#proximity fly

[powdermelonkeg]

Archwizard Gale lore???

Okay, SO! My personal headcanons for Gale's powers, both as archwizard and Chosen of Mystra, are based upon the following:

D&D makes a distinction between "archmage" and "archwizard," with the former being a spellcaster dedicated to the arcane arts and either: the counsel of royalty, a lich tyrant, or a reclusive hermit, all with multiple apprentices, and the latter being "an arcane spellcaster of extremely high power who successfully claimed a floating enclave," that specification coming from the time of Netheril.

Gale is NOT royal counsel, NOT pursuing lichdom, NOT a hermit (willingly), does NOT have apprentices when he first makes the claim, and does NOT have a floating enclave.

Despite these, he still claims "archwizard" as a title. This is significant, especially from Waterdeep, where the most powerful wizards in the world gather, including Laeral Silverhand (another of Mystra's Chosen, immortal to a degree, and Open Lord of Waterdeep) and Vajra Safahr (current Blackstaff and Archmage of Waterdeep).

Bonus points for his significance, he is Gale of Waterdeep. His personally chosen moniker marks him as outstanding among Waterdhavians. There might be a handful of people named Gale in Waterdeep, but there is only one Gale of Waterdeep. This is further backed up by Lorroakan recognizing him, with his only reason for Gale being lesser than someone who supposedly figured out immortality being that Gale was Mystra's discarded lapdog.

Gale is skilled in all manner of magic. This is confirmed directly in his epilogue, where you can question him about his choice teaching the School of Illusion, and he says that he wanted to teach ALL the classes there, but the staff told him no. That includes schools you wouldn't normally associate with him, like Divination and Necromancy.

Based on all of that, I've decided that "archwizard," as Gale means it, is a term referring to a wizard who's multiclassed into all their subclasses.

Does this make him overpowered? Yes. But he's an archwizard, prodigy, and Chosen, he's MEANT to be within the bounds of his own lore.

In addition, I also believe him to be an untrained Storm Sorcerer, based upon the following:

Sorcerers and wizards differ in that sorcerers know magic intrinsically, while wizards study it to use it.

When talking to Halsin as Origin Gale, you can tell him that as a baby, you summoned a whole pack of rabbits. Presumably, baby Gale was NOT reading and comprehending arcane textbooks.

Gale has an intrinsic understanding of the Weave, by his own admission, saying he could compose it rather than just control it. He was also casting third level spells like Fireball at eight years old.

Gale's theme is all about storms: his name is Gale, he occasionally says "A rough tempest I will raise" in combat, almost all his official art has him controlling lightning, and his robe is thunder purple. This continues into God!Gale's design, where he has literal glowing lightning bolts framing his eyes, and his outfit is lightning blue.

K'ha'ssji'trach'ash: On his own, the mephit is pretty self-contained; it's a magma mephit capable of revealing the true form of a True Ressurection scroll. However, the key to getting him to do this is to respond to the question "what is my name" in Ignan with the correct answer. After which, K'ha'ssji'trach'ash says "T'i n'uthrantha m'ahthra Gale." We don't know what this means, but it's clear that he's talking to us, about Gale, possibly thanking us or asking us to pass a message along. This implies that he doesn't speak Common, or else he would, because we answered correctly. Why do I bring this up? Storm Sorcerers have an innate ability called Wind Speaker, which allows them to speak Primordial (including Aquan, Auran, Ignan, and Terran). Thus, Gale can speak to/understand K'ha'ssji'trach'ash, despite his known/studied languages being Common, Celestial, Giant, and Draconic.

Because he's untrained, and rather than Storm Sorcery being just a Lv1 flavor bit that does little, I've decided that Gale has access to the class features of Storm Sorcery without access to its spell slots or Metamagic, that way it's reflective of his power without training.

With both of these conclusions, both archwizard and sorcerer, I've decided to pick and choose which class features are from which iteration of both classes, because BG3 and official D&D have a few key differences that were mostly changed for gameplay reasons. I've then taken those and added more flavor to them, based on the already-given flavor of D&D and effects of BG3, doing away with the mechanical side of things for storytelling reasons.

On top of this, because the maximum level you can reach in BG3 is Lv12, and we know that the Orb consumes "the greatest of [his] talents," I've decided that the Orb consumes any ability beyond Lv12 until its removal.

That being said, beyond whatever spells and slots you care to give him, the powers I think Gale has pre-tadpole are:

Abjuration

Arcane Ward: When Gale casts Abjuration spells, residual magic shields him from the worst of incoming hits

Projected Ward: Gale can extend Arcane Ward to someone nearby instead of himself

Improved Abjuration: On short rest, Gale can strengthen Arcane Ward to sustain itself beyond a single hit

Evocation

Sculpt Spells: Gale can control his Evocation spells and keep them from harming allies

Potent Cantrip: Gale can force enemies that resist his cantrips to take half damage from them anyways

Empowered Evocation: Gale's Evocation spells are particularly deadly (based on +INT modifier to damage rolls)

Necromancy

Grim Harvest: Gale can harness the power released when a spell kills a creature to heal himself, UNLESS it's undead or a construct

Undead Thralls: Animate Dead: Gale can reanimate a corpse

UT: Additional Undead: Gale can efficiently harness the power it would take to reanimate one corpse to reanimate two corpses with Animate Dead

UT: Better Summons: Gale's reanimated dead can take more of a beating than others' dead

Inured to Undeath: Gale's been exposed to necromancy enough that he's resistant to necrotic damage, and his life force capacity can't be reduced (this one in particular helps with the "Netherese bile" flowing through his veins)

Conjuration

Create Water: Gale can call forth rain at will (BG3's feature over D&D's to align more with storm sorcery)

Benign Transposition: Teleport: Gale can teleport up to 30ft, and can use that to swap places with an ally

Focused Conjuration: Gale's concentration on conjuration spells can't break due to pain

Enchantment

Hypnotic Gaze: So long as Gale holds eye contact with someone, he can charm them into stopping everything they're doing and staring at him in a daze

Instinctive Charm: Reflexively, Gale can make a split-second charm attempt to redirect an attack at someone directly nearby

Split Enchantment: Gale can efficiently harness the power it would take to enchant one person and instead enchant two targets at once

Divination

Portent: Gale can focus and gain split-second glimpses into the immediate future (such as the next blow about to be thrown in a fight)

Expert Divination: Casting divination comes naturally enough to Gale that he can cast divination spells using a lower spell slot

Third Eye: Gale can increase his powers of perception and gain a very limited Darkvision/Ethereal vision at will, as well as read any language

Illusion

Improved Minor Illusion: Gale can cast illusory effects with incredible ease

See Invisibility: Gale's experience with illusions lets him detect invisibility spells at work, focus on them, and see through them

Illusory Self: Gale can create an identical double of himself reflexively to confuse opponents

Transmutation

Experimental Alchemy: Using transmutation magic, Gale can more efficiently refine potion ingredients, occasionally enough to create a second potion

Transmuter's Stone: Gale can lock some of his transmutation magic into a stone, granting whoever holds it an effect of his choice from the following: Constitution proficiency, Darkvision, extra speed, resistance to acid/cold/fire/lightning/thunder damage

Shapechanger: Gale can polymorph himself once a day without consuming a spell slot (only into beasts with a CR of 1 or less)

Storm Sorcery

Wind Speaker: Gale can speak, read, and write Primordial (Aquan, Auran, Ignan, and Terran)

Tempestuous Magic: Gale can summon gusts of wind around him immediately after casting a spell greater than a cantrip. These winds are strong enough to propel him in flight for ten feet

Heart of the Storm: Gale has resistance to lightning and thunder damage. In addition, whenever he casts a spell that deals lightning or thunder damage, the magic that erupts is stormy and more powerful than other kinds of magic at equal level

Storm Guide: Gale can subtly control the weather around him, causing rain to stop falling in a 20 foot sphere centered on him, or wind to blow in a different direction in a 100 foot sphere centered on him

Feats

These are based on what I, personally, think make the most sense for him pre-tadpole:

Ability Increase: +2 to INT score

Elemental Adept: Thunder: Spells/attacks ignore resistance to thunder, and when a spell he casts causes thunder damage, it can't critically fail

Elemental Adept: Lightning: Spells/attacks ignore resistance to lightning, and when a spell he casts causes lightning damage, it can't critically fail

Okay, so Gale's crazy powerful, right? What could he have possibly lost that's greater than all this?

Well...

Abjuration: Spell Resistance: Gale was in tune enough with the Weave that he could resist spells (as well as gaining advantage on saving throws against them)

Evocation: Overchannel: Gale could deal maximum damage on a 1-5 level spell without ill effect on first cast, but suffered unresisted necrotic damage when using it again

Necromancy: Command Undead: Gale could bring undead made by other wizards under his control

Conjuration: Durable Summons: Gale could give anything he summoned a temporary shield against damage (30 temp HP)

Enchantment: Alter Memories: Gale could make someone unaware they were charmed by him, as well as make them forget something that happened during that charmed period

Divination: Greater Portent: Gale used to be able to predict more split second decisions ahead with ease

Illusion: Illusory Reality: Gale used to be able to pull shadow magic together into illusions and make them, temporarily, real. He can still do a limited version of this, but only via concentration to keep the threads together (hence the "anatomically correct" illusory wizard in the Drow twins scene; shadow magic is NOT the same as the Shadow Weave)

Transmutation: Master Transmuter: Gale could consume magic stored in his transmuter's stone in one go, using it to transmute one object into another, remove curses, diseases, and poisons, raise the dead, or reduce a creature's apparent age by up to 30 years

Storm Sorcery: Storm's Fury: Gale could react with lightning damage when struck physically Wind Soul: Gale was immune to lightning and thunder damage, could fly at a speed of 60 feet, and could reduce his flying speed to 30 feet for 1 hour to make four additional people fly

Yeah. Ouch. And that's not even including his former Chosen abilities.

Gale's Chosen abilities

Silver Fire: Gale could command pure energy of the Weave in the form of silver-white flame, which, at his command, could destroy anything in its path, banish dead magic areas, restore torn Weave, purge external magic and psionic effects from his own body, teleport without error to the last location he used the ability at, or cast spells without verbal, somatic, or material components

Mantle: Gale could cast the dangerous Mantle spell without suffering any ill effects, while other wizards casting the spell would suffer a drain of life force as long as it persisted

Weave Detection: Gale could detect magic's presence without the use of a spell

Weave Tapping: Gale could cast high level spells repeatedly without losing a spell slot, although this was discouraged by Mystra

On the page for Mystra's Chosen abilities, it says that sometimes her Chosen gained an immunity to magic, as well as disease and poison. I don't think Gale was so lucky, however; in the House of Healing, he mentions that he once turned himself in to a hospice in Waterdeep for a "bout of ruddy pox." Him having turned himself in implies he was an adult at the time, and should, therefore, already be Mystra's Chosen.

All that to say: behold, Gale of Waterdeep, in his original splendor. How the mighty have fallen.

[pankiepoo]

Not sure if someone has asked this but what do you think of poly bright lights!?

awesome but you guys gotta change the name cuz im gonna start assuming all of the bright lights is one big polycule

[ef-1]

girlhood

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

there's something so soothing about holding a weapon when you're Nervous. me and this solid metal fire poker have bonded for life

[weirdstrangeandawful]

turns out you can dislocate* metacarpal bones…

yes, I found out the hard way

[ao3littlelesshuman]

I know the part of the old vlog.

But WHY do three men sit together completely naked im their studio?

What did they wanna do?

I mean realistically, not what would they do in a fanfiction.

I try not to talk about what I do for a living on this blog but it suffices to say there are BOOKS UPON BOOKS of gender and sexuality experts speculating about why straight men are constantly getting naked with the homies, fascinating stuff

[dionysus-complex]

feeling so much affection for New Mexico right now

[bleaksqueak]

I would read an entire book about the magic system and study in Solivaga… i love intense worldbuilding. Do sigils retain/transmit energy or intent through a shape or letter system? Neither, and simply have to be unique and enchanted by the Magi making the sigil?? Or is that more the concept behind Loci… Maia can use sigils, but cannot make her own? Does the attunement of the caster affect the sigil?

None of these are specific questions, I just love the amount of detail in everything. (But if you want to answer anything… I would not stop you 👀

On the other hand if you’ve answered any of this before ignore me)

So I've been wanting to answer this one since the day you sent it, but between my backwards sleep schedule and being busy, I just hadn't had a moment to or the brain power to... yet, today I am here. Sigils absolutely retain the energy and intent spent to make them. You might notice in Chapter 2 when Prof. GB gifts Maia the imbued sigil, even when dormant, it's radiating *her* aetheric signature's color and energy. When activated, the Trapper's Thrall retains the aetheric signature of the magi who originally cast it. Maia remarks later that it's always ever been borrowed magic-- because, to her, especially, it has. She's never seen her own magic's signature, but she's seen, through these pre-cast imbues, the magic of others. Madame Zoe, the owner of the Apothecary (and knickknacks) shop that Maia works at, sells imbued sigils that she (and Maia's coworker, who we'll meet in another chapter) make. There's other shops around town where they can be purchased, including specialty shops that sell them for convenience, younger/elderly magi, and as general disability aids for those who need them. Their most common usage is simply that of convenience-- a sigil cast has already had that aether spent, stored, and replenished for the magi who made it, saving the need to expend further aether in the now for someone who needs to catch some pests or who wants to have their floors swept up and cleaned. Cooling down, heating up, a spare light, pain relief-- even party tricks, ready made sigils are great usage for convenience. As for how they're made-- The spells all have a precise shape language that builds their foundation. The trapper's thrall I did three stages for in chapter 2 -- the precise geometric perfection of the spell in its official state, I did Madame Zoe's handwritten version, and then I did Prof. Gwennebat's.

You can see them here... the slight differences between the two quickly hand written ones, and the perfected model. The spell in its entirety is written in the sigil itself, and the more complex the spell, the more dynamic the working parts of the geometric language that comprises it. Madame Zoe is older and never became an eidolon, but her work is enough to catch some Mice or Gallynappers (you know, crane flies!) like Maia said. Gwennebat is, however, an eidolic expert in her field, and her shorthand writ for this spell reflects a stronger sense of knowing exactly what must be and where. Each spell must maintain the exact necessity of the language to summon it, but new ones can be made (Granted, this isn't exactly an easy task, and a great deal of the most commonly used spells used by magi within the veil were all coined by a single, well documented scholar from the time before "the worlds were split", as Prof Rasputin put it.). It's a very pictographic writing system with individual sigils themselves feeling more akin to a writing system like kanji, but it's not advised to string a bunch of sigils together to form a cheeky sentence. That's how buildings get evacuated at worst, and angry neighbours at best. As for Maia, before I end this-- Maia can use any sigil so long as she has her vial. Her vial may not be attuned, and it may be magically weak as all nascent aether is, but the vial casing itself and the housed nascent aether still behaves as the catalysts of will. So long as Maia provides these things and enters the mental state required to connect to and summon from the pre-cast sigil, she doesn't need words of invocation, the spell will activate. She carries a fairly large stack of varied, commonly needed sigils with her at all times in her bag. Those imbued on slips of parchment are sadly single usage, so she needs to restock fairly often... luckily, Madame Zoe is fairly generous with her and gives them to her free in exchange for a little bit of extra work around the shop.

[carnivalls]

👀👀👀 who is roua and what are they getting up to w angelino??

hi again to the loveliest of judes! also so so so. roua mizani is actually an older character from no good deed that you might remember as ramona addicott. her name and background's gone through some changes, but her core interests and values have stayed the same.

without giving too much about her at large away: juve, from good intentions, was raised by her nini (grandmother/primary caretaker) since her parents were off traveling for work. juve did not feel one way or another about this except for a small hope when she was informed by her nini at some point that her parents were expecting- and that juve might get a younger sibling in the future. juve was ! Very much interested in seeing someone's self come into being in real time, and play a role in crafting it. but then of course she committed to being safi full time and had to sort of put that dream away, to her vague regret and chagrin.

well! in no good deed we learn that younger sibling turned out to be a younger brother - who went on to have his own kids - who went on to have roua and her brother dima (we also learn a little about the brother and juve's actual eventual meeting but that's needless spoilers).

and roua is soooo interested by her great aunt.

more specifically, roua is so interested by juve's notes on shifting and the three branches of magic and even slightly sociopathic observations on people at large (that by the aftermath of good intentions juve is not even quite so loyal to anymore). and roua is both very interested in further researching juve's 'findings' (that there's fluidity between the branches, that one can actually learn and adopt the other, etc) and is already upholding her beliefs on other people (as subjects for personal gain). roua is not getting out of the dang cycle girl

this corresponds pretty wonderfully to angelino's own aims as well: to make a name for himself by breaking free of the three-branch system as well, and create a new form of magic. he's also found some of juve's notes by sheer chance: and paired with her descendant, they're very keen to build on them (and disregard the human parts where juve's like growing as a person and stuff).

it's actually pretty bad bc at least where juve's whole thing was oversimplifying and projecting onto other people, trying to understand them through becoming them and making them fit Her mold of them as a result, roua is much more detached from other people at large - she sees them more as flippant means for an end, potential experiments to help wider Humanity advance. roua doesn't care about humans, but rather the vague notion of humanity - the scientific field at large. the cycles have just gotten Worse.

paired with angelino's willingness to use other people to further personal gain, and cope to himself that he's doing this as an act of mercy towards them by taking people who weren't doing anything with their lives and letting them be a part of something ultimately greater - they're truly a dream team. especially when we factor in angelino's religious upbringing vs roua's Clear Cut Science, angelino's trying to get back at his community vs roua totally disinterested and disconnected from hers, angelino desperate to have control vs very much needing roua for practical matters, angelino maintaining this is a necessary sacrifice and also an act of mercy to the others vs roua operating under no such delusions but rather just wanting to see What Happens and the others happen to be part of the experiment...... fun fun fun! cue a lot of exciting debates.

also the two of them do like. canonically have a vibe. along with being straight & weird about it. maybe just the fact that they've each finally found someone to respect

[miniagula]

caught between enjoying the fanservice vs understanding that juder & eun will write a story they see fit to create vs any more wish fulfillment and i will Scream

[nmotypdfsfg]

[perrysoup]

I know this gets said about conventions but just to remind everyone and to expand it:

If you are going anyplace that has close contact with other people (say a flight) take a god damn shower!

No one wants to smell you. You don’t want to? Fine, drive, but don’t subject other people to your poor hygiene

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 2 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

word count: 4.5k

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Legs tangled in gray sheets. The lightning-quick flash of a silver dagger, held by a pale hand.

The images in the dream are more like fragments- impossible to discern and decipher. On the bed, asleep and vulnerable. . .

There’s you.

And then Feyd wakes up, heart hammering in his chest so hard he can feel it in his throat. Slowly his fingers crawl up, up, up the expanse of the bed in search of something. In search of warmth, of you. Nothing. He’s just as alone in his room as he was when he drifted off into sleep. He lays awake the rest of the night, tossing and turning with worry.

This dream felt more like a warning than just another disjointed nightmare. It felt real. He was used to having dreams every now and again which clearly depicted a future outcome. He saw you in his dreams quite often, more so once he was no longer a boy-child.

If someone thought to hurt you… he’d just have to hurt them first.

The customs you and your people practiced were completely different to those that were normal on Geidi Prime. You watched one of your ladies-in-waiting as she brought over another small bowl of sweet smelling bath salts, dumping it in and using her hand to properly dissolve them. For a moment you felt self conscious, running your fingers through your hair as you looked at their perfect complexions and shaved heads. What did they see when they looked at you? Someone beautiful and strange. . . or an alien?

Still, you would eventually have to disrobe and bathe. Pressing your luck and refusing their help would only solidify your place as an outsider. You were sure that whispers of your arrival were already spreading like wildfire, and it was almost guaranteed that no one was happy about it. An Atreides amongst Harkonnen’s? You were nothing more than a pariah on their industrial wasteland of a planet.

The air was even more acrid in your lungs than it had been the night before, and while the smell of the rose body oils and salts were thick and hazy in your room, you could still catch the scent of pollution. Already you missed the cool, crisp air of Caladan. You missed your horses, your parents and your brother to the point of pain. This was not where you belonged. Not here in Geidi Prime. Not here with Feyd-Rautha.

The urge to cry yourself hoarse was practically undeniable, and yet you somehow managed to resist. You were late to breakfast already, and surely the Baron was making some unsavory comments about your family and their taught “manners”. So you untied the front of your nightdress and shimmied out of it, letting the soft cotton pool at the ground beneath your feet. The women couldn’t help but gawk at the tiny imperfections they saw there- a beauty mark you’d had since you were a child, a scar you’d received while training with Gurney. You weren’t used to feeling so self conscious, and so you were quick to grab one of the women’s extended hands so that you could sit down in the murky bath water.

They rubbed floral smelling soaps into your hair and on your skin, making sure to handle you as though you were as fragile as porcelain. You wished they would scrub you raw. Even then they wouldn’t be able to cleanse you of your fears. You were in the hands of the Harkonnen’s now.

No one could save you.

“We are not very used to styling hair, my lady. It might not be to your liking.” One of the women said anxiously. The way that her hands shook as she gripped the hairbrush was not lost on you.

How cruelly were they treated here? Or even worse- what did she think of the Atreides family? What lies had they poisoned these people’s impressionable minds with? You didn’t care to dwell too much on such thoughts. Reaching out you gently removed the brush from her hands, flashing her the kindest smile you could muster before shaking your head.

“Leave this to me then. Why don’t you pick something for me to wear from my things?” Your bags were still packed, lying exactly where a few servants had laid them last night. You had denied every offer to have them unpacked for you.

Denial. You refused to believe that you were actually stuck here. This would never be your home. It couldn’t be.

“He’s not here,” Feyd was sitting at a long, slate-gray table by himself. The food on his plate had barely been touched, but he had busied himself with chopping the meat up into miniscule pieces, too small to even fit on the prongs of his fork. “If you were planning on trying to make a good impression, you can forget about it. He always has his food sent to his quarters.”

You thanked the two ladies that had shown you through the colorless halls under your breath, moving to sit on the other side of the table. At least eight chairs separated you from the Na-baron and it still wasn’t enough. You wished you were on an entirely different planet, lightyears away from the Harkonnen scum.

The room was practically empty aside from the large dining room table. No art decorated the walls or rugs to cover the floor. It was all cold, black marble with white accents.

“I don’t care, actually.” And you were being truthful. You didn’t care about getting on the Baron’s good side any more than you cared about getting on Feyd’s.

He smiled then, staring at you long and hard before licking one of his black painted canines. He was amused by the blase way you brushed off his uncle so easily. Indifference wasn’t something he was used to, especially not when everyone in the galaxy had tried so hard to get on their good sides. People tended to tread lightly as far as the Harkonnens were concerned. They were as wealthy as they were cunning.

“Be careful, little Atreides. Saying things like that might get you hurt around here.” His gruff voice was but a whisper now, and suddenly you felt as though there weren’t twelve feet of dead-air separating the two of you.

You had picked up your fork, ready to eat whatever bland food had been prepared for you, but froze at his words. Heat rose to your cheeks and you were quick to lean back in the ornate high-backed chair, the cool iron seeping into your back through your clothes.

“Do you mean to threaten me?” Your words were icy, tongue sharp and ready to give him a proper lashing.

“It’s not a threat, darling.” He was practically purring, reveling in the joy of referring to you whilst using a pet name. It suddenly looked as though a switch had been turned on, his eyes narrowing on you. “I know him far better than you do. He’s killed people for far less. Be careful.” There seemed to be something he wasn’t telling you. There was genuine warning in his tone.

A pause.

“Please.” And then he went back to eating.

So were you supposed to act gutted at his uncle’s absence? You picked up the fork and took a bite of whatever had been put on your plate. It wasn’t at all what you were used to. Even the food tasted. . . fake. The meat tasted like it had been pumped full of chemicals and was mealy in your mouth, like sand. Still, you swallowed despite your distaste and shoved the plate away from you.

“Who have you assigned to be my sparring partner? I’m sure that my father made your uncle aware that I train daily, correct?” If you didn’t physically exert yourself and blow off some steam then you were bound to get no sleep tonight.

Last night you had tossed and turned, unable to stay asleep when your body was constantly alerting you to possible dangers. Even now you were on high alert, eyes locked on the knife that sat on the right side of Feyd’s plate. Your own fingers danced towards yours it you watched. Waited. Worried.

“Training?” He tilted his head again, eyes narrowed in disbelief. You could almost see the cogs turning as he mulled over your words. “What good would training do you now? If there are any threats then I am here to protect you- that’s my duty as your husband.”

Ah, yes. Why would a woman train when she could just sit back and play the part of a perfect little wife instead? You could spit.

“Would you rather I just hunt down one of your servants and kill him for sport?” You hated that he was so good at getting a reaction out of you. Maybe you were acting too much like a brat, but you wanted to see him squirm. Seeing him mad must be better than seeing him. . . like this.

For a second he sat there, arms perched nonchalantly over the armrests of his chair, staring at you with a crooked smile. You jumped in surprise when a chuckle escaped him, the act itself so out of place, so surprising that all you could do was stare in horror. The chuckles soon morphed into frenzied laughter, and he was quick to lean back in his seat so that he could place a hand on his chest.

“Was that funny to you?” You spoke through gritted teeth.

He watched the muscle in your jaw clench and unclench with wild eyes, sucking in a deep breath in the hopes of calming himself. Still, to hear such a beautiful woman speak such hideous words. . . it was wonderful, bordering on perverted.

“If you do kill a servant, please make sure I’m there to watch.”

He was too busy watching your face to notice the knife that you slid into the sleeve of your dress. With a huff you stood up, your skirts dryly brushing along the ground as you started to make your way out of the large room.

“I require a trainer.” You tried to mimic your mother’s tone, straightening your shoulders as you turned to look at him.

Lady Jessica always had a way of commanding a room. She was powerful, your mother. You needed to channel that same power now.

“You’ll train with me then,” He stood up from the table, the height and build of him alone nearly causing you to take a step back. You’d forgotten how large he was. How formidable. “Consider it a wedding gift.”

This had you balking, mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of some way to refuse. He was already stalking past you though, ignoring whatever retorts you were bound to make.

“I recommend getting changed. . . Unless you want me to tear that dress to shreds.”

That awful, ugly, no good- 

“Bastard!” You whispered under your breath, wadding up your dress just to angrily toss it onto your bed. 

You sank to your knees, braiding your fingers into your hair so that you could give it a few good yanks. He was doing this to fuck with your head. All of this was calculated on his part, it had to be. Was it all just to get a rise out of you? Or did he truly want to try and hurt you? You couldn’t figure him out, and that boiled your blood. All Harkonnens were cunning, blood thirsty schemers. You wouldn’t put it past him to be unhappy with the marriage arrangement, choosing to resort to violence in order to end things. 

‘Now. Now is the time to strike.’ 

You’d already hidden the blade under the mattress of the bed. The Baron wouldn’t allow you to live if you killed his precious nephew, but you’d much rather put up some sort of a fight than be put down like a dog. After taking a few steadying breaths you somehow managed to pull on your trousers and shirt, your mind plagued with dangerous, dangerous thoughts. If the moment called for it you were certain that you could not kill Feyd in hand to hand combat. His skills with a blade was well known across the galaxy, and while you were more than able to defend yourself, you weren’t delusional enough to think that you could manage to beat him without using underhanded tactics. 

You’d have to wait until his guard was lowered. 

“Do all women take this long to get ready?” 

You hadn’t heard the door open, nor his footsteps approaching. Who knew how long he had been watching you. The intrusion was an unwelcome one. You looked up to glare at him, trying hard not to balk at his appearance. The clothes he wore were skin tight, a black material that caught the dim lighting- like it was made of pitch black oil. His pants were tucked into big black boots, laced up high on his calf. 

He stretched his arms up, leaning against the doorframe so that he could continue his awkward staring. 

He did a lot of that it would seem. Any time you turned your head to face him you found that he was already looking in your direction. It was odd. . . off putting to say the least. Of course you couldn’t know that he was currently tracing the lines of your face with his eyes, committing every detail to memory. You were so different when he compared you to the females that he was used to seeing. You were all soft lines, long lashes and doe eyes. He found it impossible not to look at you. Gorgeous… you were gorgeous. 

“It took me a while to get out of my dress on my own.”You shoved your way past him in the doorway, his chest warm under your palms. 

You were quick to jerk away, startled by the fact that this was the first time that you’d touched him since the two of you had reunited. 

You didn’t hate the feel of him, but you should have. 

“Then you should have asked for some help.” He said, reaching out to grab you by the back of your shirt when you started to walk off in the wrong direction. 

Feyd pulled you along like he would a pet on a leash through the triangular halls, ignoring your mumbled curses as you tried swatting him away. 

The shield vibrated in your ears as you switched on the button, enveloping you in its warmth. 

You used to find it uncomfortable as a child, the tight, foreign warmth triggering a mild case of claustrophobia. You were used to it now, wearing it like a second skin. You waited for Feyd to turn his on as well, the blade clutched tight in your palm. 

You waited. And waited. And waited. 

“Where’s your shield?” You asked him, motioning towards his hip with your free hand. 

There it was, that crooked smile again. He was laughing at you. Was he trying to infer that you were weak? Was he so confident in his skills that he didn’t even see you as a threat?  

“I don’t see the nee-” He didn’t get very far. 

You kicked your leg out, catching the back of his right knee. His legs buckled, and he was quick to adjust himself, his left arm flying up to catch your wrist before you could sink the blade home. For a split second the two of you just stared at each other. Mild shock in his eyes, your own alight with an anger so consuming that you feared you might be burnt up with it. He gave your arm a sharp tug, hard enough that the joint rolled uncomfortably in its socket. 

You kicked your leg out before he could throw you over his shoulder, landing a sharp blow to his ribs. You heard him let out a pained moan before you hit the ground. Using your weight to your advantage, you tucked your body in, rolling to the side so that you could easily stand up to your knees, blade poised at your side and ready for an attack. 

“You fight well, Atreides.” Feyd purred, spinning his blade between two fingers before letting it fall back into his pale palm. 

“Turn on your shield.” You growled, rising to your full height so that you could begin circling him, a panther ready to pounce. 

“Was it Duke Leto that trained you?” Still, he was ignoring your statement. 

“No.” 

“No, of course it wasn’t him,” He took a step closer to you, eyeing you down. No one had looked at you like that before. . . and it made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to be desired by this man, the thought alone was miserable enough to have bile rising in your throat. “Your father is too weak-spirited to ever train you himself, lest he accidentally harm you.” 

Your heart was beginning to pound in your ears now, vision tunneling. All you could see was Feyd. All you could imagine was the blade that you were currently white-knuckling sunk hilt deep into his chest. 

“How horrible it must be for Caladan to have a Duke so. . .  spineless.” 

You bared your teeth, and for a second you were sure that you would snap the hilt in half with how hard you were gripping your blade. You demanded blood for such an insult. How dare he. How dare he. 

“I should cut out your tongue!” You screamed, pointed the blade at him. 

‘Don’t come any closer’ you urged with your eyes, feeling the angry tears causing your vision to fog. A Harkonnen was insulting your father. He was insulting your family and now he was smiling at you. The bastard had the gall to smile and this time all of his teeth were showing. Wide, unabashed in his joy. He was terrifying. So much so that you felt your legs begin to shake underneath you. 

“But you’ll want to put this tongue to good use eventually.” His gravelly voice purred. 

“Silence!” And before you could even control yourself you were using the Voice. 

You might not be as talented as your brother when it came to hand to hand combat, but your mother had taken the time to teach you well. Feyd’s mouth snapped shut so hard that you heard his teeth clatter together. 

“One more word and I will gut you.” Your voice shook and before you could rethink your actions you were lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air. . . 

Aimed at his throat. 

He was quick to push your arm away with his forearm, and even with the shield up you could feel the bone shattering pressure he put behind the movement. He was stronger than Paul- stronger than even Gurney. He took advantage of the fact that you were put off balance and grabbed a fist full of hair, the shield around you flashing red as he pressed his blade as close as he could to the base of your throat. Your scalp exploded in pain, eyes watering as he gripped harder to yank your head back so that you were staring directly into his eyes. They held no malice towards you, even despite the fact that you were obviously trying to maim him. 

And then he leaned in closer. And closer.

“If I didn’t know any better then I would think that you were actually trying to kill me.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. You could practically feel the warmth of his lips against your skin as he spoke, your heart roaring in your ribcage. With your chests practically touching like this you could smell him.

 You’d only caught the scent of spice once in your life- and it was akin to bitter cinnamon. There was something else though, something more complex to it. Aromatic spices you couldn’t quite put your fingers on and. .  . the natural musk of his skin. 

“So you can speak again?” You managed to tease him through your pain, wincing as he brought you even closer against his chest. The blade that you clutched in your hand was now pressing against his side, the pointed edge digging into his skin. 

He didn’t wince, even when you put more pressure against it. 

“You think it wise to use the Voice on me in my own home, little girl?” He hissed as he pulled away from your ear, and the fire that was in your eyes was now mirrored in his own. 

Slowly you moved the blade away from him, the metallic clanging echoing around the room as you let it fall to the floor. Your palm hurt from the vice-like grip you had been holding it in. 

“Release me now.” You didn’t shy away from staring into his eyes, unwavering even when he pressed the blade even tighter, the shield vibrating louder and louder around you. 

He leaned in, even when your hands moved to press against his chest, willing him to give you space. You could barely breathe with him this close to you. His own knife clattered to the ground, and using his free hand he ripped the shield from off of your hip. The gasp that escaped your lips was uncontrollable. You could feel his breath on your lips as his eyes continued to swallow you up whole. 

They looked even bluer when you were up close like this, framed by long black lashes. For a split second you wondered what had become of that beautiful little boy you had met. Had Baron Vladmir beaten the beauty out of him? Or perhaps it had never truly been there to begin with. 

When Feyd looked at you, up close like this, all he saw was the object of his ever-present affections. Something yawned to life in his chest- the need to protect. All at once he felt wrong, disgusting and horrible for causing you any sort of pain. 

But you looked so lovely with those tears in your eyes. So much so that he gave your hair another small yank, a shuddered breath escaping his lips as you yelped in pain. He saw the hate in your eyes and he detested it. 

‘Fear me’ he silently urged. ‘Love me, do as I say and I will become your slave.’ 

His lips brushed against yours, achingly slow- painfully soft. 

“I yield.” You were quick to say, pulling as far back as you could even with the grip he had on your hair. 

Fire. Your scalp felt like it was on fire. 

And then he released you, taking a step back with a heaving chest. The spell now broken, it felt like the world around you suddenly resumed its orbit. Wordlessly he pressed a hand to his side- the side that you had pressed the knife- and when he pulled it away you could see that it was stained with blood. 

“Didn’t you say that you were going to gut me?” There was no hint of humor in his voice now. 

“I wanted to.” You conceded. 

“Then you should have tried harder.”

Again you lay in bed awake, unable to fall asleep. You told yourself that it was just homesickness that had you clinging to the blankets, but you knew better. What had happened today left you rattled and confused. 

There were a hundred times today that Feyd could have killed you. Everything that Gurney had ever taught you had disappeared like smoke in the wind the second that your father was mentioned. You had acted on instinct alone. 

And if it was an actual fight to the death then you would have lost. Miserably. 

There was something strange about it though. It never once felt like an actual training session. He taught you nothing and gave you no feedback. Not only that but. . . it never felt like he actually wanted to damage your pride. He didn’t turn on his shield before and after taunting you, almost as though he actually wanted one of your attacks to land. 

He had allowed you to get everything out of your system. You hated that it had worked. It wasn’t helping you to sleep tonight though. No, you had other things on your mind now. 

Like the fact that he had almost kissed you. 

Your knowledge was limited where men were concerned, but you were nearly positive that there was something sexual about the way that he had treated you. It was like he didn’t want to actually hurt you, but still went out of his way to touch you. 

You’d be sure to ask for someone that might be willing to train you again tomorrow over breakfast. Someone who wasn’t Feyd, preferably. Lunch and dinner had been spent in silence on your part tonight. He had tried to strike up conversation a few times, even baiting you in ways that might warrant annoyance and anger. You didn’t budge. Why? Because you hated how nervous you felt in his presence now. 

Was it because you were afraid of him? That had to be it. Hearing about his proficiency in fighting and seeing it first hand were two different things. He had practically swung you around like a ragdoll. It was absolutely humiliating. 

Yes, that had to be it. . . well, you hoped. 

“Atreides.” 

The sound of your name had you bolting up into a sitting position, willing your eyes to adjust to the non-existent lighting in the room. The sound of footsteps had your heart jumping up into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system once you realized that it wasn’t a voice that you recognized. 

No one had entered the room since you’d gotten back from dinner, which meant. . . 

Whoever this was had been hiding, waiting until you completely lowered your guard. You were in danger. Horrible, horrible danger. 

‘Be careful. Please.’ You remembered Feyd’s words from earlier. 

He had been trying to warn you.

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the wonderful line “fear me, love me. do as i say and i will become your slave” is from the movie “the labyrinth”!

[mccromy]

Thinking of Luo Bingge trying to seduce a nice Shizun for himself and failing miserably.

LBG, used to women throwing themselves at his feet just by being in their proximity, utterly confused as SY won't also fall to his knees and beg to be ravished. He doesn't even have a LBH of his own, LBG checked!!!

SY thinks he's handsome and charming and sooo cool, but also LBG will surely kill him if he steps out of line :) no thanks :). And as he finds himself being subjected to over the top courtship attempts, he thinks LBG must want something from him. info? Treasures? No need for this charade, Junshang, you just need to ask!

One time, they get sex pollened and LBG is like "finally! Now he'll beg me to help him with my magical Heavenly demon cum" and SY will just stab himself until the pain and adrenaline overwhelm the horniness and he bleeds out the poison because 1) he's straight! And more importantly "I would never put Luo Binghe in a situation in which he doesn't have the choice to say no!"

LBG is stumped, heals him quickly with his magical Heavenly demon blood, and remains in a state of shock for a week. Also, for some reason he can't stand the sight of Qin Wanyue anymore.

When he does finally pull that bad bitch, he doesn't get rid of his harem (love alone can't heal this man. He also craves the attention as he craves air) and SY understands it. He had his moment, now is time to vanish into the harem and stay the fuck away from Harem politics.

LBG goes to check his new husband, it's been a week since they had some time together, longer since their wedding night, and the sense of accomplishment remains. (Take that Inferior Luo Binghe! Superior Luo Binghe had bitches AND a nice Shizun!) And tries to seduce him into bed, but SY being SY needs to do a little song and dance before getting plowed and LBG has no clue what's going on.

Why won't he say yes immediately?? What do you mean with "aiyah... I'm a bit occupied"??? You're?? My husband??? Open your legs??? Oh! You need to be seduced more?? Alright, I'll do it.

And he tries to tempt him like he does all his wives, bedroom eyes and a deep voice and soft touches and. It. Won't. Fucking. work.

SY doesn't want coaxing! He doesn't know what he actually wants but for some reason this is not doing anything for him (he wants tears and pouts, something that LBG is too prideful to even think about trying).

After a few more attempts Shen Yuan feels his pussy dry out of frustration and goes:

"You know what, Binghe? Just go ask another wife, I'm not in the mood now." And LBG is like,

"Ah my dear husband is jealous, no need, you, exclusively, may have this lord for the night."

And SY is like, offended, because he is actually a bit jealous but how does LBG dare say that out loud?? How insensitive!! Spare this old man some face!! To be a man jealous of those flowers perfuming your garden is so humiliating!! And SY, petty bitch that he is, raises an eyebrow and says, "Perhaps my lord should visit lady (name of wife #78) she has been more neglected than this husband, so she needs our Lord more than I."

LBG gets forceful in his frustration because he wants DICK and HOLE, not HOLE and HOLE! and SY palm strikes him and sends LBG flying. LBG shakes off the dust and stomps fuming towards wife #78's room. Then, unsatisfied, goes to visit five more wives until the sun rises.

After that SY gets snappish and cold and poor LBG is SO triggered.

SY: *glares at him over his fan*

LBG: this reminds me of something that I do NOT want to think about. No, sir. Don't like how it feels.

What did he do?? Why do even the nice Shizuns reject him?? Is there actually something wrong with him??? No. No, it can be.

He'll show his husband! He's rejecting him, hm? LBG will reject him back!! He'll ignore him!!! See how he likes it! Hmph!! He'll come crawling back.

He doesn't. Shen Yuan takes this as a sign Luo Bingge can't be satisfied by a man and, hurt and angry, just lets him.

And Shen Yuan becomes quite the unfavored "wife" and thus a victim of Harem plotting, and he asks to be sent to another residence, much to Luo Bingge's ire. His request gets denied, and SY, feeling like an unwanted pet whose owner refuses to give away out of a sense of ownership, turns even colder towards Luo Bingge.

LBG is a fucking mess. He tries to make SY jealous, let's himself get caught balls deep in the wife of the week by SY. Flaunts his favoritism for others and makes SY watch. But SY doesn't show any reaction to any of it. And when he does, it's just disappointment.

But he's not disappointed that he isn't the one sitting on LBG's lap (something clear in some other wives faces, who stare at the chosen wife resentfully) he's disappointed in Luo Bingge.

And Luo Bingge can tell the difference.

(Sometimes, Shen Yuan thinks, what's cool in fiction is just... Sad and hurtful in real life.)

Luo Bingge does a 180 and now tries to seduce him by courting him like he did before getting married. But Shen Yuan, unlike the other wives, doesn't just forget and forgive the shit Luo Binghe pulled before. He's not snappish, but quiet, still disappointed, sad. He seems to have fallen out of love. And no matter what Luo Bingge does he can't make him fall in love again.

He's tried everything, no matter what he does he just can't close the breach between them.

Luo Bingge just can't win with this man.

And Shen Yuan has not fallen out of love, he's just realized how petty and sad his husband is. And he doesn't know how to reach him, how to help him. LBG thinks they're playing cat and mouse and doesn't realize he actually hurt SY. And when he finally apologizes, SY remarks that he's apologizing that SY was so hurt over LBG's treatment, and not for giving him said treatment. LBG can't understand the difference.

And SY knows him, knows him better than LBG will ever know. And he says he forgives him, but LBG can't tell if he means it or not.

SY does mean it. Because he understands why LBG did what he did, and although it was not right, LBG didn't know any better now, did he? SY won't take this peace of mind away from him just because LBG didn't meet his expectations.

He's not angry, he just feels pity.

Things become amicable once again, but LBG can tell things have not been swept under the rug. Yet SY is just as sweet as he used to be, but there's something different.

SY's touch is no longer reverent nor feverish, but careful. As if LBG is fragile, and LBG both hates and is addicted to it.

LBG can't read him, can't understand him. So he assumes that SY is planning to betray him and is feeling guilty. Ah, his husband allied himself with someone else while LBG and him were at odds? Perhaps? And now he regrets it? No matter, it has happened before with (name of wives #23, #190 and #304) he can take whatever comes.

Nothing happens.

It's driving LBG crazy.

So he tries to force SY to confess, he engineers a kidnapping or something to force him to sell LBG away to his enemies. To spill a secret, anything! In the end things get out of hand and whoever LBG hired turns against him.

SY realizes what's happening mid kidnap and groans. WHY. WHY DEAR HUSBAND? THIS IS SO TRITE?? He told him he wasn't mad!! Is he really trying to gotcha! Him?? Unbelievable.

Many things happen after that.

SY is forced to drink poison that makes his spiritual energy lethal to demons. And LBG'S human cultivation is sealed, so only his demon side is active. The thing is, the poison can eventually kill whoever drinks it if they don't pass it away, even if they're human, the corrosion turns on them. LBG tries to take the tainted spiritual energy for himself. But SY absorbs it, willing it to kill him quicker, not taking any chances. And calls LBG silly and rash, and LBG realizes SY knows they're in this situation because of him. And bursts out crying.

SY kisses him, tells him he forgives him, and he better believe him this time, huh?

SY dies.

LBG tries to revive him in the holy mausoleum but every time the soul enters SY's body the poison kills him again. The poison kills LBG'S blood mites, too. It has fused with Shen Yuan's cells, a product of him absorbing it, and now his body is unable to live longer than what it takes for Shen Yuan to take a first and last breath.

LBG traps SY's soul inside a locket and carries him everywhere. Touches it constantly to make sure it was there. The gesture both familiar and confusing until he remembers he once had a mother who'd gifted him a pendant that he lost many, many decades ago.

How could he have forgotten it?

After years of desperation, he reads about the sun-moon dew mushroom. And when he goes searching for it, he realizes the realm merger killed off all the sun-moon dew mushroom seeds.

He crumbles.

And only then he finally understands his husband and why their marriage never worked.

Because LBG didn't actually love SY. He was possessive of him, yes, attracted to him. But he did not love him, he just used him to prove that other Luo Binghe he could have it all, an empire, an harem, and a Shen Qingqiu. (Shen Yuan, his name was Shen Yuan. He hated it when Luo Binghe called him Shizun, why did he keep insisting?)

Luo Bingge never loved Shen Yuan.

But Shen Yuan did love him.

He saw him for the beast he was and took him into his arms. Luo Bingge never had to prove himself to Shen Yuan, and no matter how he tried to hide the most shameful parts of him, Shen Yuan could see them clear as day, and loved him all the same.

He held Luo Bingge's flaws like something fragile, he protected them.

He didn't hold them over his head, like Luo Bingge would've done.

He didn't love him in spite of them, like his wives did.

Shen Yuan looked at the cruelest man in the world and, even after being subjected to Luo Bingge's cruelty, kept him close to his heart so the world didn't have the opportunity to make him crueler.

And Luo Bingge killed him.

And in that moment, when he finally was able to under his husband, Luo Bingge falls in love with Shen Yuan.

He came back to his palace and locked himself in his late husband's rooms, became mournful, lost interest in sex and food and bloodshed. Held that precious locket in his hands and wept.

Until one day, he began hearing Shen Yuan's voice. Faintly, as if far away. And then just as clear as if his husband whispered in his ear.

The locket had become cursed by harbouring a human soul for so long. But Shen Yuan never asked anything impossible of him, never tried to hurt him as any other cursed artifact would do.

He'd ask him to sleep, to please eat. To cook, doesn't he love to cook? Why don't you try again? He'd say, "Ah, Binghe, look up! That's a Silver Blood Hummingbird ! Oh, I thought they were extinct, isn't it beautiful?"

And Luo Bingge with only a voice for company, the love of a man he could not touch, would finally find the peace that eluded him his entire life. He'd understand that other inferior Luo Binghe, and he'd abandon his palace, leave his empire in disarray no matter how much Shen Yuan nagged at him to "take responsibility!"

He'd search for creatures and plants that went extinct after he so thoughtlessly united the realms. He'd find some, hidden away in small pockets of space, untouched by his sword. Some still thriving in hidden realms. And he'd hear as his husband excitedly tells him all there's to know about them. He'd cook and set an extra plate, let Shen Yuan guide him until he finally learned to play the guqin, an opportunity he was robbed of many years ago.

And one day, hidden from the world and greedy hands, he'd find a grove filled with thriving sun-moon dew mushrooms.

[munson-blurbs]

Summary: Your rockstar boyfriend comes home early and finds you very needy. But he already knows that, doesn't he?

WC: 1.9k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), pure breeding kink, unprotected p in v, masturbation (m & f), mention of ovulation and periods, voyeurism if you squint, rockstar!Eddie Munson, established relationship

A/N: a collaboration with the love of my life @corroded-hellfire, based on the song Juno by Sabrina Carpenter.

--

Eddie Munson may have failed a few classes—there was a reason he had three senior years—but sex ed wasn’t one of them. He learned how to use a condom, that girls could get pregnant their first time, and the difference between a pad and a tampon (living with his Uncle Wayne kept that conversation at bay.)

But the lesson Eddie recalls now is that ovulation occurs about seven days after your last period. Which, according to the pocket calendar he keeps stashed away during touring, is today. 

It isn’t like he asks about your cycle, but when he calls from the road, you’ll mention when you have cramps or you’ve just taken a Midol. At first, he tracked your periods so he could make sure the house had a plethora of chocolate during that awful week, but then he began noticing…other patterns. 

Two months ago, you’d initiated phone sex, whining about how badly you needed him inside you, needed his cum, needed his cum inside you. Last month, you’d cheekily informed him that you’d snapped some Polaroids earlier that day and had express-mailed them to his hotel room—photos that were for his eyes only. Both of those instances occurred two weeks after your period ended. 

This month, Eddie refused to be apart from you when your desire took over. 

That’s how he finds himself ditching the End of Tour party, coming home a day early to surprise you. It’s been months without you, months stuck in close proximity with Gareth, Jeff, and Grant. If Eddie doesn’t get his hands on you soon, he might implode. 

“Babe?”

No answer. 

Eddie frowns, taking the winding stairs two at a time. The light in your bedroom is on, the door slightly ajar. A soft humming comes from inside, the noise interrupted every so often with your unrestrained moans. 

He can’t help but listen for a moment. 

“Eddie…f-fuck…right there…”

If he hadn’t been away for so long, he might have let you enjoy your solo time. Maybe he’d secretly rub one out to your sweet sounds. A high keening sound robs Eddie of his thoughts as he slips his own hand into his pants. 

His mind is blank, no memory of the thoughts that were just floating through his consciousness. Now, there’s only the sound of your breathy moans and the way his fingers wrap around the base of his cock. 

“Eddie,” you whine pathetically, “need you to fill me up, baby. Please, please, please.”

As if his body is running on autopilot in response to what you just said, Eddie removes his hand from his pants and pushes the bedroom door fully open. Your head is thrown back and your eyes are closed in pleasure so you don’t see your boyfriend as he stalks closer to the bed.

“Need your cum, Eddie,” you whimper, body trembling with want. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Eddie coos softly, loud enough so you know he’s there, but not enough to scare you or ruin the mood. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your eyes fly open at the sound of that sultry voice. The mood in the room begs for you to keep going, to keep working your fingers in and out of your needy hole as Eddie rips his shirt off over his head. But your curiosity is too strong to keep at bay, even with the neediness surging through you.

“E-Eddie?” you ask through labored breath. “What’re you doing home?”

“Skipped out early so I could be with my girl.”

Eddie undoes the buckle on his belt, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. “And it’s a good thing I did. I can’t have my pretty princess all needy for me like this. Let me help you, baby.” Eddie gets the handcuffs off his belt and hangs them on his index finger as he approaches the door of the bed. A dark eyebrow quirks up as he gives you a smirk. “Now that I’m home with these, sweetheart, you don’t need to use those pink fuzzy ones you keep in the drawer.”

“Please,” you whimper.

That one little word is all Eddie needs to hear before he kicks his jeans off and quickly shuffles out of his boxers. He kicks them somewhere to be found at a later time and kneels on the foot of the bed. 

Your dark, lust filled eyes follow his every movement. 

“Eds, can you—”

Eddie grins, already pressing kisses along your inner thighs to your core. “Baby, you don’t gotta tell me what to do. I know this body better than I know my own.”

With that, his tongue finds your clit, licking and sucking with excruciating precision. His ringed fingers wrap around your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders and tugging you close. 

He breathes in, inhaling your scent like it’s a god-sent nectar. 

“Missed my pretty girl and her pretty pussy,” he mumbles into you. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

Your leg twitches as he laps at you, a mixture of his saliva and your arousal pooling beneath you. The noises you’re making are involuntary and straight up obscene. 

“Eddie…Eddie…oh my god, Eddie!” Throwing your head back, you feel your body tense in anticipation of that delicious release. Your orgasm is a tidal wave, crashing over you in a way you hadn’t experienced since Eddie had left for the tour. 

Eddie sits back now, rocking on his heels. “Still got it, huh?” His grin is proud and slick with your sheen. 

“Definitely.”

“Good.” He presses his palms to his thighs and stands up, giving you a better view of his own desire. 

Pre-cum leaks from his tip, his cock rock-hard just from eating you out. You have a strong suspicion that if you’d taken any longer to finish, he would’ve busted before you. 

You want to take him in your mouth, to glide your tongue over the prominent vein and knead his balls until you’re swallowing his load. 

Eddie, however, can only focus on one thing. 

“Heard my pretty girl wants me to fill her up,” he coos. “Is that true? Do you want me to fill you up until my cum drips out of you?”

To his surprise, you shake your head no. 

“Don’t want it to drip out of me. I want to keep all of it inside.”

The groan that emanates from Eddie’s throat fuels a fire in your belly. His cock twitches, the head tapping against his navel. 

“Sounds like you want me to claim you. Permanently.” Not just the hickeys that fade within a few days. No, you want him to—

Without hesitating, Eddie climbs onto the bed and positions himself on top of you. 

“Allow me the honors, sweetheart.” Eddie drags the tip of his cock through your wet center and pushes in with a groan. “Fuck, thassit. Feels even better than I remember.”

You gripped his biceps, relishing in the gentle stretch of him within you. Every tour felt like an eternity, but that first time together each time he came home was worth the wait. 

“Now,” Eddie growled into your ear as he found his pace, “tell me what you want. Tell me what you need from me.”

You scrounge up a reply with the sliver of your mental capacity that isn’t focused on him. “Your baby.”

Eddie smiles, kissing down your jawline. “You need my baby, huh? Need me to put a baby in this cute belly of yours?”

“Mhm. Need that s-so bad, Eddie. Please.” The words tumble from your lips in utter desperation. All you can think about is having his baby, his hands caressing your bump, knowing that he’s the reason you’re pregnant. 

“Goddamn,” Eddie hisses. He buries his head in your neck. “Beg for my baby some more.”

You arch your back, letting him wrap his arm around your waist. “Please give me your baby. Pleasepleaseplease—”

His fingers grip you harder, his movements becoming more erratic with each thrust. You can feel his fingernails digging crescents into your skin. 

“There we go, sweet girl. Fuck, ‘m close…”

You nod, too enraptured in him to even utter the words ‘me, too.’ All you can manage are a few strangled moans as your orgasm washes over you. Your body is light with pleasure, drifting away on a cloud of contentment. 

“Eddie.” The sound of his name on your lips tips him over the edge. It’s just the way you say it, all breathy and soft, that drives him wild. 

With a final groan, Eddie spills into you. “Oh, sh-shit…that’s it. Take it. Take my cum, baby.” There was a primal edge to every word. 

Both spent from all your exertion, Eddie flops down next to you and the only sounds are two ragged breaths as you both attempt to control your breathing. 

Once your bodies have calmed down a bit, Eddie turns on his side and splays one large hand across your lower abdomen. His warm palm is a comforting weight, one that has your eyes slipping closed and a smile coming to your face. 

“You’re home early,” you finally say.

Eddie chuckles and leans in to press a lingering kiss to your shoulder.

“Missed you. Didn’t wanna go to some dumb party if you weren’t going to be there.” He presses another kiss a little higher on your shoulder. “Especially not when you’re ovulating.”

Your heavy eyes open and you let your head fall to the side, coming face to face with your boyfriend.

“How’d you know I was ovulating?”

“I remember when you got your period,” he says. “Just some simple math. I may not have been able to pass geometry, but this kind of math I can do.”

A soft chuckle emanates from your chest and you fully turn on your side to face him. Eddie wastes no time pulling you flush up against his chest, his strong arms winding around you.

“Came here with a mission to knock me up, huh?” you tease, nuzzling your face against the side of his neck. 

“Seemed like an easy decision.” Eddie presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You want to be carrying my baby. I want to get you pregnant. Little Munson Junior wants to be born. Everyone wins.”

You laugh as you bury your face against his shoulder. 

“Would love to have a little you,” you say. 

“Nah, I hope they look like you,” Eddie says. “One of you is already unbearably cute, I can’t wait to have two.”

“Can’t wait to snuggle them,” you say, a lazy smile spreading on your face at the thought. “You, me, and a little baby.”

“Our little baby,” Eddie adds.

“Hopefully this one took,” you say.

“Either way I’m prepared. If you’re not, I’m more than willing to fuck you every waking moment until it sticks. If you are…well, I may have picked up a few pregnancy tests on the way home,” Eddie admits.

“You didn’t.” You look up at your boyfriend, a gleeful chuckle following your words.

“Hell yeah, I did. Corroded Coffin’s latest album and tour are over and done with. It’s time you and I had our own little collaboration.”

“I like the sound of that,” you hum. “We make pretty sweet music together.”

“Oh, we absolutely do.” 

Eddie waggles his eyebrows roguishly before resting his forehead against yours. “But tonight,” he murmurs mischievously, “I’m hoping to hear some screamo.” 

--

[skywalkerslvt]

Cramped—Logan Howlett

❥Pairing: Logan Howlett x AFAB!Reader (no pronouns other than 'you' mentioned)

❥Summary: While on the run from enemies, Logan and reader find a temporary hideout; a cramped supply closet. Things ensue...

❥CW: 18+, smut, forced proximity, minor dry humping, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it hoes), 2.2k words

❥a/n: god I'm such a fucking slut for this man. Hope u enjoy reading this highkey cliché fic as much as I enjoyed writing it (I had way too much fun writing this it's concerning) NOT PROOFREAD!!

The plan had seemed foolproof—until it wasn’t. What was meant to be a quiet infiltration erupted into gunfire and chaos, forcing you and Logan to improvise on the fly. You sprinted through the labyrinth of hallways, the sound of pounding footsteps and barked orders hot on your heels. Just when your lungs felt like they'd burst, Logan's hand shot out, gripping your arm and pulling you into a narrow doorway. Before you could react, he dragged you into a cramped, pitch-black closet, slamming the door behind you. His chest was flush against your back, one hand swiftly covering your mouth to stifle your gasps while the other was wrapped around your waist. The heat of his body pressed into you as his breath tickled your ear. "Quiet," he whispered, voice low and rough. "We can't outrun them. We're hiding here until they pass." The tight space, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears, and the intensity of his presence made it impossible to focus on anything else.

You could feel Logan's chest rising and falling against your back, the heat of his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine despite the tension in the air. "Quiet, huh?" you muttered under your breath, shifting slightly against his hold. "This was your idea, remember? Charging headfirst into a whole squad of armed men?"

Logan’s grip tightened on your arm, his voice a low growl in your ear. “I didn’t hear you coming up with any better plans. Unless you count running in circles while getting shot at as a strategy.”

You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “Maybe if you’d actually listened to me for once, we wouldn’t be hiding in a damn closet right now.”

Logan huffed, his breath warm against your ear. “Yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t so damn stubborn, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, but the sudden closeness of his body, the feel of his rough hand that had moved from your mouth to your collarbone, and his hot breath fanning against your neck stopped you short. The tension between you had always been there, simmering under the surface, but now, in this cramped, dark space, it felt like it might just boil over.

Blinking, you regained your composure. “Well, I-” you began, but were quickly cut off by his hand covering your mouth again, your words muffled against his flesh. 

“Someone's coming,” he breathed, his grip on you tightening as you were pulled impossibly closer against his body. Sure enough, footsteps sounded outside the door a few moments later. 

As the footsteps halted right outside the door, the tension between you and Logan grew almost unbearable. Your heart pounded wildly, not just from fear, but from the electric charge that seemed to crackle in the air between your bodies. Logan's chest pressed firmly against your back, his hand still covering your mouth. The warmth of his breath fanned against your neck, sending shivers down your spine despite the danger lurking just beyond the door.

You were hyper-aware of every point of contact–his solid body behind you, the rough texture of his hand on your skin, the way his breath hitched slightly as the person outside hesitated, listening.

Your senses were on overdrive, each second stretching out as your body reacted to Logan's closeness in ways you couldn't control.

It was wrong, wildly inappropriate given the situation, but the feel of his hard chest against your back, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, was doing things to you that you'd never admit out loud. You shifted slightly, trying to ease the tension in your muscles, but the movement only made things worse–or better, depending on how you looked at it.

Your slight wiggle caused your hips to brush against his in the confined space, and Logan's grip on you tightened, a low, almost imperceptible groan escaping him. The sound sent a thrill straight to your core, your breath catching in your throat as you realized what you'd just done. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against you, his "predicament" unmistakable in the dark, cramped closet.

Logan's fingers flexed against your waist, his breath coming faster, rougher against your ear. He didn't pull away, didn't loosen his grip, and for a moment, you were both frozen, caught in the tension of the moment, the thin line between danger and desire.

Your pulse raced, and the temptation to grind back against him, to push things just a little further, was almost overwhelming. The footsteps outside were retreating, but neither of you moved, the charged silence between you heavy with unspoken need.

Logan sighed, his head thrown back against the wall in shame. He cleared his throat, his grip on your waist loosening slightly. “Listen…I-” he cut himself off with a groan as you pushed your ass back against crotch, your desire for him pushing your fear of getting caught to the side. 

“Shh. Just–just shut up,” you whispered, eyes squeezing closed as you leaned your head back against his shoulder. 

Logan's breath hitched at the unexpected pressure, his body reacting instinctively to the friction. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer as he groaned low in your ear, his restraint slipping. You could feel the heat of him through his pants, hard and insistent against you, the tension between you igniting like a spark to dry tinder.

"Fuck, you're really playing with fire," Logan rasped, his voice strained, teetering between warning and desire.

But he didn't push you away. Instead, his fingers dug into your hip, his chest pressed so tightly against your back that you could feel the rapid beat of his heart matching your own.

The weight of your mutual attraction was heavy in the cramped space, the unspoken desire that had been simmering beneath the surface now threatening to consume you both. You could sense the hesitation in Logan's movements, the conflict between wanting to push you away and the undeniable need that had taken hold of him.

"Yeah, well," you breathed, your own voice shaky with both fear and excitement, "maybe I like the heat."

You felt Logan's lips brush against the shell of your ear, his fingers now trailing your waistband, his hot breath fanning across your skin as his resolve finally broke. “Tell me you don't want this. Tell me to stop,” he muttered, but the way his body pressed into yours, hard and unyielding, told you he wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon.

You shook your head, breathing out a soft “no,” and that was all Logan needed to hear. His hand made its way down the front of your pants, fingers rubbing slow circles on your clothed clit as he sloppily kissed and bit at your neck. 

A small, breathless moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled by the thick air in the cramped closet. Logan's reaction was immediate–his hand left your waistband and clamped over your mouth again, his lips now brushing against your ear as he whispered harshly, "You need to keep quiet, darlin. Or we'll both get caught, and this won't end the way either of us wants."

The combination of his roughened voice and the intoxicating closeness sent a shiver down your spine. The feel of his body so intimately pressed against yours, his hand possessively over your mouth, only fueled the fire building inside you. But the very real danger just outside the door added a sharp edge to your desire.

Logan's hand lingered on your mouth, as if he wasn't sure whether you'd manage to hold back the sounds threatening to spill from you, the tension in his grip telling you he was barely holding on himself. His hips pressed into yours, the heat between your bodies growing more intense by the second, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted him, consequences be damned.

Logan's fingers hovered at the waistband of your pants, his resolve hanging by a thread. You could feel his hesitation, the way his chest heaved against your back as if he were trying to convince himself to stop. But when your hips shifted back, pressing firmly against him, it shattered any remaining restraint.

His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your pants, his rough fingers sliding past your underwear and finding your slick heat. A choked sound rumbled in his chest as his fingers began to move, slow and deliberate, tracing soft circles that sent jolts of pleasure through your body. He pressed his lips against your neck, muffling his own groans as he worked you over, the rhythm of his fingers steadily increasing in pace.

You bit your lip hard, trying to keep quiet, but each twist of his fingers made it harder and harder to hold back the whimpers threatening to escape.

Logan's other hand remained firmly over your mouth, his breath ragged in your ear. He was losing control, his fingers moving faster, deeper, curling inside you with a hunger that matched your own.

"Fuck," he growled softly, the curse slipping past his lips as he felt you tightening around him, your body responding eagerly to his touch. He couldn't take it anymore. The sound of your muffled moans, the way you writhed against him–it was driving him insane.

Without warning, he withdrew his fingers, earning a frustrated whimper from you. But before you could protest, he spun you around, pressing your back against the rough wall of the closet. His eyes were dark, filled with a raw, unbridled need as he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his hand already working at the buttons of your pants.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp for air, your hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt, desperate to feel him inside you. Logan groaned into your mouth, the sound low and primal, as he shoved your pants down just enough to give him access.

He pressed you harder against the wall, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist as he freed himself from the confines of his pants. The feel of him, hot and hard against your thigh, made your head spin, and when he finally thrust into you, the sensation was overwhelming–an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain.

Logan's grip on your waist tightened, his forehead resting against yours as he began to move, each thrust rough and urgent, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that was desperate, almost frantic. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he drove into you, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

"Fuck... you feel so good," he groaned, his voice barely a whisper, but the raw emotion behind it sent a thrill through your entire body. The tension between you, the weeks of pent-up frustration and unspoken desire, all came pouring out in the way he fucked you–hard, fast, and with a reckless abandon that left you breathless.

Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder despite your best efforts to stay quiet. Logan's hand quickly covered your mouth again, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you steady as he pounded into you. "Quiet," he rasped, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his own struggle to keep silent. "Can't let them hear how badly you want this. How badly you want me."

The filthy words pushed you over the edge. Your body tightened around him, pleasure crashing through you in waves, and Logan groaned loudly against your ear as he followed you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.

For a moment, the world outside the closet ceased to exist, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the aftershocks of your release. Logan kept his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his hand still resting on your waist as he looked into your eyes, the intensity in his gaze softened by the shared experience. "You alright?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You nodded, still catching your breath, the weight of what just happened slowly sinking in. But there was no time to dwell on it–footsteps sounded in the distance, reminding you both that the danger was far from over.

Logan adjusted your clothes quickly, his hands surprisingly gentle despite what had just transpired. "We gotta move," he whispered, his tone back to business, though the lingering heat in his eyes told you that what had just happened was far from forgotten.

With one last, lingering look, Logan cracked the door open, peering out to make sure the coast was clear. Then, with a silent nod, he took your hand, leading you out of the closet and back into the chaos that awaited.