my veines until my chest squeezed and my breath shuddered.

My heart tipped over; I opened my eyes, and movement at the edge of my field of vision made me turn my head.

Something rose and pulsed gently under my ribs when I saw the dark figure standing on the terrace.

Even from a distance, I caught the moment violet eyes clocked me by the pond, bare shoulders sinking a little, swishes of darkness whispering into nothingness as Rhys' gaze pierced mine. Then he moved, beginning to slowly walk down the steps.

Resting my cheek on the grass, I watched as he came towards me, movements smooth and elegant, his tousled hair black like ink in the night, violet eyes reflecting the silver and purple above. His pants were sitting low on his hips, and something twisted in my stomach at the sight of shifting muscles disappearing into black fabric.

The silk of his pants swished against my skin when Rhys crouched down and let himself plop down onto the ground next to me. Then his shoulder brushed against mine and he stretched out on the grass, one of his hands sliding up to rest on his stomach. His body dwarfed mine even shoulder to shoulder, my feet barely level with his shins, and I stared at the side of his face as his gaze dragged slowly over the night sky above. Something dipped and swerved, squeezed and fluttered in my chest as my eyes flickered over his nose and lips, the sharp line of his jaw and cheekbones, and suddenly, my breath hitched in my throat.

“What happened?”

Rhys' quiet voice, deep and a little raspy with sleep, tore me out of the pulsing feeling under my ribs, and when I blinked, he turned his head to look at me.

I tried to swallow against the flutter in my throat, the ache in my chest that staring at him had awakened. Rhys seemed to misinterpret my silence, one corner of his lips tipping up gently as his gaze slowly moved over my face.

“As far as I know, you don't usually wake up in the middle of the night to lay around on the cold ground.” There was a soft twinkle in his eyes, but it couldn't hide the barely there crease between his brows, and something dipped in my chest when my shoulder brushed his and I felt a clenching sensation in my chest that wasn´t mine.

I blinked again, and the soft ache under my ribs pulsed.

“I had a dream.”

Rhys' gaze moved over my face. Then his quiet voice vibrated through me, gentle and even.

“What kind of dream?”

Something closed around my throat like an iron fist, and I stared at him, feeling a weight settle on my chest and pressure rise in my throat and eyes.

“The mountain,”, I whispered.

Rhys blinked, and I could see the muscles in his shoulder shifting, growing still.

“It used to be worse.” I tried a lopsided smile, but it felt weak, and a little uneven. “But it still comes back, once in a while.”

Rhys stared at me. Then he mumbled softly: “What do you dream of?”

Something started skipping painfully under my ribs.

“I see the faeries.” My whispered words were barely audible as my gaze dragged over Rhys' face, trying to ingrain every angle into my memory as pressure began to rise in my throat. “All of them. Caught and chained, tortured and mutilated in the revel. And I can't help them. I'm caught in the crowd, and I try to move, but no matter how much I fight, it's like I'm watching from outside my own body. And their pain breaks me apart.” My voice was weak, the images rising in front of my eyes causing the ache in my chest to grow.

“And then I see you.” My whisper broke as the pressure in my throat became unbearable, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Rhys' face, even as my vision blurred and my lips quivered.

“And she's torturing you, and I can't move. I can't get to you. And I try to tell you, scream at you that I'll get you out, but I can't speak.” My breath trembled as the ache in my chest spread, taking over every inch of my body until my voice broke and I felt something hot run over my cheek.

“And then in that dream, I wake up, and I'm alone. Seeing you, finding you, never happened. And I can't feel you.” I inhaled quickly, hotly, my chin trembling. “You're gone.”

Through blurry eyes, I saw Rhys stare at me, still, frozen. Then a muscle in his cheek shifted, and he rolled onto his side; his warm, calloused hand slipped up my neck to cradle the side of my face, and Rhys leaned down to press his forehead against mine.

“I'm here.” His deep, husky voice travelled through me, vibrating with sorrow yet so steady and firm that my breath shuddered.

My eyes squeezed shut as the ache in my chest rose and overwhelmed me, and I twisted, wrapping my arms around Rhys' shoulders, clinging to him as I buried my face in the crook of his neck and felt hot tears roll over my cheeks, the ache in my chest pulsing.

“Look at you,”, Rhys mumbled hoarsely, his hands sliding over my waist as he slipped his arms around me, pulling me tightly into his chest. “Really thinking it'd be that easy to get rid of me.”

A wet laugh bubbled in my chest.

“Wouldn't it?”

“No.” Rhys' mumble was steady, if only a little rough when he dropped his nose into the crook of my neck, causing a gentle shiver to travel over my spine. “You know I'm too much of a selfish bastard for that.”

I inhaled shudderingly, feeling my lips rise weakly as I whispered into his skin: “No, you're not.”

“I am.” A calloused hand slid up over my back, the arms around my waist pulling me in tighter as Rhys curled around me and buried his nose at my shoulder, his low voice vibrating through me as he mumbled steadily: “Even if my soul was dragged from this world, I would still claw my way back to you.”

Something rose in my chest, wild and violent, and my eyes opened, a curtain of tears leaving the world blurry as Rhys' quiet voice washed through me.

“No one will ever keep me from you, take me away from you again. Wherever I go, it will only be with you.”

My heart soared before giving out, and I dug my fingers into his broad shoulders, feeling my leg slide over his waist as his tall body curved around mine.

“Sounds impractical,”, I whispered thickly, my breath hitching and causing my voice to break a little.

Rhys' lips curved against my skin.

“We'll make it work.” His quiet words vibrated through me, steady and soft. “I'll just have to follow you like I always have.”

My chest tightened harshly as warmth pulsed through me, and I whispered, soft and weak: “What if I go somewhere you can't follow?”

Rhys slid his arms closer around me, burying his nose against my skin as he mumbled back hoarsely: “There's no place in this world, or beyond, that you could go, where I wouldn't follow.” I could feel him swallow, then he added softly: “I'll always find a way to you.”

My heart tightened as my breath caught in my throat, and I clung tighter to him, feeling his body shielding mine as I curled into his chest and turned my head to bury my face in his neck, squeezing my eyes shut, my body shuddering with my exhale and the weight of tears pressing on my throat.

“Why?” The whispered words were trembling, thick, spilling past my lips before I could stop them, fueled by the ache rising under my ribs. But Rhys just swallowed, his deep voice soft in a hoarse mumble.

“You know why.”

My heart twisted and rose, higher and higher. My breath caught in my throat, and my lips quivered as I hastily burrowed my face in his neck and tried to breathe against the ache pulsing under my ribs.

The breeze whispered through the trees, faeries floating over the pond as the stars twinkled in the sky. Rhys held me until my lids were heavy, tears dried on my cheeks, my heart thrumming steadily against my ribs. Then he gathered me in his arms and moved to stand.

Something rose under my ribs, and when I pulled back just a little, my arms still slung around his neck, Rhys dropped his forehead against mine, his breath fanning over my skin as he turned.

My heart swelled in a flutter, and I clung to him, his arms holding me steady as Rhys started to walk back towards the house. I curled my arms around his shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling warmth pulse through me, strong, steady, Rhys' nose brushing my cheek when he pressed his forehead against my temple, carrying me up the stairs.

☆

I woke with the gentle morning breeze brushing over my skin, the scent of daybreak dew and fresh air filling my lungs, and my body buried in a warm chest, with the heavy weight of arms slung around me tightly and a scent in my nose that, even in the haze of sleep, made something tumble under my ribs.

My breath hitched softly, and I opened my eyes. My gaze focused on sunkissed golden skin and dark twisting tattoos over strong collarbones, and a muscled arm cushioning my head.

My heart toppled, and something in my stomach dipped.

You know why.

Rhys' hoarse voice echoed through my head, and suddenly, the flutter in my chest grew until there was a soft ache pulsing under my ribs.

Feeling a weight on my throat, I turned, sliding out of Rhys' arms as carefully as possible. My heart was thrumming against my ribs when I slipped out of the room, and trying to fight against the chaotic whirlwind in my head and chest, I moved down the stairs.

Golden morning light filtered through the windows facing the front garden, painting patterns onto the carpet and the books filling the shelves. I dragged open the window doors leading out onto to the terrace, breathing in deeply as my gaze moved over the garden dipped in the first golden sunrays, fairies whizzing through the air, carrying dew drops, giggling and tittering, and my heart skipped softly against my ribs.

Filling the kettle and putting it onto the stove, I pulled a pot from the cabinet, and a cup. Then, my hands no longer busy, I slowly turned, leaning back against the counter as my fingers flew over the cold marble, up to the ends of my hair before settling for fiddling with the thin strap of my nightgown as I stared into the garden, my heart pounding in my chest.

You know why.

Something in my stomach tumbled.

I did.

I had for a while now. Had felt the thought looming, bright and powerful somewhere beneath the surface. The beginnings of a realization, a vague shape, like an unspoken thought, a distant knowledge that I refused to grasp.

Because acknowledging it, just thinking it out loud would mean something so big, so terrifying it made something squeeze in my chest.

An explanation as to why Rhys had kept coming back to me. For the way he stared at me, the twinkle in those violet eyes, for that rising feeling in my chest I couldn't place and that radiated from him, for the closeness, the banter, the blatant flirting, the trust and the things he said, casually, easily, so so sure.

It made something rise in my chest.

There was something, a reason, a realization, just under the surface. And it terrified me.

Because what if I was wrong?

What if what Rhys was supposedly feeling was just fleeting, or not at all what I made it out to be?

What if what I was seeing was what I wanted to see – and not what was really there?

Something closed tightly around my chest as the flutter in my chest rose, soared higher and higher.

It would mean a broken heart.

My breath shuddered, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Gods, I'd been an idiot. Not realising, maybe refusing to see how my soul reacted to the male with the stars in his eyes, how my whole being seemed to respond to him.

I had fallen. Maybe slowly over the span of a century, maybe with a crash the first time I'd met him and felt him behind those walls.

Something squeezed under my ribs. It twisted before rippling away soundlessly, and a trembling breath left me as I opened my eyes and stared out into the garden, wide-eyed and utterly terrified.

I loved him.

Maybe, it had always been there, lurking under the surface, in the way my breath seemed to hitch whenever I stared at him and he smiled.

I loved him. Was in love with him. So fiercely, so deeply, so all-consuming that it made my chest thrum, caused my heart to twist and soar, until the feeling filled my body. Slowly, creepingly, it had taken up every part of my soul and my being. Had made him a part of me, his pain, his anger, his sorrow, his happiness, all mine in a way nothing had ever been before. Had made him beginning and end and everything in between.

I loved Rhys.

“Shit,”, I whispered softly.

There was a low, deep chuckle behind me; and I jumped and whirled around.

Rhys crunched his brows against the light, purple eyes tired and twinkling, his voice, rough with sleep, vibrating through me when he mumbled with a smirk: “Ouch. Not usually the way I'm greeted.”

My fingers dug into the counter as I stared at him in shock, trying to breathe, my eyes wide and my heart pounding against my ribs. There was a pillow crease on his cheek, which I hadn´t thought physically possible, his hair was tousled and muscles were shifting under his bare skin as he moved past the table and rubbed his eyes.

Suddenly, heat was washing over me, and I tried to tear my gaze away, pull myself together. But my body refused to listen, stayed frozen in the spot as I stared at him wide-eyed, my breath hitching harshly, and Rhys slowed to a stop. His gaze flickered over my face, and a soft crease formed between his brows.

“Darling?”

Maybe my shields had never been any good, and he'd been able to sneak past them all this time. Or maybe, the feelings whirling in my chest, the chaos and panic in my mind, were simply too loud, too strong, bursting through me, echoing outwards at a volume that meant he didn't even need to be in my mind to hear them.

Either way, Rhys stilled. Became frozen in the spot as he stared at me. Then he blinked, and his eyes shifted.

Turned swirling and bright like the galaxies in the night sky as the crease between his brows melted away into nothingness and he exhaled like he'd been waiting for a century.

“All this time.” His soft voice was hoarse as his gaze dragged over my face, slightly feverish, drinking me in. “And you still didn't see.”

My heart dropped and I could feel my lips part – then something in my chest shifted, and soundlessly, a wall crumbled.

A barrier of the mind, built around the male a few feet away, slowly collapsing into itself.

My heart caught in my throat, and my eyes darted up and widened as something in my chest rose.

I could feel everything.

Emotions so strong, they took my breath. Twined together so firmly, they were barely discernable; desperation, relief, adoration, want and need, twisting together into something hot and rising, growing into something all consuming.

I'd always felt Rhys, but never like this; had never felt his emotions, so deep and powerful and clear that they turned my doubts and fears to stardust, the ache in my chest blowing away into the sky, until my breath shuddered and my heart settled.

I inhaled softly, feeling my lips part as the emotions that weren't my own pulsed in my chest, steady, firm, unrestrained. Then I raised my head, and Rhys swallowed, his iris a night sky as his gaze dragged over mine, deep and feverish and swallowing me whole as he mumbled hoarsely: “There it is.”

A soft, breathy giggle bubbled in my throat as I stared at him, feeling pressure building in my throat and a flutter rising in my chest, growing with every second.

My fingers shook a little as I took a hesitant step forward, followed by another, and another, my eyes darting over Rhys' face, my heart swelling. He had grown completely still, like the smallest move could scare me away, like there wasn't something pounding against my ribs and swelling in my throat, causing tears to rise into my eyes as I lifted a hand and placed my palm on his chest.

The feeling of Rhys´ warm skin sent a shiver down my skin, just like the quick, racing beat of his heart as I stared up at him, feeling my bottom lip wobble a little even as I started to smile, slow and beaming. Then I opened myself and the whirlwind under my ribs.

Rhys' eyes widened.

A shuddering breath ran through him, and his hand flew up to cover mine, fingers curling around mine, holding on almost desperately, like he was afraid I'd pull away, break the thrum of emotion flooding through me into his body. Then a soft sound broke from his chest, and Rhys moved, forward and forward until my arm was trapped between us and the whole of his body pressed against mine, his free hand sliding up to cradle my face, and my heart caught in my throat when he dropped his head to press his forehead against mine.

The flutter in my chest rose, and I quickly squeezed my eyes shut and breathed out shakingly.

Rhys made a soft, hoarse sound deep in his throat, his hand slipping down the side of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair as he pressed closer, and my heart shuddered. I could feel his body towering over mine, the way the muscles in his biceps shifted when his fingers slid closer around my hand, his warm chest pressing against mine -

Heat twinged low in my stomach, and my fingers curled against his chest.

A gentle shudder ran over Rhys' warm skin, and my breath hitched when he dipped his head to the side, his nose brushing against mine.

My heart rose into my throat, and I swallowed, my hand uncurling slowly as I slid my palm down his chest. I could feel his muscles tensing under my touch as a shiver ran over his skin, his fingers twisting into my hair, and a tingle travelled down my spine when Rhys slowly nudged his nose against mine.

Something dropped very low in my stomach, heat rising up my body.

I swallowed, my free hand rising to cling to Rhys' side, and when I pulled my head back a little, just enough to look at him, his breath grazing my skin, my heart rose.

Rhys' eyes were glazed over with a heat that made something twist in my stomach. His iris was hazy and a few shades darker under heavy lids, a muscle in his jaw shifting and throat working, and his gaze was molten where it was glued to my lips.

My breath caught in my throat.

Even when Rhys had stared for too long before, something heated in his eyes, it had always been brimming under the surface, never quite so obvious.

Now, nothing was hidden. His breath was uneven, his lips parted and throat working, and his eyes, heavy lidded and dark, were swirling, feverish, wanting -

Rhys' fingers curled into my hair, and my body shuddered, something whirling and rising under my ribs as I dug my fingers into his skin and raised my chin without having control over it, Rhys' hot breath grazing over my skin when my nose nudged against his.

A deep sound rose in Rhys' chest, his eyes shifting into something even deeper and darker, and his hand slid into my hair when he dipped his head, his nose brushing against the side of mine, tantalizingly slow. Something clenched harshly in my stomach when I felt his hot breath grazing my lips, and a tingling shiver ran down my spine when I sank back down onto my heels and Rhys followed me, calloused hands pulling me closer and head dipping to -

"Hello?", a melodious, happy voice chirped from the terrace, and my heart jumped; my eyes flew open as I lightly pushed at Rhys' chest and whirled around, and Mor walked through the open window doors.

"Anyone he-", her gaze met mine, and she slowed to a stop, one corner of her lips quirking cheekily.

"Am I interrupting?"

My heart missed a beat, and I hastily looked back over my shoulder, only to find Rhys' eyes on me like maybe, they had never left. There was a twinkle slowly spreading through his iris, and my heart rose in a flutter, because something had changed, obviously, something in that thrum against my ribs, and yet -

I narrowed my eyes in a soft glower, and Rhys slowly started to smile, lazy and brilliant.

"What are you doing here, Morrigan?" His deep voice rumbled through me even with him a foot away, his twinkling eyes never leaving my face.

Mor crunched her brows, seeming completely unbothered as she turned in a circle with a flourish.

"Well, you hadn't even told us this place existed until yesterday, and -", she looked over her shoulder, smiling brightly, "I was curious." Her twinkling amber eyes found mine, and her smile softened, though the light in her eyes seemed to brighten. "It's beautiful."

Something rose under my chest as my gaze flickered towards the garden without me being able to help it, my breath catching in my throat. "It is."

I could feel the weight of eyes on me, a tingle travelling over the side of my face, and I blinked, clearing my throat and grinning sheepishly at Mor. "Sorry, didn't really expect anyone -"

"Obviously." Mor's lips twitched into a smirk as her eyes moved from Rhys, lounging against the counter in only pyjama pants and staring at me, towards my long nightgown, and I winced and quickly crossed my bare arms in front of my chest, feeling heat rising in my cheeks as I crunched my nose.

"You want some tea?"

"You know, actually,", Mor turned fully towards me and raised her brows, "I also came here because I thought it could be fun if I showed you the city today?" Her lips twitched, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Have some one on one time, if Rhys isn't too bothered by that." She winked at me.

"Why would I be bothered?" Rhys' eyes stayed on my face, one corner of his lips curving upwards.

"Well, you did keep her from us for more than a century, without telling us about her even once; which, by the way, is ridiculous." Mor's lips curved. "It's almost like you were afraid we'd steal her away from you or something -"

"Can we get breakfast?", I quickly interrupted, because Rhys' eyes had started to twinkle in a way that made shivers dance down my spine and something twitch in my stomach.

Mor turned her gaze away from Rhys, her knowing smirk bleeding into a genuine, beaming smile when she widened her eyes.

"Obviously! I'll show you all the good places, and more; do you have your dress yet?"

I blinked, then I turned my head towards her and crunched my brows.

"What dress?"

Mor parted her lips. Then she sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes, turning towards her cousin with an exasperated look.

"Rhys, you prat; you haven't told her?"

Rhys stared at me, his violet eyes twinkling when he said, deep voice absentminded: "Was busy."

Mor huffed, her lips quirking. "I bet you were."

Rhys just lightly rolled his eyes, and I quickly mouthed prat?, causing him to glare softly at me.

Don´t you dare.

Feeling a slow, beaming smile take over my face, I widened my eyes and mouthed prat, and Rhys huffed, his lips curving until a wide grin made his cheeks crease.

Mor cleared her throat, and I quickly tore my eyes away from Rhys' face, feeling heat bleed into my cheeks when my gaze met Morrigan's, her eyes twinkling knowingly.

"Haven't told me what?", I said quickly, bouncing on the balls of my feet lightly and fighting against the blush growing on my face.

Mor sighed, but her lips curved as she raised her brows. "Summer Solstice."

My heart rose in a flutter, and my gaze darted towards Rhys as my lips parted.

"You - you celebrate that here?"

"Well, not on a huge scale like Summer and Day,", Mor waved her hand dismissingly, "but Rhys has started throwing a party every year still, because, well -", she smirked, "any excuse for a party is a good one."

Rhys' lips curved softly as his eyes pierced mine, a twinkle in their violet depths that made my breath hitch.

"Anyway, he holds it at the River House -"

I blinked before raising my brows.

"Another house?" I felt my eyes widen slightly as my head whipped around and I stared at Mor before quickly looking back at Rhys in disbelief, but he just shrugged, his smirk feline.

"Anyway, when we started doing the celebration, we decided to hold it there because the garden is just beautiful this time of year, though,", Mor turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes almost wistful, "definitely not as beautiful as this one."

My breath hitched as my gaze followed hers, and something fluttered against my ribs.

"The longest day of the year."

Rhys' voice made my heart dip, quiet like only I was meant to hear, and I blinked before tearing my eyes away from the garden, something rising in my chest when I found his twinkling eyes on my face.

"I know." I felt my lips curve softly even as I suppressed the urge to swallow, my eyes moving over his face. "The fairies dance through it; all night long."

Rhys' gaze pierced mine, deep, twinkling, like maybe, he could see the memories of midsummer nights in a wild garden and a dress whirling around my ankles.

"Maybe they'll dance with us if you're there."

I stared at him, and my heart began to slowly flutter against my ribs, more wildly with every second as I started to smile slowly.

"Is that your way of asking if I'll come?"

Rhys stared at me, something swirling in his eyes when he mumbled, slow, deep, steady: "Will you come?"

My breath caught in my throat, and I blinked. Then I widened my eyes and whispered cheekily: "I don't think I have a dress."

Rhys' gaze heated. But before he could open his mouth, Mor chimed in, beaming happily.

"We can get you one! Today; I mean, it is in two days, but I'll take you to the best dressmaker of the city, you'll love it; and she'll have it done in time!"

I felt my lips part quickly, but before I could even make a sound, there was a soft huff; a familiar scent washed over me, and fingers slipped under my chin, closing my mouth again.

"Don't even think about it."

My heart jumped and my eyes darted up, and Rhys' lips curved.

I huffed and twisted my neck to get a better look at him, feeling my brows crunch in protest, but Rhys just sent me a wink. "You know arguing is pointless. I´ll get you a dress one way or the other."

Glowering up at him even as something jumped high in my chest, I narrowed my eyes even further when he smirked and dipped his head to mumble: "Just say thank you."

His warm breath brushed over my nose, and my heart dipped.

Staring up at him, I scowled gently. Then I turned my head and sent Mor a brilliant, cheeky smile. "Thank you, Mor."

Rhys huffed, sending me a glare, and Mor smirked and winked.

"My pleasure." She raised her brows and clapped her hands. "Alright, let's go! Though you,", her lips quirked, "might want to change first."

When I moved back down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed and tying off my braid, Mor was crouched in the middle of the garden, watching the faeries that seemed a little weary but curious when she beamed at them.

"You know she's going to put you through trying on dozens of dresses?"

My heart skipped, and my gaze darted towards where Rhys was leaning against the counter, a steaming cup of tea in his hand and one corner of his lips curving as his eyes raked over my face.

"So?" I felt my lips quirk.

Rhys' iris twinkled.

"A lot of it will be Night Court fashion." His gaze dragged slowly over my body, one corner of his lips curving into a slow, lazy smirk. "It usually means little fabric."

I stared at him as heat pooled low in my stomach, and suddenly, something started fluttering against my ribs violently.

Slowly, I began to walk backwards towards the terrace, sending him a growing, mischievous smile.

"You know, if you want to see me scantily clad, you just have to ask."

Rhys' gaze darted up, his gaze narrowing in and growing dark and heated, and feeling my heart catch in my throat, I smiled beamingly and turned around with a breathed laugh, hopping out onto the terrace to meet Mor at the foot of the steps.

☆

Feeling a breeze brush some hair into my face, I breathed out softly, the warmth of sunlight dappled over my face making my lips curve without my doing.

"So..."

I blinked before opening my eyes and lowering my head, and Mor crunched her nose, looking at me curiously. "What's so special about Summer Solstice?"

We were sitting on the steps of a fountain, the water splashing and bubbling in our backs, a thin paper bag between us on the grey cobblestone, smelling of the buttery pastry I had bought in a shop in one of the countless alleys.

Mor had kept her promise, taking me for breakfast in a small café right at the Sidra. Then she had pulled me into the maze of alleys, streets and squares.

First, she'd taken me to the workshop of her favorite dressmaker, located in a beautiful townhouse in the Rainbow, the artist's district. It belonged to tall, slim High Fae who was clearly familiar with Morrigan, and who had, very happily, pulled all the stops when Mor had winked at her.

Mor had made me try different silhouettes, and I had wandered the aisles and aisles with fabrics, my breath catching at the colors and stitchings. We'd agreed after a while, and when we had left the shop, there'd been a rough sketch and fabric sitting on the dressmaker's desk and my heart had been beating against my throat.

Now, the afternoon sun was shining in the sky over the small park that stretched over a little hill surrounded by tall sandstone buildings, their roofs glittering in the light. Trees rose into the sky, offering shade, sunlight was dappled in swaying patterns onto the grass and the cool stone of the fountain where we had decided to take a little break, and my feet were aching and my heart was full.

I needed a second to tear my eyes away from the sight of the city stretched out before the mountains. Then I blinked and crunched my brows, looking over at her.

"What do you mean?"

One corner of Mor's lips curved gently. "You just... you looked so surprised."

I felt my heart rise in a soft flutter against my ribs, and I hesitated for a second, then I turned my head and gently narrowed my eyes at her curiously.

"How long have you been... celebrating it like this?"

Mor furrowed her brows, shrugging softly as she plucked a piece off her pastry.

"Not long actually. I think Rhys decided to make it a new tradition not quite a century ago, fairly out of,", she blinked, her words slowing as her eyes suddenly began to twinkle softly, "thin air..."

I stared at her, a quick flutter beginning to build in my chest.

"What does it mean to you again?" Mor stared at me, her lips curving.

"It's..." I swallowed softly. "It's a celebration. Held by the fairies, every Summer Solstice. They gather and dance, from evening until deep into the night. All of them, sprites, pixies, nymphs, wraiths, all coming together, celebrating light and life and -" My breath hitched. "Magic."

Mor's warm eyes were glittering.

"You think he -" My voice broke off, my breath catching in my throat.

"Started celebrating it here because of you?" Mor's lips tipped upwards, and she blinked and raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling in the light. "That does sound awfully like him."

Feeling my heart pounding against my ribs, I stared at her, something suddenly tingling in my stomach.

Mor's smile widened a little. Then she blinked.

"You know, he never told us about you." She raised a brow, her iris sparkling. "Not once."

I huffed gently.

"I know." Shaking my head softly, I turned my head, crunching my brows gently as I blinked into the sunlight. "He told me about that, after I got mad because he turned up, winnowing in even though he was badly wounded and exhausted,", a breath left me, "idiot."

Mor giggled, and I felt my lips curve.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mor's gaze flicker over my face, warm and bright. Her throat worked. Then she whispered softly: "Thank you."

I blinked. Something in my chest rose and tightened as my gaze darted towards her, and Mor breathed out, her smile a little uneven when she stared back at me.

"I've known Rhys practically my whole life." She furrowed her brows gently, her eyes swimming with emotion. "He's always carried - a lot of weight on his shoulders, and it just got more when he became High Lord. He always took on everything, had to be strong, for everyone. He lets us know when things are heavy, but - he never fully lets us in." She huffed. "He doesn't want to burden us." Shaking her head gently, she hesitated before looking over at me, one corner of her lips rising gently.

"But then he started disappearing, just for a few hours, sometimes more, sometimes less. He never told us where he was going;", she raised her brows, "I always assumed he was just - taking a breather somewhere, taking some time by himself. But whenever he got back, he had that light in his eyes." Her iris started to twinkle as she stared at me.

"That was you." She blinked, her voice a little hoarse when she whispered: "You saved him. Because you saw something in him he lost the ability to see. And because when you showed him that, he believed you. Because he saw something in you too. That same thing that makes him stare at you like you put the stars into the sky." She swallowed gently, and her eyes flickered over my face. "It's like with you, he can just be."

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at her, something suddenly tight in my chest.

"He told you all of that?", I whispered.

Mor's lips quirked gently.

"Not everything. But enough." Her gaze flickered over my face. "He told us about you only after he came back from -" She broke off, her eyes welling with grief. Then she looked back up at me, her iris shimmering as she raised a corner of her lips.

"He was - a wreck, when he got here. But you - you kept him afloat. He was waiting for you. It felt like he was holding his breath. And then you turned up and..." She breathed a brilliant smile. "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

My heart rose against my ribs, and Mor sniffled and beamed. "It's like he's come back to life, in a way he's never been before. Like something has - settled, fallen into place."

Something welled over in my chest, and I turned my gaze ahead, fighting to swallow against the pressure in my throat as I stared down the hill and over the roofs of the city, glittering in the sun, trees swaying gently in the breeze.

"Yeah,", I whispered.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mor's gaze move over my face, bright and warm. Then she turned back ahead as well, and together, we stared over the city.

"It's beautiful,", I mumbled softly.

Mor´s lips curved upwards, her voice a little hoarse when she mumbled back: "It's the Court of Dreams."

☆

The sun was disappearing beyond the mountains, painting the skies pink and violet, the first stars twinkling high above when I slipped through the gate and breathed in the scent of flowers and grass and warm evening air.

Mor had dropped me off at the winding street before winnowing away, though not before pulling me into a hug so tight, my ribs had cracked, but I had just squeezed her back, feeling the scent of her perfume rising into my nose and her hair tickling my skin.

Slowly making my way around the house, I inhaled deeply, feeling warmth spread through my chest when I saw fairies whizzing through the air over the pond, giggling and chasing each other.

"You took your time."

My heart rose against my ribs, and Rhys, lounging on the steps leading up to the terrace, watched me, his violet eyes reflecting the stars blinking in the sky when he lightly raised a brow. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me, leaving me here all by myself -"

A soft snorted laugh built in my chest, and I sent him a cheeky grin. "I'm sure you were perfectly fine entertaining yourself for once."

"I wasn't. I got so bored I actually went to do some work."

Giggling softly, I gently kicked his leg before plopping down next to him, breathing in deeply. His scent rose into my lungs, and my heart missed a beat.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys' twinkling iris flicker over my face. "Did Mor drag you from shop to shop until you fainted from exhaustion?"

I crunched my brows and looked over at him. "Why, do you think I look the part?"

Rhys' lips curved.

"Did you find a dress?" His gaze drank me in as a crease formed in his cheek, and I stared back, my breath catching and my heart thrumming against my ribs.

"Yeah." My voice was a little soft, a little breathless as I tried not to stare at the curve of Rhys' lips and the small dip in his cheek, his skin glowing in the sunset.

"And?" His voice trickled over me, slow, deep, matching the volume of mine as his gaze dragged over my face, heated, swirling.

I felt my lips tick up as I shrugged one shoulder gently, innocently. "And what?"

Rhys stared at me, his arm brushing against my back, sending tingling shivers down my body, and slowly, one corner of his lips curved. "Where is it?"

I huffed softly. "Not yet made."

"Shame." Rhys' eyes were twinkling. "You could let me take a peak."

I widened my eyes and whispered with a bright, cheeky smile: "Where's the fun in that?"

Rhys slowly started to smile brilliantly, his eyes crinkling, and my breath caught in my throat.

For a second, we stared at each other, something trumming in my chest and twisting in my stomach, then Rhys blinked, his eyes never leaving mine as he mumbled: "I think I might have to take the couch tonight."

I could feel my brows crunch in confusion. "Why?"

A deep crease formed in Rhys' cheek, his iris twinkling as his gaze dragged over my face. "Because I'm not sure I would be able to control myself if I saw you in that flimsy nightgown again."

My heart dipped, and suddenly, something hot trickled down my spine.

"I could leave it off."

Rhys' iris hazed over, a rough sound breaking from his throat, and I hastily bit onto the inside of my cheek as a laugh bubbled in my chest, mixing with a rising, fluttering feeling.

"Beast,", Rhys mumbled, his husky voice leaving something twisting down in my stomach.

I shrugged, feeling my lips curve as I turned my gaze back towards the garden. "I mean, if you can't handle it -"

Rhys' gaze narrowed in on my face, became deep and twinkling, and something toppled in my chest as I nearly bit down onto my lip, wondering what on earth I had been thinking.

Swallowing it down, I looked over my shoulder, and Rhys stared at me, gaze molten and dark as slowly, a slight smirk made his lips curve, playful and mischievous.

"Is that a challenge, darling?"

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart swerved sharply.

I blinked, then I shrugged softly, smiling back cheekily. "I don't know, is it?"

Rhys breathed a deep chuckle and leaned forward, and I felt myself freeze when his warm breath brushed over my lips. Then he gently nudged his nose against the side of mine and mumbled, his lips almost brushing my cheek: "Careful." He pulled back just enough to stare at me, his violet iris reflecting the sky as they dragged over mine, twinkling. "I don't lose."

"First time for everything,", I whispered back breathily, feeling my heart rise into my throat, and Rhys slowly started to smile.

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