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i-cant-sing · 5 months

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Time Traveller AU pt3

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 4 is here. Find the AU masterlist here! Check out my MASTERLIST here.

"This is so unnecessary" you whispered to the man sitting behind you. "Everyone's staring." Your eyes scanned over the mass of people in town, as your horse passed through.

You thought you would get your own horse, but Baldwin had other plans apparently, as he just picked you up from your armpits and plopped you in front of him on his horse.

You could feel him smiling from ear to ear. "I think they're just in awe of your beauty. I would suggest getting used to the stares, now."

You rolled your eyes. "Dont flatter me. I know how I look, besides- I was referring to us sharing a horse. Its unnecessary and its why everyones looking at us."

"I think its unnecessary to get another horse for you. You dont know how to ride them, and believe me when I tell you- these horses are wild. I dont want you to get hurt when they kick you off." He teased.

You scoffed. Alright, maybe you werent an equestrian, but how hard would it be to ride a horse anyways? Didnt Baldwin learn to ride one when his right arm was paralysed and he had to do with his thighs mostly to control the horse?

"Still, I couldve gotten a carriage. Or better yet walked? Maybe even ride a horse with someone else-" You quieted down as you felt a pair of lips peck behind your ear.

"Dont even think about it. Why would I let anyone touch you, be this close to my princess-" his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you back closer to him. "Wouldnt you prefer your soon-to-be-husband to help you instead?" He whispered as his hand slowly found its way to rest on your belly, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you pulled his hand away and smacked it when it tried to touch your waist again. "Behave, Baldwin." You admonished with a smile as people looked at you. You dont want to create a scene (especially not one where history would report some lady smacking King Baldwin).

You getting flustered and angry only made him chuckle, as he leaned down to give the back of your head a kiss.

Enough with the PDA already. Arent medieval times supposed to be more conservative?

Ugh. Your lips formed into a thin line. Maybe he'll back off when you reach Salauddin and he sees how other Muslims act.

With some entourage accompanying you guys, you travelled away from the kingdom for almost an hour or so until you crossed that one sand dune beyond which Salauddin and his people were camping.

Before reaching the dessert, you had asked Baldwin if he had something that you could cover yourself up with. You want to adhere to the customs and not accidentally piss off one of the greatest Muslim rulers. Sure, you could've worn something more concealing before leaving the castle, but neither of you wanted people to know that you two were going to meet Salauddin.

Baldwin nodded and in one swift motion, he had removed his cloak and wrapped it around you, bringing the hood over you.

"But- what about you?" you looked back at him with wide eyes. People didnt just wear full length clothes back then just because of modesty, but also to protect their skin from sun damage.

He smiled. "I'll be fine, princess." No, you wont. And you're not risking yet another historical change by having the king of Jerusalem getting skin cancer.

Immediately, you tore off the bottom of your tunic and made a keffiyeh (a headdress) which covered both his head and his face. "There, now we can go."

From the keffiyeh, only his eyes were visible, which crinkled up. "Did you cover me up because you dont want women staring at me in awe?"

"What? Of course not. You just recovered from leprosy. Your skin would be sensitive to the harsh sun and heat of the desert-" He cut you off by laughing lightly.

"Whatever you say, princess. Whatever you say."

As you neared the camps, you saw men dressed in battle armour coming out of the tents, and you from the way he walked, the way he dressed, even his mere presence could make you recognise Salauddin from a mile away.

The horse stopped and Baldwin got down first before helping you down. You followed him as he walked towards Salauddin, who was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. An erie silence settled all around you, the sound of air whooshing being the only thing audible for a few moments. Salauddin stared into Baldwin, while men from both sides glared at each other, one hand on their swords, ready to fight.

"Salam alaikum." Baldwin spoke first.

Peace be upon you.

You heart dropped for a second when Salauddin didnt reply back immediately. With your hood covering your face, you couldnt exactly see his expressions, only resorting to his body language and sounds to anticipate his mood.

Salauddin's lip quirked up. "Walaikum asalaam." He opened his arms and both men embraced each other for a few moments and you could feel the tension around you finally melting away as men from both sides finally started conversing with each other normally now that their kings were talking amicably.

Salauddin patted his back and raised a brow at you. "Who taught you the keffiyeh to cover that sore face of yours?" Baldwin chuckled. "My fiancee- Y/n, princess come here will you?" You walked closer to Baldwin. "This is Y/n, and we're both here today to invite you to our wedding. Darling, say hi, will you?"

You gulped. "Assalamu alaikum".

Salauddin's ears perked up. "Walaikum asalam. That was perfect pronunciation. Have you been taught by Arab scholars?"

"About that..." Baldwin chuckled nervously. "Y/n, why dont you go there with the ladies? They seem pretty eager to meet you." Salauddin nodded his head and a couple of women, all wearing burqas approached you. "This is princess Y/n. Take good care of her." Salauddin told them as they took you to their tent, where only women remained.

Meanwhile, Salauddin let Baldwin in to his tent.

"So, whats the secret?" Salauddin asked as he sat down, beckoning Baldwin to do the same.

He took a deep breath. "Y/n is... a Muslim."

Salauddin blinked at him. "What?"

"She's Muslim." He repeated. "So could you just tell me about the Islamic wedding ceremony? Nikkah, right?"

Salauddin stared at him. "Are you joking?"

"No."

"You cant marry her, Baldwin."

"Why not?"

"Because she's a Muslim and you're Catholic!"

"So? I havent seen it stop Muslims from marrying non muslims."

"No- only muslim men can marry non muslim women. It doesnt work the other way around."

"Salauddin, thats sexist."

"Its not sexist- nevermind, I cant help you understand it. But no, you cant marry a Muslim woman."

"What if... shes not Muslim?" Salauddin gave him a puzzled look. "I... believe Y/n may be using religion as an excuse not to marry me."

"If she doesnt want to marry you, why do you wanna marry her?"

"She does want to marry me, she's just... confused. Look, Salauddin. She cured me- CURED leprosy. This doesnt happend to anyone. She- she has something holy about her. How else do you explain this miracle?"

"So what? You think God and what- Jesus? chose this girl for you? That they gave her healing hands to cure your disease? You think shes of divinity?"

Baldwin smiled softly. "I do." Salauddin rolled his eyes. "Youre infatuated with her, Baldwin. Its temporary. She performed some magic, or tricks and you think she's divine? Do not make a fool of yourself."

"Then explain how I suddenly got well, Salauddin. Youve travelled the world, you sent me your best Arab healers, you believe in sciences- explain to me how I was cured of my incurable disease."

Salauddin gazed at the young king. "Let me guess, she claimed that she's been sent by Almighty God to cure the King and save Jerusalem, and in return, you must marry her or give her your throne to fulfil some prophecy?"

Baldwin chuckled, leaning back against the ottoman a bit. "Actually, she's been denying that she did anything to help me, she keeps on making excuses to marry me, she avoids my affection- and if I'm being honest, attention." Salauddin's eyes furrowed a bit. What game are you playing?

"Maybe... Black magic?" Salauddin is well aware of witchcraft, its been mentioned by his religion too.

Baldwin shrugged. "She's far too angelic to be associated with that. I'm sure there would be prominent signs if she was involved in any sort of magic or witchcraft."

Salauddin was about to reply but just then, his guards came running in.

"Salauddin! There's a sandstorm coming!" Immeadiately both kings sprung up.

"Tie up the animals! Tell everyone to get in and take cover!" Salauddin barked orders at his men.

The women in your tent were immediately informed of the situation and they quickly started taking measures, with the men outside helping to nail down the tent and gathering the baby animals and children, bringing them inside the tent.

You got up to leave and go to Baldwin, but the women pushed you back down, telling you its not safe to leave.

"The storm is here! You can't leave now!" Well, alright then. You plopped back down on your seat, when you heard someone cry out loud and your eyes immeadiately saw the liquid on the floor.

Of course it was the pregnant lady.

The woman had went into labour and everyone rushed to help her. Everyone but you. Nuh uh, youre not meddling in this time, lest anyone else accuses you of having magic healing hands.

Another harrowing scream pierced through the room, with the harsh winds threatening to blow away the tent adding on to the tension.

Maybe I could just stand near them, just to make sure they are using proper hygiene. Or actually just to see how midwifes worked in the past. Yes, its for science.

You stood near the midwifes, out of their work field because you dont want to be an obstacle. Of course, you may have had caught the sight of the poor woman and her... vagina, which youre ashamed to say has made you sick to your stomach because child birth is not a beautiful phenomenon and fuck this shit youre never having babies.

After almost an hour, the baby was finally out. The stench of sweat and blood and the nightmarish sights you'd caught glimpses of had made you want to throw up when suddenly the enviorment turned gloomy. And it hit you.

The baby wasnt crying.

The mother who was previously crying from labour, was now crying due to a different kind of pain.

You felt for her, you truly did. Carrying a child for 9 months, making sure to take every precaution, not to mention the constant prayers for a healthy baby (and for some, specifically a boy) otherwise the mother would be blamed.

The midwife put the dead baby in the bassinet beside you before tending back to the grieving mother, who was still bleeding from down there.

"Poor Fatima." You heard one of the women whisper to her friend. "To wait for 8 years before she finally conceived... only for her child to die before he could even take his first breath."

Your heart broke as you heard them, the woman sobbed inconsolably. You turned your head to look at the baby in the bassinet and subconsciously, you wondered what went wrong.

Doesnt look like he was choked by the umbilical cord... and he doesnt look cyanotic either, so he probably wasnt dead inside the womb. Your eyes widened. Maybe-!

Your hands went to pick up the baby before halting mid air. No. No. I cant interfere- I cant mess with history more than I already have. I cant save a child who was destined to die-

Your head whipped to the woman who let out a shrill, devastating cry, begging God to let her son live.

Fuck it. You picked up the baby. Maybe this baby was destined to live.

Immeadiately you checked for breathing before putting the baby on a table nearby and placed two fingers on the left side of his chest, starting compressions.

"1. 2. 3-" you muttered under your breath, trying to recall what was drilled into your head when you were attending first aid classes. Pinching the baby's nostrils, you breathed into his mouth, eyes watching as his chest rise and drop. You repeated the compression set 2 more times when the baby finally took a huge breath and began crying.

Picking up the baby, you ran towards the bucket of water and started cleaning the baby's head and face off the mix of blood and amniotic fluid, while massaging his back and his feet to encourage him to breathe on his own.

After a few minutes, you turned around to cover the baby with a cloth swaddling him up nicely and thats when you finally looked around you.

Everyone was staring at you in shock, the sound of the baby crying echoing the silence.

Shit. You rocked the baby gently as you handed him to his mother, who also looked at you in shock with tear streaks on her cheeks. I hope... they didnt see me do CPR.

Yes, damage control. Thats what you need to do. You cleared your throat. "Um- yes, Allah has blessed you with a beautiful son. Lets be grateful to Him." And the women slowly began talking again and agreeing, some saying that they'll go give sadaqah (charity to please God) while others were going to go pray.

When you turned around, you saw Baldwin and Salauddin standing at the entrance of the tent, the former having a beaming smile while the latter looked in surprise.

Maybe it was the stench of sweat and blood in the room, maybe it was emotional situation you went through (high key nauseating), or maybe it was the mix of amniotic fluid and blood on your mouth from when you saved the baby, but the next moment, you lost consciousness.

When you woke up, you noticed you were in a different, much bigger tent. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up with a groan.

"You're finally awake." You looked up to see Salauddin sitting at his desk in the other corner-

Salauddin? Your hands went to draw your hood over your face but you realised your (or well, Baldwin's) cloak had been replaced with a cotton niqaab that veiled your entire face except for your eyes.

Standing up, you looked in his direction. "Where's Baldwin?"

You heard him chuckle darkly. "He left."

"He left?" You heard him walk over to you, and instinctively you took a step back, narrowing your eyes at his audacity.

He towered over you, face neutral as he looked down at you. His hand gestured to his right, where a chess set was placed on a table.

"Do you play?" He asked, eyes never leaving yours.

Hesitantly, you nodded. He sat down, beckoning you to do the same.

"Ladies first." He let you start the game. "I should tell you though- if you wish to leave out of this place alive, you'll have to win."

What the shit? Is this some sort of psychological game? Or is this actually happening? I mean, people in the medieval times were crazy. Just because he's muslim shouldnt excuse him from insanity.

You picked up the white pawn. "Where is Baldwin?"

"I told you, he's gone." He moved his black pawn. "He sold you to me."

You looked up at him. What? "Focus on the game. You do not wish to know what will your fate be if you were to lose this game." You immediately picked up your bishop and moved it.

Salauddin clicked his tongue as he took your bishop. You moved your pawn again. "Why- why would he sell me? I'm his fiancee." You asked, your eyes never leaving the board. You're playing for your life here.

"Well, when we saw you use black magic to save that baby- oh, I took your other pawn too, mhm-" He smiled as he looked at your furrowed brows. "And then I told him that you cant be a muslim if you were using black magic."

"Black magic? When did I use it?!" you asked exasperatedly as you lost your knight.

"We saw you muttering something when you were "saving" that child." Muttering? When was I muttering? "One of the ladies even said they heard you whisper some repetitive words to a tune too."

Repetitive words-? You wanted to bang your head against concrete when you realised he was referring to you doing compressions to the rhythm of Stayin Alive by the BeeGees. This one is not your fault because the instructor taught you guys that.

"I was not doing black magic. Even so, who are you to decide if I am a Muslim or not?" You moved your other knight.

"I am Salauddin Ayubi-"

"So?" Salauddin looked at you.

So? So? No one has ever dared to ask him questions.

"Your real name is Yusuf. Salauddin is just a laqab, hm?" Your eyes never left the board as you made your move. "Do you think you're above me? Above Baldwin? Above anyone?" You didnt let him answer as you gestured at him to continue the game. "I dont recall you being a prophet. I dont remember you being a caliph even. So, Salauddin tell me what gives you the right to judge if I'm a muslim or not?" You asked as you took his pawn.

Salauddin narrowed his eyes at you, making his bishop take another pawn of yours. You didnt let it deter you as you practically snatched the same bishop of his with your rook. "Just because youre a muslim, you think you have the right to judge me?"

He scoffed at your words, making his move but you took yet another black pawn. "I am a Muslim. I was born in a Muslim family-"

"Exactly." You took more of his black pawns as he took your white ones. The board was mostly empty now. "You were born in a Muslim family. Do you honestly believe your Lord is happy with you because you were born in the right family? Is that the essence of what being a Muslim is?" Salauddin now looked at you but you didnt let your eyes stray away from the chess board. "Are you a Muslim because you were born in a Muslim family? Or were you born in a Muslim family because Allah knew you wouldnt find your way if you werent? If you were born in a catholic family, youd be a catholic? Lets say you are a Muslim, how do you know youre a good enough Muslim who can judge me? How do you know Allah will let you in heaven when youre on Earth declaring so and so is doing magic and isnt a muslim? Only Allah can judge us, not you Salauddin Ayubi." You stated calmly as you made your final move. "Thats checkmate."

You finally looked at him, your eyes holding satisfaction at his distressed face, though he masked it well.

How you wished to reveal to him that he was playing against a grandmaster whose parents made her take chess as a hobby since she was 6 because they believed it would make her smart and get into good colleges (it did. Thanks mom and dad.)

"Salauddin, we can play chess all you want but dont lie to me. You know I wasnt doing magic, and you know that I know that Baldwin wouldnt just leave me behind. So please, tell me, where is Baldwin?" Before he could reply, you continued. "Remember, lying is a sin."

At this, his eyes finally showed amusement. "He's outside, helping the women sew a niqaab for you. He wants to embroidery a flower in or something." You rolled your eyes at that. Of course, leave it to Baldwin to do cute romantic stuff.

Salauddin leaned back in his chair as he studied you. "So, how did you bring the baby back to life?"

"I prayed to Allah." He quirked a brow at you. "I also cleared his nostrils. They were plugged with fluid, so he didnt know or couldnt breathe with his lungs. Then I just warmed up his body a bit and he was crying- the baby was never dead. You know that no one can be saved from Azrael if Allah has written for that person to die."

Angel of death.

He gave you a nod, though his eyes watched you curiously. "How were you so sure that I knew you were a Muslim?"

You shrugged. "I just did." Why wouldnt you know when he was playing chess with you to check your psychology? Not to mention, he allowed you to be covered with a niqaab even when you were unconscious and let you stay in his tent? If he even doubted that you were a non muslim, you more than likely wouldve been treated far badly.

Salauddin chuckled. Of course, youd keep your secrets. "Then you know that as a Muslim woman, you cannot marry anyone of another faith."

"I dont plan on marrying Baldwin." You scoffed. "I already rejected him and have tried to sway his mind, but hes set on his decision. I think he actually believes that Im an angel or something divine."

He quirked a brow at you. "So he's forcing you to marry him?"

"I wouldnt say force- well, actually I would say that. But he doesnt treat me badly or anything. He's very sweet, even when I avoid him."

Salauddin clicked his tongue. "I could help you." You looked at him. "You are a Muslim, a part of the ummah. I could-"

"No. If youre suggesting starting a war, no." "Well, not a war, youre not that important." Damn. He grinned at your offended eyes. "I meant, I could send some people to sneak you out or-"

"No, if Baldwin finds out youre involved in any way in my escape he would-" you cant risk an extra crusade happening because of a damsel in distress, aka you. It would put the fate of Jerusalem at risk as well as the fate of the Ayyubid dynasty.

Wait. Ayyubid dynasty. They ruled over Egypt, Syria, Palestine, Yemen and so on. But Egypt was the learning center of the Islamic world during this time because they focused on arts and education which meant they hosted the world's greatest scholars there.

"Salauddin, can you get me to Egypt?" The king of Egypt, or sultan of Egypt looked at you quizzically. "I can, but why? Do you have family there?"

"What? No, I'm not running away to Egypt. Look, I just-" you cant explain to him about your escape plan that you were going to use the help of scholars to help you make the tools which you can use to fix your broken time machine. So, you lie. "You're someone who enjoys learning, right? I know you like history and sufism, and I would just love to get to know more about it."

With his head resting on his palm, he studied you. You intrigued him, and although he sensed you had ulterior motives, he agreed. "I cant take you there personally because I am busy here, but I could send you there with some trusted men." You smiled under your veil. This is exactly what you want. And almost as if he could sense your glee, he continued. "Your madly-in-love fiance wont send you alone, or at all."

"Let me worry about Baldwin, and he'll agree because I'm not running away. I'll work on my escape another way in which no one has to die." You said, finally standing up and walking out of the tent to find Baldwin who was sitting with the other veiled women, his eyes focused on the needlework.

"Baldwin." You called out with your hands behind your back as you walked upto him.

He looked up and his eyes practically sparkled at the sight of you. "Princess!" He stood up and immediately went to hug you but you stopped him before he could, nodding your head at onlookers. "Oh right, sorry." He smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, ears turning pink as the women giggled.

He then picked up the niqaab he'd been working on, the blue cloth matched the color of his eyes. "Look, I made that flower." There was embroidery done on the sleeves. And of course, amongst the mass of tiny, delicate pink and white flowers, Baldwin made the biggest, slightly wonky flower.

It brought a smile to your lips. Gosh, he's such a-

You shake your head. No. No. You cant.

"Its beautiful, Baldwin. Thank you." He grinned at your praise, nodding his head as he folded it up. Still holding the embroidered niqaab in his hand, he walked over to Salauddin and shook his head. "We should get going now. Thank you for hospitality, Salauddin." The Kurdish nodded. "Of course. You're always welcome. And if you have any more questions about our traditions and rituals, dont hesitate to reach out to me. Although your wife to be seems quite knowledgeable on the subject herself." Your eyes widened every so slightly. Did Salauddin- did he just acknowledge that you're not as dumb as he thought you were.

Baldwin smiled before leading you towards his horse, helping you get on it.

Salauddin watched as your entourage left, and his mouth twitched.

You have piqued my interest, Y/n. He called his right hand man.

"We still have spies in Baldwin's castle, right?" The man confirmed. "Excellent. Have them find out all they can about lady Y/n. And prepare a small entourage ready to go to Egypt."

"Wont we be staying here, sultan?" The man asked, confused as to why Salauddin would be leaving Jerusalem this early.

"We will, but I will make a short trip in between."

Of course, Salauddin cant just let you go to Egypt alone. The sultan will have to make proper arrangements to welcome you there.

And to find out what you're really there for.

He returned to his tent, his eyes landing on the chess board. Walking upto it, he looked at how you had defeated him.

Salauddin smirked, using his finger to knock down the white king.

It'll be fun to make Baldwin jealous.

Part 4 is here!

#yandere king baldwin #yandere male #yandere baldwin #yandere baldwin iv #baldwin iv #king baldwin iv #yandere #kingdom of heaven #the leper king #koh #yandere salauddin #yandere oc #yandere ocs #time traveller au #yandere x darling #yandere x reader

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marc-spectorr · 6 months

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𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒎

pairing: duke leto atreides x fem!reader

summary: It's the night before your wedding to Duke Leto Atreides and he finds you struck by panic about your future in Caladan.

warnings: 3.1k wc. arranged marriage, panic attack, anxiety, mentions of conceiving. my limited dune-lore knowledge. soft!leto.

a/n: first leto fic ahhh!! i may or may not write more parts to this in the future. i had so many ideas but if i wrote them all in one fic, it would be a long one (not to mention it would take 1001 years to finish and post). anyway, feedback is very much appreciated! hope you enjoy :)

—

Caladan.

There is a beauty to it that you cannot deny. It's captivating from the very first glance. An indescribable sight, unparalleled to anywhere else in the universe.

Of all the worlds you could be in at this moment, a part of you is glad it's Caladan. In spite of the circumstances that brought you here, you try to be grateful for it. Surely, there are worse places to live on than this.

Here, the ocean is vast, stretching far beyond the starlit horizon. A fresh breeze carries the salty scent of the water towards you. It tickles your skin as if it were a feather, the light coolness sending goosebumps along your arms. You tug your shawl more closely around your shoulders.

It is far from the hot desert landscape you know and love. Despite its recent hardships, that planet was once home to you. It still is. You wonder how long it will be before you consider Caladan as such. It's been one week since your arrival, and you're in a period of adjustment, which in truth, has not been too easy.

The beach is empty, unsurprising as the moon has moved far past its highest point in the sky. You can't sleep. You haven't for so long. Similar to all the nights prior, you had tossed and turned endlessly under silken sheets before deciding to go for a walk. You found no comfort in your bed despite the mattress beneath you being the softest there ever was.

It could be the chambers themselves, surrounded by four dark walls that are still very much foreign to you. You must get used to it, you remind yourself. In fact, it's more than just a room that you must get used to.

Tomorrow, your life will change more than it already has when you moved to Caladan.

Tomorrow is the wedding—your wedding. Many esteemed members of the Great Houses will be in attendance, alongside your closest family and friends, who are now worlds away from you. They will all be present to witness you exchange vows with Duke Leto Atreides, a man you barely know.

You exhale a deep, long sigh and draw your knees under your chin. Gentle waves lap onto the shore, the white foam almost reaching your toes before ebbing away. You watch in comfortable silence, the hypnotic rhythm of the waves creating a sense of calm.

Unwittingly, your mind combs through recent events. You spent plenty of these last few days surrounded by those more interested in your upcoming nuptials than you are. You've grown weary of feigning smiles every second in their company, of pretending to be okay when you are far from it.

You feel alone. You are alone.

It’s a sacrifice—leaving behind the life you had to help your struggling home world. Things are changing faster than the time you have to process them. But you can't afford to wait—the sooner you marry Leto, the sooner your father and your people's burdens will go away.

You are doing the right thing. The noble thing. It's what you were raised to do. The last thing you wish is to be seen as a disappointment.

Still, it doesn't mean you have your worries and doubts. You lack experience, having never courted someone before. You question whether or not you would be fit to be a wife to the stranger who is the Duke of Caladan. You're well aware of the responsibilities you would have to uphold, the expectation that one day you will need to bear him an heir…

You shut your eyes, trying to push past the feeling of your heart starting to pick up and thud heavily against your ribs. But the pit of anxiety gnawing at your stomach grows and grows, and it's a losing battle. Not even the ocean waves that mesmerized you moments ago could distract you from the mounting panic inside.

Your thoughts batter you from within like a storm raging out of control. The pressure and expectations others have on you— that you have on yourself— can't be stopped.

They're too loud; they refuse to be ignored this time around.

Your body trembles, your breaths are short and shallow, and it feels like you are drowning; you're helplessly caught in a dangerous current that pulls you under the water. The weight in your chest drags you down and deeper, sinking and sinking until you hit the very bottom of the depths of your own mind, deprived of any air, any light.

It's only until a voice calls out your name over and over again that you resurface. Warm, gentle hands urge you to sit right back up, and you don't have it in you to fight against them. You don't remember curling up on your side, wound in a tight little ball, nearly burrowing yourself into the sand bed as if wanting to be swallowed whole.

"Breathe, darling... Listen to my voice and just breathe, alright? One... two... three..."

You can't see him, not through the hot, stinging tears obscuring your eyes. But you can hear him. His voice's hazy, soft lull is strangely familiar, yet you cannot place whose it is.

He coaxes you repeatedly, and you focus on his words as if they are your one and only lifeline—as if they are the calming waves reaching the shoreline.

You do as he says. You breathe.

"One... two... three... That's it, my lady. Deep breaths for me, and again— one... two... three... Good girl, and again. Breathe..."

You're unsure how long has passed by the time your heart slows, and your breathing evens out. Your blurred vision clears once your tears have settled, and your eyes widen when you recognize the face before you.

Duke Leto Atreides kneels beside you, dressed in a manner you have never seen him in. He has on a loose white shirt and dark lounge bottoms, his graying head of curls mussed by the wind blowing past.

You're uncertain why he's at the beach alone at this late hour despite being seemingly ready for bed. Perhaps concerned guards informed him of your wandering about the castle in the dead of night. Did he come all this way in search of you?

Leto’s dark eyes search your face for the reason of your distress. Embarrassment sweeps over your cheeks— you cannot imagine how much of a pitiful mess you look. God, what if you've ruined it? What if seeing you this way, so weak, and frightened, and pathetic, has Leto wishing to rescind his agreement to marry you? What if, what if—

"Hey, shh… Relax. There is no need to fret," Leto soothes. He must have seen the worry in your eyes, but instead of ridicule as you anticipated, he looks at you with concern.

You cast your gaze down, catching sight of your hand in his. He hasn't let go of it since finding you, and when he notices your muscles tense up from the anxiety that seizes your body once more, he squeezes.

Leto squeezes your hand firmly but nowhere near the point of pain. His words are a quiet murmur in your ears. "Don't go back there, darling. Stay here, on this beach. Squeeze my hand back so I know you're here with me. Can you do that for me, please?"

With his other hand, Leto places a finger under your chin to tip it upwards, meeting your eyes. Again, he holds your hand tightly and brushes his thumb over your knuckles. You concentrate on him, matching your breaths to his. The tension starts to slip away bit by bit, and when it does, you finally squeeze his hand back.

"There you go. Just breathe, you're alright," Leto murmurs with a small smile. It dawns on you how close he is when the sound of the ocean becomes second to his voice. "Better?"

You swallow, then nod following a brief pause, not trusting yourself to speak.

Moving slowly so as not to startle you, Leto picks up your shawl from the ground, dusting it clean of grains of sand before draping it over your shoulders.

You expect him to leave, seeing you have regained some semblance of composure. You much prefer that he would. You can't handle explaining to Leto what was wrong. Is wrong.

The air turns silent as you face the water, wiping the dried-up tears from your cheeks with your fingers. You don't see Leto in your peripheral vision, but he's there, watching you. You can feel it.

"Here," you hear Leto say. Glancing to the side, you find him still sitting next to you. He offers his handkerchief, gently motioning it toward you when he senses your hesitation.

With the slightest smile, you accept the piece of cloth, whispering a "thanks" and looking away.

It occurs to you then that this is your first true moment with Leto. Before today, you had only seen glimpses of him. The most time you have spent with him was during your first encounter, and even then, it wasn't for long.

You chalked it up to Leto having no genuine interest in you. Why would he? He has duties that are much more pressing than entertaining you.

It's not much of a surprise. It would be wrong of you to expect for more. Ultimately, this marriage is not one for love but born out of necessity. A political alliance. A guarantee that your people will be well taken care of. That's the agreement.

Not to mention, you've heard them— those hushed talks amongst the servants and guards about how Caladan does not stand to gain anything from the union.

They are not wrong; many have supposedly expressed concern, including members of the Duke's inner circle. You wonder if he will come to regret his decision one day.

"You've had quite a fright there."

Leto's voice cuts through the silence between you. He shuffles from behind, sitting where he can better see you. You stop yourself from glancing down; it would be rude, and you don't want to tarnish both your image and your family's name even more than you already have.

"I-I am deeply sorry, my lord. You shouldn't have to see that," you manage to get out, catching the way Leto's brows knit together in response.

"There's no shame in such. Why apologize?" he asks you in a soft tone. "And please, there's no need for formalities. Call me Leto. After all, we are betrothed to one another."

Your throat suddenly dries at the reminder that the man before you is your soon-to-be husband. You wring your hands in your lap and give him a nod, skirting from answering his earlier question.

Leto is quick to pick up your nervousness. You can almost see his brain working to piece it all together and grasp what was happening when he stumbled upon you.

You dread what words Leto might say, fearing they will be judgments made against you. You hide from his piercing stare, picking at your nails until a pair of rough yet gentle hands gathers yours, halting you.

Leto squeezes your hands softly, very much like he did before, and it soothes the part of you that has always ached but you could never get rid of.

"You do not have to carry your burdens alone, my lady," Leto murmurs, leaning to catch your eyes once more, and he does. "Whatever it is, unload it on me. Now, tell me what's wrong."

It's almost cruel that your instinct is to doubt him. But if the sincerity bleeding into his voice wasn't enough for you to give him a chance, then it's the tenderness in his gaze. You see the understanding in them, the concern and genuine desire to ease your troubles away.

Your initial perception of Leto has been wrong. You've been wary of him. Intimidated. But this is no man holding no care for you. He could have easily walked away after finding you amidst a fit. Instead, he stayed. He's here when you were convinced he would never find the time to be.

You open up to Leto like a floodgate, admitting to him the thoughts that plagued your mind from the day you learned about this marital arrangement, your nervousness for tomorrow's wedding and your fear of solitude in Caladan in the days that would follow.

You feel selfish, guilty even, for saying all of this out loud. You have no right to complain when the locals here have treated you with only kindness. Others would dream of being in your shoes—of living in a beautiful land, gaining an honorable title, and having a husband who would make you the envy of many.

Why must a blessing cause you great grief?

Leto listens to every word with undivided attention. He lets you speak freely and honestly, never once interfering between your sobs and sentences. He clears his throat only when the whispering waves of the ocean have lingered in the space between the two for some time.

"You are right when you said some of my advisors opposed me marrying you," Leto begins softly, gauging every bit of your reaction as he speaks. "They told me it would bring no benefit to House Atreides—that all we'll do is use up precious time and resources for a dying planet already beyond saving. Their words, not mine."

There is a quiet beat. Leto glances towards the horizon, where the first faint inklings of dawn break through the skies. He continues: "I realized then that those men do not uphold the same values I believe in. Caladan has more than enough riches to go around. There is no humanity in turning a blind eye to people's suffering—especially when we have it in our power to provide aid.

"I've had plenty of disagreements with my advisors, but I couldn't allow those without hearts to remain on my council. My lack of presence is not because I had no interest in getting to know you. Rather, I was ensuring those who showed little care for my bride and her ancestral land no longer served as advisors of mine—a task that regrettably stole time I would have spent with you."

You fall silent. The breath that leaves you seemingly takes more of the load on your being. Your respect for Leto grows. You see now the kind, thoughtful, benevolent man he is.

How could you have been so wrong about him? You'd been irrational, too assuming. So afraid he would turn out to be the complete opposite when he gave you no valid reason that he's such. You should not have been quick to judge his character when you had known nothing about him in the first place.

"I... thank you, my lor—Leto," you eventually say, turning to him. Shame and remorse cling to your tongue. "I am terribly sorry again. Had my mind been sound, I would've realized my distress is unwarranted."

"Nonsense. You're overwhelmed; your worries were reasonable. All I want is the two of us to be on the same page," Leto replies. The warm smile that adorns his lips when you correct yourself and address him by name lingers. “Let's start over, shall we then?"

You watch as he stands on his feet, reaching out his hand towards you. With Leto's help, you pull yourself up from the sandy floor, shaking off the pins and needles stinging your limbs. He holds his hand out once more, this time for a handshake.

"Hello, I am Leto and welcome to Caladan. It is a pleasure to meet you and an honor to have your presence here."

A smile blooms across your face as you shake his hand, formally introducing yourself to Leto the way he had. "I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to this. I, my father, and our people are eternally grateful for your generosity."

Leto makes a small bow of his head, capturing your hand between his own. Something inside you feels lighter now. The air around you, once thick like water, isn't anymore.

"You will no longer have to worry about your home world. I will make certain they receive all that they need—as for you, as well. I am here for you, even if it's simply as an ear to listen."

A pause. Leto's voice melts a touch softer. He looks at you with eyes deep and brown as the bark of a pine. "In a matter of hours, you and I will wed. It's merely for formality's sake. What goes on between us as husband and wife is nobody's business but ours. Please know that I ask for and expect nothing in return for agreeing to this arrangement. You will never be forced to do anything you do not wish to. Ever. Is that understood?"

You take in Leto's words, becoming aware of the unspoken ones, those hidden between the lines. Their implications settle on you, and you let out a quiet breath of relief into the air.

"I do," you assure before adding, for what could be the hundredth time since Leto has joined you, "Thank you."

“You’re welcome, my lady.”

The sun peaks over the skyline, casting bright golden rays over Caladan. Leto briefly glances in the distance, the silver strands of his mane and beard catching the light, and they glimmer before your eyes. He smiles wide, the lines on his face crinkling as he watches the sunrise.

You also find yourself smiling, spending a moment more studying Leto's profile before turning to what's ahead of you.

Caladan takes your breath away, even more so in the daylight. You can fully appreciate it now that the storms in your mind have passed, and it's as clear as the skies.

"It's a beautiful day to get married." Leto remarks as the two of you gaze out to the water. After basking in the peaceful silence, he meets your eyes again, offering you his arm like a gentleman would. "Come, let me escort you back to your room. We both should rest up a bit before the festivities start."

Nodding in agreement, you quietly say goodbye to the ocean and allow Leto to guide you away from the beach. The sand beneath your shoes eventually turns to a rocky pathway at the foot of Castle Caladan, its grandeur towering over you.

A warm hand slips into yours.

"From now on, you will never feel alone," Leto says, pressing a soft squeeze to your hand. His hold is comforting, and reassuring. “You will always have me at your side, darling. I promise you that."

You smile at Leto, feeling something tender unfold in your chest when he returns a smile of his own.

You believe him, and for once, you think you will be okay.

—

taglist: @pigeonmama

please note that i’m starting a new taglist for my fics. if you would like to be included, let me know :)

#leto atreides x reader #duke leto x reader #dune fanfic #duke leto atreides fanfic #leto atreides fanfic #leto atreides x you #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #my fics

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evie-sturns · 6 months

Text

Bonfire - Chris Sturniolo

summary: you and chris have been as close as anything for years, until one night where chris, you and your friend group have a beach bonfire, resulting in you and chris disappearing together..

contains: smut, sneaking off with chris, semi-public sex, swearing.

-----------------------..••°°°°••..--------------------—-

chris and i have been close since the start of highschool, he introduced me to his brothers, nick and matt, who i've also befriended over the past few years. tonight our whole extended friend group are meeting up on the beach for a bonfire for madis birthday.

6:39pm

i pull up my low rise denim shorts, fixing my hair in the mirror as chris watches from behind me. "chris, i think my bikini is loose, can you tighten it for me?" i ask, spinning around to look at him.

chris clears his throat, "yeah, sure." he says, walking across my bedroom to me and spinning me around. i feel his cold fingers untie my bikini top as i hold the straps.

he gently brushes my back as he tightens the top into a double-knot. "tight enough?" chris asks, i spin around a flash him a smile, "thanks!" i chirp.

"can you guys hurry the fuck up." matt groans, he's apparently 'despises' being our uber driver.

"hey mr sunshine!" i say with a sarcastic grin painted across my face as i open my bedroom door, matt just scoffs with a small laugh, hes got his car keys in his hands.

i jump into the backseat of matts mini van, nick gets in the passenger seat and chris jumps in beside me, our legs touching.

the ride to the beach is.. entertaining? matt and nick have been having a deathly argument ever since we pulled out of our driveway, and i don't think they even know what theyre arguing about now.

matt reaches behind and slaps chris's thigh,

"the fuck did i do!!" chris laughs in shock, "breathing so loud, you sound like your battling your fucking demons back there." matt mumbles as he parallel parks into a spot.

chris taps my inner thigh with 2 fingers, "ready to go?" he asks i nod shyly, my mouth open slightly. chris climbs out of the backseat, i follow close behind, stepping out on to the footpath, covered in small grains of sand. i follow behind the triplets, the beach is completley empty apart from a small cluster of people.

"matt!" nate calls out from the sand about 50 meters away, waving his hand above his head. i jog over to them, dramatically leaping into madis arms,

theres about 35 people all scattered on the sand around a heaped pile of sticks, before i can look for chris i hear a small cheer as a boy lights up the pile of sticks, the orange rays illuminating the grains of sand around the fire.

i run over to the triplets who are sat on the sand is a small cluster, i plop myself down next to them, sparking up a conversation as people start to pull alcohol out of nowhere.

9:47pm

im laying on chris's chest as lively music blares through the night air, he breathes in and out calmly. the sun has fully set, the only light on the beach is the burnt out bonfire, sand kicks up as everyone charges towards the ocean,

i sit up, looking down at chris who has his eyes shut peacefully, the only people left on the beach are all drunk and obnoxiously loud. "chris." i tap him lightly, his eyes flutter open.

"mhm?" he asks, sitting up. his features are perfectly sculptured by the dim light, his hair resting on his forehead. the chain around his neck clings to his bare chest, the only thing on his body are dark blue swim shorts.

i grab his hand, standing up and brushing myself off. i drag chris behind the sand dunes. "you okay?" he asks, i stand infront of him, grabbing his jaw and staring at his lips.

before i can lean in, chris connects our lips hungrily, his hand snaking around my waist and back. i feel the same hands that were tying my bikini 3 hours ago, now frantically undoing it. my bikini falls to our feet, chris pulls away from the kiss, his eyes roaming up and down my body.

chris sits down on the sand, i straddle him as he pulls off his swim shorts. i undo my denim shorts, my bikini bottoms follow.

chris stares into my eyes, our heathy breaths accompanying the silence. "you want to?" chris asks, gripping my waist. "obviously" i tease "gonna have to be nice and quiet for me? yeah?" chris asks, i nod.

“you sure i mean-“ he starts again, i cut him off

“chris we will talk about all of this tomorrow, i need you now”

his hands move to my ass, he hovers me right above his tip before sinking me down slowly, i slam a hand over my mouth “shit.” i moan, the noise muffled by my palm.

“you got it.” chris says, his voice shaky.

i start to bounce up and down on his length, chris also thrusts up into me, filling me up.

chris flips us over, keeping himself inside of me. his chain dangles infront of me as he starts to pound into me, the sand moving below me.

i let out a scream of his name as he repeatedly pounds into me at just the right angle “please fuck!”

chris slams a hand over my lips, his eyes locking with mine, “be quiet.” he almost demands,

“chris i’m close” i groan into his cold hand, he shakes his head,

“no not yet.” he manages to squeeze out, his voice strained.

i start to clench around chris with every thrust, barely audible whimpers escape chris each time i do, i can tell its driving him crazy.

“cum for me, right now” chris says, his thrusts increasing in intensity,

i do, releasing around him, my nails clawing his back repeatedly, he thrusts into me one last time before pulling out, stroking himself once before painting the sand white.

chris and i lay still next to eachother for about a minute, attempting to catch our breath.

“you okay?” chris asks with a small laugh. “yeah, more than okay.” i say back, starting to redress myself.

chris pulls up his shorts before helping me up off the sand, he takes my hand and runs me down to the beach, “chris!” i laugh as he scoops me off my feet and runs towards the ocean, where all of our friends are.

he sprints into the water, throwing me a meter before tripping up and slamming face first into a wave.

i erupt into laughter as he stands up, casually running a hand through his soaked hair.

“yo chris!?” a boy calls out, swimming over to him,

“yeah?” he replies, i watch him as he spins around to face the boy,

“who the fuck was scraping your back, you’ve got red nail lines like everywhere” the boy laughs,

chris’s head snaps round to look at me before swimming over to me, scooping me up for the second time tonight and throwing me into the water.

#sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader

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francis-writes · 7 months

Note

Hiii! can i request what feyd would do if he gets jealous/possessive of his wife/partner? i just have a feeling that he would go absolutely feral. thank you sm! after dune 2 ive been searching her feyd stories everywhere!

READER IS GENDER NEUTRAL

A/N: thanks! I had crush on him since i read the book but now fortunately there is much more about him. I am still obsessed with him but for next week I may publish less often because of university and personal stuff

First of all, you're absolutely right. Not that Feyd is self-conscious. He thinks about himself as a perfect partner, a main prize, so he isn't afraid that you would find someone better than him.

But it doesn't change the fact that he doesn't like the idea of you being out of his control or someone else seducing you. (He trusts you but there's never enough caution, world is full of dangers; also with his position it is possible that someone could try to take you away just to get a revenge on Feyd)

I already wrote a scenario where somebody flirted with his crush and lemme tell you, nothing changes when Feyd is in established relationship. If anything, he only gets more possesive.

Of course, there are many different possible scenarios. His reaction depends on whether there's actual reason to worry or he just has suspicions, whether somebody flirts with you or just gets to close to you, whether it's a stranger, an acquaintance, a family. Is it a noble, a common person etc. But lets just speak about some possibilities

If you were somewhere in public, perhaps on some official party, and Feyd notices that somebody is flirting with you, he quickly drops whatever he's doing and comes to you. Keeping his calm posture, he joins the conversation and makes sure to emphasize that you're HIS partner and you aren't looking for anybody else. Feyd keeps his arm around your waist, starts talking about how happy you are together (constatly repeating "MY love", "MY spouse", "OUR family" etc). He's not that much into PDA and being soft publicly but he kissess you as hungrily and as long as possible. People on the party feel a bit awkward but the point is made.

If potential rival is going to far with their advances and acts too bold, or if it's a less public situation (for example a common afternoon in Harkonnen's residency) then it's very likely that Feyd would use violence, perhaps treating that person like he treated Rabban in the movie (throwing him on the floor and forcing to lick Feyd's boots), no matter the status of that person (unless it would be Emperor himself... I think). Maybe instead of boot-licking (or in addition to it), he would force them to admit that you're Feyd's and they had no right to mess with his possesions (even if your relationship is pretty healthy, Feyd still treats you as his possesion and he's very territorial)

Or maybe if somebody flirts with you more subtly, there's a possibility that Feyd will fuck you in a near room so everybody knows what happen because 1. He knows how to make you scream 2. It's pretty obvious from your disheveled look later. And this can happen no matter whether the flirt happened on a party (and all the nobles have to wittness this little show) or on a common day (and the only recipient of this show is his rival and maybe some poor servants).

When there's no direct threat to your relationship, he still acts pretty possesive. Feyd likes to know where and how do you spend your day (though he really likes if you spend your time with him and if you're interested, he engages you into his duties and takes to fight trainings). He wants you to inform him about your plans and he may or may not make sure that servants observe you. It isn't spying. It's just curiosity and making sure that you're safe.

Also. If Feyd was going to fight with somebody and that person acted the same way as he did with Paul and Chani ("Who is the little one, a pet perhaps? Will she deserve my special attentions?"), Feyd would be fucking livid (kinda hypocritical but that's what we love him for). That person wouldn’t survive to see the next day. And if he left them alive, it would be only to torture them and teach them how messing with his close ones ends.

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #dune part two #dune imagine #house harkonnen #harkonnen x reader

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periprose · 5 months

Text

Priestess | Sayyadina

Faith is falling in Sietch Tabr. Reverend Mother Ramallo has a solution– marrying Naib Stilgar to one of the Sayyadina, in order to greater connect the people and the spiritual way, and enable Lisan Al Gaib’s journey to freedom, when he appears. This is your story as the chosen priestess.

Genre: arranged marriage to lovers, fluff, smut, (oral, piv, 18+) angst, lots of sci-fi Dune book references

Word count: 9.8k

Fremen Dictionary:

Sayyadina: Lower ranking priestess(es) who have not yet drank the Water of Life

Naib: Leader of a Sietch

Sietch: Cave/place of assembly by the Fremen

Sahar: Reader’s Sietch Name

Biet: Reader’s Fremen Name

Stilgar climbs up the rocky terrain, his fingers adeptly finding well-known grooves in the stone as he lifts himself to the absolute top of the cliff.

He needs some time to think over his conversation with Ramallo, Sietch Tabr’s Reverend Mother, before he heads back to the Sietch. Stilgar is not one to stay away from his people, his community— but for once in his life, it’s too close for comfort.

As Naib, there will be too many people coming to him at once, asking for his advice and input on things he is normally capable of answering. Friends and family will approach him closely, knowing too much about him to tell there’s something on his mind, and expecting him to be transparent as he typically is.

For this moment, though, he needs his head to be clear. He cannot be as jovial as he might’ve been in the past.

What Ramallo offered him is a subject matter he does not take lightly.

The sun is setting as Stilgar remembers their conversation from the previous hour.

“As Sayyadina, as Reverend Mother, my honest recommendation is that the Northern Fremen need to replenish their numbers.” Ramallo speaks in hushed tones of Chakobsa, the native Fremen language.

Stilgar is slightly confused. The concept of child bearing is not one that he has to be concerned with, as he, despite his older age, has not been married yet.

Something he admonishes himself for.

“There are many of us, but we could always expand. I have already suggested to the South that they could send some of their people here, if they would like to be.” Stilgar frowns. “So many Fremen in the south, densely packed, is an easy way to be attacked. We could spread out more.”

“Save your war-speak for later, Stilgar.” Ramallo tuts, and then sighs a long, languid sigh that has Stilgar feeling much younger than he really is. “I don’t mean simply bringing people here.”

He’s never sure what the Reverend Mother wants, but he always gives her his full attention. Something about staying in his faith for so long has kept him here, grounded, seated in front of Ramallo, ready to do what needs to be done. Not just for the Mahdi, as he is often teased about, but so he doesn’t lose himself.

“Please. Tell me.” He asks, kneeling his head down in a solemn movement, and Ramallo knows he’s ready for this.

“The youth of Sietch Tabr don’t believe in our faith anymore, do they?” Ramallo wraps a gnarled finger around her wrist, feeling a minor form of trepidation she is sure real Bene Gesserit have never felt. “They laugh when we speak of Lisan al Gaib.”

“They have not read the prophecy.” Stilgar swallows, unsure if he can really speak on this, when he regards himself as a humble follower. “They laugh because they do not believe in the Mahdi to free us.”

Stilgar thinks of his niece, Chani, who suggests that a Fremen could be the Mahdi. He knows this can’t be true, because he believes his people are fed-up— it should have happened by now if one of them was truly possessed with that capability.

“Sietch Tabr is too worldly now. I worry that if we lose our faith, we cannot usher in Lisan al Gaib as he should be, and our promise to freedom.” Ramallo fixes her cold, foggy pupils on Stilgar, the cloudy whites making the typical Fremen-blue appear more teal. He shivers at the idea.

“I want you, as Naib, our political leader, to take one of the Sayyadina as your wife. One of the lower priestesses.”

Stilgar nearly protests instantly, feeling embarrassed to even think of desecrating a Sayyadina like this, but the old Reverend Mother knows what he thinks of this.

“It would be a marriage between our religion and our people, a symbolic union. I believe our spirituality will be renewed.” Ramallo taps his hand. “I’m an old woman now. I cannot make as much as a difference as my younger sisters— and you and I both know it is written that we must keep bearing children.”

Stilgar swallows. He only vaguely knows of the Bene Gesserit, but he can guess Ramallo was deeply inspired by their way, marrying into families, keeping a physical bloodline going. The only thing that troubles him, is that he’s unsure of what this has to do with having children with a Sayyadina in particular.

“If you have children, especially with a Sayyadina, they are more likely to be faithful. Perhaps we cannot convert the others,” Ramallo grits her teeth. “But I believe we can start anew.”

Stilgar knows he cannot force himself on any of the Sayyadina. It’s bad enough that they cannot say no to the Reverend Mother’s command, especially with that shocking, unnerving Voice she uses, so he would much rather let one of them pick him. Yes, that’s what he’ll do— walk into the temple, and let them approach him.

He just hopes he’s not too old, too ugly, too entwined with his role as Naib. He wonders if that’s why women haven’t necessarily been interested in him— what with his constant vigilance to keep Sietch Tabr safe and with a good allocation of resources, which makes him rather unapproachable, not as dashing as a typical Feydakin.

He knows how Lady Jessica looked at him with reproach when he offered himself to her, to protect her and her son, Paul. Yes, even the name Paul suggests something more to him— he still thinks he could be Lisan al Gaib. But either way, Lady Jessica did not want to be connected to him like that— so Stilgar feels that he must admire how marriage exists in that intrinsic bond between two people, from afar.

On the other hand, he feels the slightest tinge of hope when he remembers that a Sayyadina would surely be impressed with his devotion. In fact, Stilgar feels a slight grin on his face, as he climbs down from his cliff, thinking of a veiled Fremen priestess, eyes of Ibad even bluer than his own, marking her commitment to the faith. Holy, but his, to see like no one else would, and to be devoutly loyal to.

Almost like a personal representation, an extension of their faith together. And suddenly Stilgar feels understanding to what the Reverend Mother said, as he walks through the night, back to his quarters, that there would be power in this.

You’re chewing on your bottom lip, knowing that it’s a needless thing to do— a waste of water, now, that a drop of blood has been drawn from where you have accidentally split your lip— and you can’t help yourself.

Reverend Mother Ramallo grasped you and your sisters’ hands during prayer this morning, and told you that Stilgar would choose one of you as his wife.

It’s a bit surprising. As a Sayyadina directly under a Reverend Mother, you simply expected to be on your own, until she died and one of you would have to take her place. Other Sayyadina marry, yes— but you’ve always studied under Ramallo and assumed that you would not have to.

You know the Bene Gesserit— as far away as they are to you— form alliances like this with men, and it’s an honourable thing, typically, to produce a child from a union and continue on a legacy of people. It’s with that line of thinking that you asked Ramallo if this is what you were meant to follow.

“Sahar.” Ramallo used your Sietch name, the one that is only known among your sisters for the most part, as most Sayyadina consider their Sietch name to be their sacred name. “Smarter than I sometimes give you credit for. Yes, like our fellow priestesses, we too can create children for the sacred purpose of replacement.”

You smiled, but Ramallo had a slightly weary look in her eyes.

“I don’t want you girls to forget the sacred duty. Continue the faith. Do not let others forget our long wait for the Lisan al Gaib. Pass this onto your children, if you have them.”

You nodded, and whispered a silent prayer that hopefully soon he would be found, and that in itself would be enough to push people.

So now you wait. You know Stilgar— you’ve conversed with him before, in lunch circles, at the deathstill. He was kind enough— he always bowed when he greeted you, and you liked that, liked that he acknowledged your importance in your role here, however small it may be to you. And he always had a careful, leaning inwards glance, where he would be intently listening to whatever you had to say, even if you simply wished him well and hoped that the Maker would bless him and his passage.

It also significantly helped that he was so handsome to look at, too. You’ve heard women murmur about their surprise on his lack of a wife, and how they’d be grateful to take him, if they got the chance. You don’t disagree– you know you’ve spent many a moment glancing too much at him.

But Stilgar seems intensely busy, and you do not be the one to pull him away from his duties. You have had the privilege of being unaware of fighting, of battles and duels, and now to be potentially married to him, it feels like you’ll simply not fit into his life.

And, on the other hand, as you glumly sit on your bedding, rolling a pebble on the stone floor, you think about how you’ve had little-to-no experience with men.

It’s not that it wasn’t allowed, you’ve always been preoccupied with your faith. With the Reverend Mother.

You know how Fremen men, especially warrior men like Stilgar would be. They have appetites— your fellow Sayyadina sister Nezua tells you about all her crazy endeavours, while you listen somewhat enviously. There’s a reason why Fremen men take so many wives.

Your stomach lurches a little at that. Although multiple wives are common, to continue to reproduce as efficiently as possible, you dislike the notion for some reason— but you feel selfish and wonder if it is because, as a priestess, you’ve had special treatment until now.

Nezua walks into your quarters, and taps your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“He’s outside.” She takes your hand. “Don’t worry, Sahar. I am sure he will not pick one of us— he will probably pick Ranira. She barely wants to be Sayyadina.”

“But isn’t that against the point?” You squeeze your hands together. “For a union between faith and people—”

“C’mon, Sahar. Don’t tell me you really believe that.” She rolls her eyes. “Whoever ends up being Stilgar’s wife will probably be in his house most of the time, ‘praying’, but really just dutifully waiting for him.”

“I suppose…” You don’t want to tell Nezua that she’s wrong. That Stilgar is more devout than she thinks, that he’s not a cheat looking for a free wife to use while pretending to care about the faith.

Stilgar has always come to the temple to pray, even when it is not necessary for a man of his standing to do so— as he often speaks of needing to continue his worship towards the Maker, the One God, and Ramallo is always pleased to let him in. She wouldn’t do that if he had some sort of ulterior motive, as other less honourable men have in the past.

It’s with a jolt that you realize you already care for him on some level. At the very least, you think highly of him.

Nezua pulls you up off your bedding, and you adjust your veil before going off into the main prayer hall with her.

Upon seeing the arrival of all six Sayyadina sisters— the current number of high priestesses directly under Ramallo— Stilgar pushes himself into a deep, reverent bow, and as he arises again, his gaze seems to linger on you before coming across your sisters.

You feel both excited to potentially be picked, and terrified to leave the temple where you have lived your whole life.

Stilgar can’t help but have his eyes drawn towards to you. Not just because you’re beautiful— you are, though, with the eyes of Ibad, deep blue pupils, a wise, judicial expression upon your face— and he wonders why.

Not out of disrespect, but Stilgar often sees the Sayyadina as being sort of withdrawn, within themselves, perhaps solemn in the religious vows they have taken. Even now, your sisters don’t meet his glance as often as you do.

Stilgar thinks you may be defiant. Maybe a troublemaker of sorts. His heart has a sudden thrill at the idea, but his mind knows this isn’t what’s necessary for this arrangement.

“Hello, sisters.” He smiles in a firm, thin line, meant to be placating to those around him. “I believe you know why I’m here. I hope this will not be an uncomfortable process for us all.”

He takes another look at you. No, you’re simply… you’re taking him in. And Stilgar decides that’s overall better than being defiant. Closer to the values of a leader, not even in just a spiritual way as the Reverend Mother had suggested to him.

You’re gauging his reactions, trying to read if he’s more of a rascal than he lets on— but he meets your previous idea of him, a reverent, kind man trying not to do harm, and your mouth settles into a assured, small smile.

Stilgar feels comforted, pleased even by your expression, and he knows he’s going to pick you.

”Sayyadina—” He points to you so there’s no confusion, and your sisters appear as neutral as they can, while you read micro-expressions of either relief or disappointment. “I would like to speak to you on this matter.”

You shuffle in silence as you leave with him to a different, quieter corridor, and as you turn and fix your veil, Nezua flashes a grin at you.

So your feelings were that obvious, you think.

Stilgar is a great deal taller than you. You have to peer upwards to really look at him, and you think he likes that— there’s a slight twinge in his eyes that makes you feel easily drawn to him.

“Why me, Naib?” You ask, and Stilgar stares at you for a moment longer, before tearing his eyes away to stare at the architecture of the temple.

“You have a knowing look in your eyes, Sayyadina.” He responds in turn to your use of Naib— a term denoting him as Leader of the Sietch. You use it so not to be overly familiar with him, but you understand you both respect each other.

“So you picked the most shrewd of us, is that it?” You wrinkle your nose in a slight laugh, but then actually grin as Stilgar laughs.

“One could call it shrewdness. I simply see that you are not afraid, you look for what you know you must find. Only great leaders make the approach.” He explains this so clearly, you were not even entirely aware that you were doing such a thing.

“It only makes sense to do so, Naib. I could not just stand there and allow you to do all the decision making.” You admit with tact, so not to drive him away.

He nods. “That is why you will be a great one.”

Stilgar seems comfortable with you already, and yet his expression takes a pained look for a moment.

“It's for that reason I do not want to force you into this… uh, arrangement.” He admits, and you are taken aback for just a moment, just a slight gasp.

“What makes you think I don’t want to be your wife?” You speak too soon, maybe too boldly but Stilgar likes that. Despite not even being betrothed yet, you are so forward with him, so ready to be claimed by him.

And he's just as willing a participant to be claimed by you, so he smiles, watching you turn a little flustered, but you let your feelings for him stay apparent for a moment.

It's not like there's room for privacy in a marriage, you think.

An arranged marriage, you admonish yourself. He’s here only in the most professional of terms. Don’t complicate this with your idiotic feelings, you still have a job to do.

“I just meant that– it would be an honour to be associated with you, Naib.” You keep your head tilted downwards, trying your best to be the reverent Sayyadina you’re known as.

“Of course.” He swallows, unsure if you’ve suddenly become shy, or that you’ve decided to be more cunning– something he admires anyways. He thinks not many women would actually be attracted to him, what of the mug he calls a face, and so he decides to just be glad that you’re willing to be with him.

“Okay, Sayyadina. If you’ll have me as your husband, then,” He grasps your hands in both of his, and he has the kindest look in his eyes, and you look back up at him, feelings simmering on the inside as you maintain a peaceful facade. “We will have our engagement arranged soon.”

Then, ever so gently, he pushes back a part of your veil, wanting to see your face better.

You visit him more often after that. Usually in the hall, where there are other people, and you do this so people don’t think you’re too in love with him already– visiting him secretly would only prove that, suggest some sort of affair of a human connotation.

By being around the others, people feel that things are coming into place– religion and leaders are creating a strong, united front that will lead the Fremen to peace. More believers for the Lisan Al Gaib. And you are glad to already be pushing people along the path that Ramallo set out for you.

Stilgar has a stronger look at you, now. Not just the polite glances of before. With every conversation, he takes you in, drawing more and more conclusions. And with every moment, he learns more about you, and he likes what he learns, too.

He sees that you like your food spicy, as does he. And you especially enjoy tabara– the soft sweet cake made of tabaroot, honey, and spice, rich and sweet in flavour, adorned with fruit. It’s a rarity in Arrakis, since a few of the fruit come from offworld traders– so he gives you his portion and you two argue over this, before Stilgar eventually puts his foot down as Naib.

“You should accept. Extra portions go towards those who need it, not me.” Stilgar says, ever the humble one as you’ve come to know him.

“Except this isn’t an extra portion, is it? Sayyadina aren’t supposed to indulge so much, leaders like you may deserve it as you do such hard work.” You taunt him, knowing that you’re both so similar– you could argue forever with Stilgar because you’re equally as willing to sacrifice things for each other.

Great leaders, indeed.

“Sayyadina, don’t make me remind you how important your creed is.” He tuts, and you find yourself simmering with attraction to him– you are beginning to look forward to these conversations more and more everyday. “Your work is just as important– don’t do a disservice to your life just for me, okay?”

The people around you shift in their spots on the floor, to listen more closely, and you recognize that although you and Stilgar grow closer– the intended effect is taking place. People are supportive either way.

Maybe you don’t have to be distant, overly religious, to win support. Maybe, like what Ramallo said, they need to see how spirituality can touch people, and how you’re just a person as well.

He places the piece of cake in your bowl again. “Accept it as a gift, Sayyadina.”

You smile up at him, squeeze his hand without thinking. “Okay, Naib. Thank you.”

Stilgar cannot stop thinking of you, even when he is training Usul to fight in the Fremen way.

He remembers your last meeting, a few weeks after your initial one– and then how you said in two days time, after your faithful prayer that the Shai-Hulud would allow your union to be peaceful, you could begin the engagement ceremony. And Stilgar focused on how serious you were– how holy this approach was, how you seemed to glow from within, with some otherworldly energy, and even now he could tell he was enamoured with you. With that strong gaze, eyebrows tensed and purposeful in their thought.

Usul– Paul, at this moment, with his lack of focus– cannot stop staring at Chani while she practices sparring with her friend.

“Usul. Usul.” Stilgar shakes his shoulder, and Paul finally tears his gaze away. “You’re too distracted, my friend.”

“I’m sorry, Stilgar.” Ever the charming, young lad, Paul smiles placatingly towards Stilgar, and even he is too struck by his charisma to avoid it. “I’m here. I’m ready.”

“Please, tell me what bothers you.” Stilgar knows, already, as Paul stares down at his hands, that the boy has eyes for his overly tenacious niece. “Is it a matter of the heart?”

“Yes.” Paul exhales. “It’s not important right now. How did you know?”

Stilgar smiles reproachfully. “I… I suppose I should tell you honestly, before the others get to know.”

It strikes Paul that the Fremen trust him so readily– even Chani, with her misgivings about the prophecy, seems to be swayed towards him, and he does not know if he enjoys the attention, the privilege this grants him. Again, he is struck with that terrible purpose– that he will use these people for his own benefit.

Stilgar interrupts his line of thought. “Soon, I am to be married to one of the priestesses.”

Paul grins. “Ah, Stilgar, you rogue. You’re distracted, too.”

“Yes.” Stilgar admits, and he thinks of you with your deep blue eyes, your careful-yet-understanding glance, and he longs to see you again. To get to know you better. Yes, Stilgar may not truly know you, but he feels he has been on your side this whole time. Every glance at the temple, every cursory conversation at the deathstill, it has all been building up to something– perhaps not what he had imagined it to be, but he would never consider himself unlucky for this, or that Ramallo could ever be wrong about her plans.

As Naib, though, he still has his duties, and he tuts and tells Paul to get back on it. And Paul, strong young man wanting to prove himself, uses his Bene Gesserit training to imbue a level of focus that no woman could possibly break.

The engagement ceremony day is finally here.

You're excited, yet nervous to be known as Stilgar's wife. It feels more real with every approaching moment– it’s not just a silly, girlish fantasy, it’s something that everyone will see and know as a tangible union.

You haven't got any time to see him– Stilgar has been away with other Feydakin, no doubt unleashing hell on Harkonnen troops– and so you wait for his return.

The first of many waiting periods, you know that. You always knew this was going to be more of a political marriage– more in meaning for Sietch Tabr than really having to be around each other.

But you miss him, anyways. You like him, and despite your attempts to focus on praying to the Maker that he will be okay, you search for him on the sandy horizon every minute of this auspicious morning, the sun blearing into your eyes.

“You know he hasn’t come this far without his own talent.” Nezua reminds you, as she watches you peer up, blinking in the sunlight. “He’s not Naib for no reason, Sahar.”

All priestesses– both low and high– and other religious Fremen crowd around the outskirts of Sietch Tabr, hidden under cliffs in order to stay in the shade. Yet you reach outwards to look at the sun, risking your sweat even as you know you’re supposed to reserve it.

Lady Jessica, part of the sacred mother-and-son duo from the outer world, watches you with a gaze you cannot place. You know it is not simple curiosity– there is something new and malicious in her stare that has only heightened after Stilgar had asked to be betrothed to you.

A sudden gust of wind blows sand around you two, and Nezua tightens her veil, firmly jutting her jaw in a way that tells you she must be right, that you worry about nothing.

Ten minutes later, after praying and hoping, Stilgar returns over the sunrise, victorious in battle, and you feel he looks exhausted– yet his face breaks into a smile when he sees you.

He is greeted by many Fremen, fellow family members, but Stilgar pushes them aside, making his way directly towards you.

And you let yourself be pulled upwards by him, as he grasps your hands.

There’s something sweet and endearing here– almost innocent in how he looks at you, as if he’s been waiting to see you again just as long as you have. But you quickly remind yourself that this moment is not just yours– it would be considered somewhat heartless by other Fremen if Stilgar did not appear to like you, and by extension, the whole marriage’s point would fail.

“Sayyadina–” He holds up the Water Rings, the metallic counters representing the volume of water a Fremen could release into the deathstill. Here, they mean that you will be tied to Stilgar, as you are now betrothed to him. “I ask you to be married to me, by nightfall.”

“So soon?” You ask, wondering why he would want to do it so early.

“It cannot wait much longer. Reverend Mother Ramallo is not well.” He tells you, and your heart sinks, wondering why your dear reverend mother has not told you about this.

You’ve seen the signs– she struggles with fine motor skills and often her cataracts make it difficult to see anything– but you are still surprised.

“Okay.” You swallow, and then smile up at him, and he squeezes your cheek in a fond gesture that makes you feel heat rise there.

“We will be wed tonight.” He calls out in Chakobsa, and the Fremen around you rally with glee, and you feel that whatever this is, even if Ramallo does not live to watch it play out– it’s working.

The unmarried women of the tribe fix your hair with the rings Stilgar presented to you, and you feel ever the part of the blushing bride. You know it’s not wrong to genuinely have feelings in this arrangement– you just hope Stilgar feels the same way.

Chani grins at you. You know her well– you’re around the same age, you’ve grown up somewhat together– and you wonder if she feels odd about her uncle marrying you.

“No, if it means I can call you Auntie, I’m happy.” She jokes, and you shove her as she laughs.

Chani rarely laughs like this as of late. She’s always so hard on herself– she thinks she has to be because of how indoctrinated so many Fremen are to the faith. And despite your life as a Sayyadina, Chani has never let your conflicting beliefs stop her love for you.

You only wish she’d be more careful as a warrior. As a freedom fighter, Chani sometimes lacks restraint– so you’re grateful to see her happy.

“Well, maybe some day you’ll be married, too.” You squeeze her hand. “To a great warrior.”

“I don’t know, Biet.” Chani calls you your Fremen name, not your Sietch one, which will be used tonight at the wedding. “Let us focus on you for now.”

“I just… I don’t know if he feels the way I do.” You suddenly admit, and the fear that you’re still going to be lonely crops up.

Chani shakes her head, that hard, tough scowl on her face back again. “If there’s one thing I know about my uncle, it’s that he’s not an idiot.”

She presses her cheek to yours. “Don’t you understand how important you are, Biet? How special you are, not just to me and everyone here, but to him especially. Stilgar has not stopped speaking of you for the last couple of weeks.”

You smile softly at that, thinking of how ardently Stilgar looks at you now, how you’ve gotten to know each other over the last few weeks of basic conversation. More close than ever, and yet just far enough that you keep wondering. Is it admiration, gratitude that you’re willing to serve a greater purpose, or something more? You know it’s selfish, but you want him to like you. To love you.

“Everybody knows, even Muad’Dib.”

At the mention of Muad’Dib, you can’t ignore the slight tension in your spine. Both you and Stilgar have discussed your belief in his abilities, his potential to be the one– but you know that Chani does not share that.

Still, you hear a slight shift in Chani’s tone as she says his name, and you give her a glance.

“You like him, I think.” You tease, and she tells you to shut up in Chakobsa.

You wonder if Muad’Dib was the one who shared this information to his mother, which would make her dislike of you understandable. You get the sense she’s power-hungry, terrifying– she would’ve been a greater candidate for this marriage, an otherworldly mother that fits the prophecy, representing not just the union of politics and religion, but with the power of the Bene Gesserit– and you find that you resist her, anyways. Resist the idea that everything must be for this one purpose.

You want to keep Stilgar to yourself, and it almost frightens you that you might be going against something that you’ve been taught to believe from a young age.

You’re no Chani.

The dark of the night spreads across Arrakis.

Stilgar begins the trek up the dune, where you wait, bathed in the moonlight– you’re wearing a different outfit, a dress with intricate beading marking your place as a bride, and instead of a veil, you are wearing a much thinner, transparent shawl that allows Stilgar to make out your silhouette. Your hair is interwoven with his Water Rings.

Stilgar has always known you are beautiful, but especially now of all times, with your blue eyes reflecting him in the silver moonlight as he meets you at the top of the hill– and it’s not a distraction, because he’s meant to be here with you.

He likes you a lot– there’s a taut feeling in his throat, as he realizes he’s watched countless friends and family members get married, but never thought of himself as one of them– and in the past, Stilgar had always felt there was something wrong with him for not marrying sooner. But now, he’s so thankful he waited, because it’s you. His holy, veiled priestess.

You share his faith, after all– but over the last few weeks he’s seen that you share his judgement, too. He only hopes that his feelings will be returned some day and that he won’t scare you off– Stilgar knows he can sometimes be too much.

Reverend Mother Ramallo approaches you two from the other side of the dune. She speaks in Ancient Chakobsa– old marriage passages from the faith, hymns that are sacred in their meaning– and the unmarried women below, begin their chanting and agreement with the hymns. They dance.

Then, Ramallo asks Stilgar in Chakobsa, if he is willing to take care of you, to entirely claim you in every way as the Fremen faith dictates– to not leave you behind. You know she cares for you so deeply, as she’s watched you grow up from a young girl, and you hear a slight twitch in her voice, giving her away as someone who will miss you.

Stilgar responds without hesitation that yes, he will always be there for you. And you believe him. You don’t hear a hint of irony or lying in his tone.

Maybe this isn’t just a marriage of political nature.

Ramallo yells in Chakobsa, using the Voice: “It is finished!”

Celebrations are loud, jovial, necessary after the Fremen endured hardship from the Harkonnen. People are dancing, eating, congratulating you.

You’re happy to receive their blessings, and give them back if they wish to hear it from you. You’re still a Sayyadina, and today of all days, you bring especially good luck to them.

Paul Atreides walks forward after Nezua dips– she’s kissed you on your cheek and solemnly stated she’ll miss you at the temple bedrooms– and you’re intrigued, as you’ve never spoken to him before.

“Muad’dib!” Stilgar is next to you, and he shakes his hands, clapping his shoulder, and Paul hugs him.

“Stilgar, Biet–” Paul’s eyes cross towards you, and you don’t sense the same plotting look his mother has. “Congratulations. It’s so interesting to witness a Fremen marriage. I feel like I’ve learned so much just watching. I did not know Sayyadina could use the Voice, as well. Impressive.”

You think he’s rather compassionate, but there’s no telling if it’s an act. You ignore that– you’re meant to be happy now.

“Thank you.” You gently squeeze his hand. “I don’t use it often– I believe it should necessitate a purpose.”

“As do I.” Paul agrees, and you are blown away by how casually he reveals that he can use it. Another sign, perhaps, that he is who you and Stilgar think he is.

“In coming times, maybe you too will marry in our way.” You make as an offhand comment, so not to overtly reveal your surprise.

Paul is mildly surprised by this, but he doesn’t look displeased with that. “Maybe. I think many women here are quite beautiful, they could probably pick a noble Feydakin than someone like me.”

“In time, Muad’dib, you may be a Feydakin too. You have the strength to be one.” Stilgar corrects him, and you like that your husband is so forthcoming, a true mentor that supports everyone.

“Besides, you’ll need to be one if you want to impress Chani.” You input, and Stilgar looks a little taken aback by this development, while Paul looks more interested.

“Really? You think Chani and I…” Paul swallows down whatever he’s going to say, looking suddenly a bit darker and worried. “I would be lucky if she considered me.”

Paul bids you two goodbye, while Stilgar laughs. “A humble one, isn’t he?”

“Better that than overly boastful.” You hum. “Either way, I hope he is not perpetuating a false image.”

Stilgar agrees.

As the party dies down, he takes your hand, and together, you walk back to Stilgar’s quarters.

He’s rather quiet as he sits on his bedding, cracking his knuckles.

Stilgar is not afraid of you, exactly– he’s afraid of what your relationship should or should not be. He does not know the boundaries in which you two operate, and he’s afraid once he opens that conversation up, of your potential rejection.

Other men would tell him that as your wife, there should be no confusion– that he should be able to bridge the gap, and you would accept it, no questions asked.

But Stilgar had not come this far by simply guessing at things. He knows as Naib, the general context you two have– and he needs to know if you feel the same way, if you don’t just want this marriage to be symbolic in nature.

“Sayyadina,” He calls you, and you sit next to him on his bedding, staying a short distance away, just for respect.

You laugh at that internally. You’re his wife, and you still call on some level of respect. Maybe because you’re afraid of acting on these feelings you have– a hunger for closeness– and you would rather use the excuse of respect instead of pushing him towards you.

Stilgar says Sayyadina with fondness in his tone, though. A formal, spiritual term has never sounded more husky, more inappropriately close than ever– you let yourself hope.

“I’ll ask you this once, and make your answer clear, so I do not bother you otherwise.” Stilgar pauses, wanting to be sensitive about this subject. He doesn’t know exactly what you’re comfortable with. “I want to know if you want to be more than wife in name, or if your heart is drawn to being within your faith.”

“Who says I can’t be both, Stilgar?” You bite your lip, and Stilgar’s face stiffens. “There’s nothing in our faith that says a priestess can’t have both.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He pauses, grappling with what to say.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you.” He says, and you laugh, for real this time, a louder laugh than he’s heard before, and he grins, liking the twinkling sound of it, but then frowns. “I’m being serious. You should not have to lie with me just for everyone else’s benefit. The marriage has brought people to greater spirits, already.”

“What if it’s for my benefit?” You speak in a hushed tone, but Stilgar listens to every word, inching closer to you. “What if I feel more spiritual when I’m next to you? I feel the Maker’s way flow through me whenever we speak, I feel like I can understand and interpret so much more because I know we are supposed to be with each other, not just metaphorically, but in all ways.”

Stilgar is taken aback by your boldness, and so are you to some degree, but you continue. “I’ve been ignoring this the last few weeks, but I think that’s what love is. What is faith without love? I think I love you, because you make me understand what I’ve been missing…” You smile up at him. “You’re my greater context, Stilgar.”

Ah, He thinks. This woman is too sweet to me. She understands.

“Sayyadina…” He sighs, a deep shuddering sigh revealing so much emotion; relief, really. You’ve never seen Stilgar like this, but it gives you a sense of how much he represses. “You feel like the missing piece I’ve been waiting for. You… you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for a woman that understands me.”

“I never thought I could have the chance to love anyone,” He admits with some reservation. “My appearance tends to ward women away.”

“But you’re beautiful.” You whisper, smiling up at him, and Stilgar feels your hands trace around his face, and he closes his eyes, listening to the sweetness of your voice. “You’re only intimidating because of who you are, Stilgar, but I promise, you’re beautiful. I’m not the only woman who thinks that.”

Before he can respond in turn, that you’re more beautiful than him, the stubbornness that you two share– you let that unspoken urge inside you, the one you’ve never acted on before, overtake you. And you pull his face downwards in a searing kiss, one where he can still taste the spice on your lips after what you ingested at your wedding dinner.

He honestly has not touched a woman in years– not out of some purposeful celibacy, but more because he has been so focused on maintaining Sietch Tabr. And whatever memories he has of that time, right now is easily trumping them.

You part your lips as Stilgar does, kissing him with abandon, again and again as your lips move with his, and he squeezes your waist before pulling you onto his lap.

He groans. There’s a hard bulge in his pants that you’re sitting squarely upon, you know what that is– you’re not entirely uncultured about this.

You experimentally roll your hips over his crotch, finding a sudden pleasure in your lower half as you do so, and he stutters, suddenly, pulling your face away from his, breaking the kiss.

“Sayyadina– wait, slow down.” He holds your wrists in his hands firmly, the heat of the moment causing both of you to sweat. The night air seeps through Stilgar’s window– hot and humid.

You’ve never wanted to be closer to him.

“I’m a little inexperienced. I don’t want to hurt you.” He explains, and you scoff.

“So am I.” You tell him. “Actually, I’ve never…”

“Oh.” Stilgar takes on a very judicial look, one that you’re determined to stop before he rejects you for the “greater good” or something like that. “I would’ve never guessed that. You gave me the impression of expertise.”

“Then let me gain it.” You proclaim, and you cut him off before he says what you know he will. “You’re not forcing me into anything. I want to do this, just like I wanted to marry you.”

He scoffs, now, but Stilgar likes the sound of that and he kisses you again, pulling your shawl off, feeling you wrap around his torso with your legs– he feels you moan and shudder when he squeezes your thighs. He loves this, and when he starts removing your dress– you don’t stop him.

He pulls it down and under you, and you’re bare underneath. Stilgar examines your breasts with admiration– they’re the perfect size, they fit you well– and he immediately takes to one of your nipples with his teeth, causing you to cry out.

As he continues these bites over your chest, squeezing your breasts and your behind, suckling on your neck, feeding off of your sweat, you feel yourself slicken, wetness catching on Stilgar’s pants– so much quicker than you’re used to, when you used to touch yourself in your room at the temple. A waste of water, maybe, but it was worth the relief occasionally.

Stilgar notices, and he wordlessly lays you across his bed, spreading your legs open, looking down at your pussy.

You’re not completely sure what he’s doing, and you feel slightly vulnerable like this– entirely on display for him.

“Let me drink from you, Sayyadina. I would be honoured by this blessing– I thirst, and it would not be a waste.” He says in hushed tones, as he kneels in front of you, and you feel yourself slicken more if that’s possible. The sacred overtones of worship are not lost on you, practically becoming a kink for you as he speaks.

You nod, and he grasps your thighs tightly, practically pushing down on them so you’ll stay with open legs for him– he strokes them a few times, and then dives in with his tongue, lapping and licking slowly upwards to your clitoris, then quickly a few times to taste you faster, which causes you to seize as feelings of warmth and white-hot sensitivity overtake you, and with your fluids, and his saliva, you’re quickly reaching the point of finishing. His beard tickles, and you squirm a little, and start writhing and sweating, moans ebbing out of your throat, but that only makes Stilgar pull you in closer, tighter, pushing his tongue closer, almost inside, refusing your escape.

You don’t want that, anyways. And you finish in his mouth with a flourish as Stilgar laps up what you’ve given him– a drink from a Sayyadina.

You think he’s done, but you lean back with another sigh– a near scream, really– as Stilgar begins to lick at your clitoris, suckling on it, until you’re wet and aching again– and then he uses his fingers to spread your pussy open, and begins to fuck you with his tongue. It’s amazing, wet and writhing and and filthy– it feels nothing like your own fingers and entirely more adept at getting you to another orgasm. The speed at which his tongue languishes inside you should be considered unholy, all things considered– but you feel high, you feel like you’re closer to the Maker than ever– and he suckles at you, his lips closing around your entrance as you moan again and orgasm directly into his mouth.

Stilgar groans. He’s in love with your taste– he thinks he might wake you up every morning like this, if you’ll let him. He’s also painfully hard now– his cock strains against his pants, and he quickly starts undressing.

“Sorry. I needed a second taste.” Stilgar apologizes, standing up, but he’s not sheepish about anything as he continues to rub you, to stroke your pussy to keep you wet. Up, down, up, down, Stilgar could get addicted to this sensation around his fingers– you’re so warm, soft, wet– he needs to be in you.

You’re beginning to feel overstimulated– you’re covered in sweat, and in between your thighs you’re soaked, practically dripping all over Stilgar’s hand as he continues to work you– and you twitch as you sit up, Stilgar’s fingers prodding inside you.

His cock bobs upwards, shiny with pre-cum, and the tip, hard and redder, while the rest is a flattering tan brown. Although this is your first time viewing the male genitalia, you’re drawn to it. You like how he looks partially naked– vulnerable like you, but warmer, soft and hard in different places– and you reach to take his shirt off, letting his full self be unsheathed.

And you like this– you feel an animalistic draw to his body, his chest hair, the broad muscles under them, and he moans loudly when your finger prods at the tip of his cock. Stilgar lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and spreads your ass, his cock nudging inside your pussy slowly, groaning as it does, gritting his teeth as every centimetre feels like another added pleasure of wetness, the bounds of which he does not know, but he is excited to be familiar with and do this again and again.

You sink around him easily– you moan against his neck as you do– and Stilgar bottoms out, feeling you grip and tighten around him.

After what feels like an eternity– both of you drunk on just being intertwined in such a way– he lifts you up again, thrusting outwards, and then back in, pushing you down on his cock, slamming into you. Stilgar’s warrior strength comes into play here– he fucks you relentlessly, and grips you so tightly you think you might be melting onto him. He begins to pound into you, your ass and thighs jiggling with the force of it all, and a severely perverted squelching and slapping sound builds up over time, over and over, his thighs and balls slapping against your thighs and ass, the sound of which you are sure is extremely loud.

You don’t care. You moan loudly, almost yelling as Stilgar’s cock twitches and catches inside you in a place so deep, you’ve never touched it yourself.

You shake and twitch, barely holding onto him as you do, feeling an immense pressure build inside you, almost painfully, but with pleasure. Stilgar claims your mouth as he thrusts, kissing you, slipping his tongue inside as he drinks from you there– and he loves feeling you moan against his mouth as he does so.

He presses you against him tightly, rutting upwards, and then together he tips the both of you onto his bed again, him on top of you, this time using his fingers to play with your clitoris as you clench around his thrusting. You cum again, this time your fluids adding to Stilgar’s pleasure, and you moan as Stilgar’s hands tighten around your waist. The slap of his skin against yours is laden with sweat and your cum, but Stilgar is insatiable, and he thrusts harder.

You feel him inhale, moan, bite at your neck, and you feel his cock twitch again as he cums inside you, pulling out in a hazy stream, and you writhe against him, feeling the heat of the moment conjoining with the cooler air of the night.

He sighs, satisfied with what has happened, lying down next to you. “May Shai-Hulud allow us to do this again.”

Stilgar has to leave again, the next morning, as more Fremen are involved in fighting Harkonnen harvesters, and he wants to oversee this.

“I’m sorry, Sayyadina…” He swallows. He doesn’t want to leave you behind– if he could take you along on his back, he would.

“Sahar.” You tell him.

“What was that?” He asks, and you wrap your arms around him and his stillsuit, dressed in your traditional Sayyadina dressings again.

“Sahar is my Sietch name. My sacred name, only for my sisters to know.” You explain, although you’re sure Stilgar knows this. He only knows your Fremen name, after all. “Since we’re married– I thought you should know my true name.”

“Sahar is a wonderful name… meaning morning.” Stilgar looks out the window with a slight smile. “But you outdo any of Arrakis’ sunrises, my dear.”

You laugh at that, as Stilgar knew you would.

“You will still be Sayyadina to me, no matter what name you have.” He says, and there’s a warm feeling in your heart when you hear this, that he has a special name for you. You take his hands, and press your palm to his forehead.

“Oh Shai-Hulud… keep Stilgar safe from unwarranted danger today.” You whisper in Chakobsa, closing your eyes, and Stilgar closes his eyes too. “Do not risk his life.”

Your harsh, suddenly grating tone from using the Voice has Stilgar opening his eyes again. He has never heard you use it before.

“Thank you.” He pulls you up for a soft, parting kiss– and then after memories of last night echo inside his mind– he gives you a firmer, lingering kiss, laden with love for you.

Stilgar finds that despite his obvious devotion in his commitment to you– the women are more interested in him than ever.

And if he was a lesser man, perhaps he would act on this. But Stilgar has not forgotten the plan, and he certainly hasn’t forgotten you, not so soon. He knows you two are two sides of the same coin– meant to be.

This was not meant to be an outcome. He sees Feydakin women smiling at him, maybe a little too much– or maybe he has not noticed until now.

You said he was beautiful, and he had thought maybe that was just according to you. But seeing how Lady Jessica greets him, not impolitely but just with more… vulnerability, especially after her duke was killed, he thinks maybe you’re right. Maybe he has something.

Jessica stares at the deathstill, trembling over what Stilgar has told her. She must drink the Water of Life, she must take the place of a Reverend Mother– and she does not want this. She wants nothing more than to be comforted at this moment, because of what a tribulation this new order shall be on her.

Or at least, that’s the image she’s conveying, she hopes, and she believes she has Stilgar wrapped around her finger, her coying, Bene Gesserit way meant to coax people closer to her, and by extension, her wishes.

And Jessica can tell she’s done it right when Stilgar leans over, wipes away her tear, and licks it. Perhaps she can secure more support through playing the part of a sad widow.

It’s Nezua who saw what happened.

She interrupts your prayer, your first prayer after returning to the temple, sanctimonious as it is.

“Sahar, please don’t be upset. Just hear me out.” She pulls you into the main hall, where your sisters and Ramallo are reading ancient texts.

“What is it? What’s happened?” You look around wildly.

Nezua’s deep blue eyes blink, as she wonders what to tell you, how to say it gracefully.

“I saw him. Naib. Standing close to that woman, to Lady Jessica– she cried about becoming a Reverend Mother– he stroked her face, licking a tear away.” Nezua admits, and you instantly blink back sudden tears.

“But he–”

“Men can be rascals, Sahar.” Nezua reprimands you, and you swallow, knowing you don’t know as much as her.

You do know about Jessica, though.

“She has been eyeing him for a while… I’ve watched it happen. She’s got her Bene Gesserit tactics, we know that. She wants to be a Mother, no matter what farce she applies in this moment to gain approval.” You shake your head. “He wouldn’t do that for no reason– she’s very convincing. And Stilgar supports everyone, why would he doubt her?”

Nezua calms down a bit.

“But if he wanted to marry her?” Ramallo suddenly chimes in, and you and your sisters watch as she speaks, suddenly convinced of something. “Would it not be the ultimate culmination of what we seek? The mother of the Lisan Al Gaib, integrated into our society… nothing could compare to how many Fremen this would convert. How many people would choose our way.”

“Great Mother, you picked me for that purpose.” You speak up, almost immediately, without fear. You don’t care if you’re speaking out of turn– you do not want to share Stilgar, lose him to some other woman– and here it seems everyone else is okay with it.

“Yes, and you’ve done well, but you of all people should want us to do better.” She remarks, not without a bit of bite in her tone. You hate that it has to be this way, that you stand in the way of something you used to wholeheartedly believe.

Just this once, you want to be selfish. You have faith that Paul will be Lisan Al Gaib, anyways, so why can’t it just be you and Stilgar?

“Once Jessica drinks the Water of Life, she will be a powerful Reverend Mother– all of Arrakis may be swayed by her.” Ramallo peers at your expression. “Don’t tell me you feel something as foolish as love, Sahar.”

“And if I do?” You state, blatantly.

“Then you must be loving enough to see that this would improve Stilgar’s life by far. Men may take multiple wives, you know that.” Ramallo tuts. “Perhaps you’re not as clever as I once thought.”

“He won’t do it. He knows that his love helps me, and as long as that’s in his priorities…” Your voice dies down, feeling like everything is falling apart as you speak.

“Yes, and how long will he care for a lower priestess when he can have a Reverend Mother? Especially one as faithful as him.” Ramallo shakes her head at your ignorance.

“Shut up! You’ve never felt love, you unspeakable witch–” You scream in Chakobsa, using the Voice, the full power of which seems to shake the temple.

Ramallo slaps you, hard enough that you fall back against the floor. Your skin hums with the stinging feel of a new bruise, sure to make it’s mark on your cheek– and she hisses at you.

“Insolent child. It was I that brought you here. It was I that even gave you the chance to be with Naib Stilgar. He would have never looked at you otherwise.” She mutters, and you feel your eyes glisten with tears.

She and your sisters leave, and you hold your breath, trying not to cry. Nezua strokes your arm.

“Perhaps, if he marries Jessica, it will only be a marriage in name.” She tries, but you shake your head. “You would be the one he really loves, Sahar.”

“Or I would be like a concubine– there to produce children, nothing more.” You think of how quickly you leapt into Stilgar’s waiting arms yesterday, and wonder if you were wrong. If his only intent was to have someone he could fuck on a ready basis.

You shake your head. “I need to speak to him.”

You sit on the ground of his quarters, stating a small prayer to stay calm, and when Stilgar walks in, he sounds pleased to see you.

“Sayyadina, I did not expect you back so soon.” He touches your hand, but based on how you draw yourself back, he knows something is wrong. “What is it?”

“You want Jessica. Right? To be your wife?” You say, and he shakes his head.

“We discussed it once–” and your stomach drops at that. “But it would have only been a marriage of convenience to protect her, long ago. Nothing more.”

“Then what happened today, in the deathstill?” You ask, and Stilgar furrows his brows.

“I only relayed Ramallo’s message to her. And she was a bit sad, so I comforted her, that’s all. She almost wasted some water by crying, so I drank it.” Stilgar sits down on the ground next to you. “I promise you, I do not want her.”

“Even if she’s a reverend mother? Closer to your faith? Easier to perpetuate our–” Here you stutter. “The mission?”

“Whoa, whoa.” He softens visibly. “Sayyadina, if you cannot see now that I love you, tell me how to right that wrong.”

“Tell me why you believe you’ll stick with me–” You tear up again and wipe it away. “Tell me you won’t leave me.”

“I have no interest in Jessica– she is a conniving one, but whatever she thinks may happen, it will not.” He shrugs. “I don’t believe she loves me or wants me in that way, either– she still mourns her duke.”

Of course, you think. She might have only been staring at me that one time because she remembered when she used to be in love. Maybe she was even jealous… Jessica was a concubine.

You suddenly feel much more at peace. You don’t think you would’ve ever left Stilgar even if he had married Jessica– but you’re suddenly more understanding of her pain, to be the one not known in any collected record despite being loved.

“I only did anything I could to make her feel more comfortable with her new role.” Stilgar grins. “And if she succeeds– the faith will have more people interested in it, and there will be less pressure on us.”

“That’s true.” You finally tear your gaze from the floor to look at him, and he smiles at you before frowning at the bruise on your cheek.

“What’s this?” Stilgar gently touches you, and he gets angry hearing you hiss.

“Nothing, just a silly altercation.” You explain, but he’s not satisfied with that.

“With who?”

“Ah… Ramallo slapped me after I said she would never understand love.” Suddenly you’re ashamed, and you feel as if Stilgar would be disappointed in you. “She said the best thing would be if you married Jessica– and I guess I… I didn’t want to lose you, so I used the Voice on her.” “You did?” Stilgar raises his eyebrows, in surprise that you’d do such a thing, make a rash judgement like that against your elder. “I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

You lean into his touch, feeling better that he’s not angry at you.

“But I am sorry I wasn’t there to see you take ownership of me.” He laughs quietly. “You really love me that much? Then I’m only yours.”

You smile so hard at that– massive relief flowing through your nerves– and Stilgar kisses your bruise, before kissing your lips and making you feel whole again.

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mondaymelon · 2 years

Text

when they first fell in love with you. ♡

(sumeru genshin impact males x gn!reader)

written headcanon style! enjoy ✩

(a/n) might be writing a part two of this with tighnari and some other male genshin characters so please comment which characters you would like to see! thank you for reading ♡

˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

cyno ♡

he was never the emotional man, at least not around other people. but to you, he was just the hobby-chasing mahamatra who liked to play card games religiously.

the two of you met a long time ago, years before, during his time at the academia. The two of you had the same biology class. over the course of half a semester and more than a few group projects, you could say the two of you had grown relatively close.

close enough that cyno, being cyno, was comfortable enough to tell always tell you his most terrible jokes.

"hey. why did the biologist break up with the physicist?"

you had stared at him quizzically, not sure if this was a test or an actual question about the work, but replied anyway. "what?"

"they... had no chemistry."

"..."

"do you get it - because like chemistry is a subject of science and biologists study the science of life and we're in science class and-"

he'll never forget the way you laughed that day. the way your serious expression faded into one trying to hold back laughter, and the way your lips curved upwards instantly... he felt his heart skip a beat as you let out a quiet giggle under your breath. he didn't know why or what, but a wave of affection swept over him, almost engulfing him completely before he reeled it back, face tinted red.

"hehe, you're funny, cyno." you had told him, smiling sweetly, still struggling to mute your laughs.

"am i?" cynos crimson eyes were wide as he looked at you with a look of surprise.

"mhm!" you nodded at him, beaming. "oh, are you free after school today? we should meet up to do the homework."

cyno hid his face from you then, face burning and flushed red as he mumbled out a response. "i'm free."

"great!" you slid him a slip of paper, torn off of your biology worksheet. "i figured you should have my number. don't forget to text me, okay?"

"i won't."

and he kept his word.

al haitham ♡

it all happened after the school announced an academia-wide field trip to the desert, quite the far trek in hindsight. you were surprised the school even agreed to it. that aside, the entire school was excited about it, especially to people who had moved from the sandy dunes to the lively rainforest in order to study at the academia.

however, al haitham, your literature class partner, had stayed silent. you glanced at him several times throughout the entire day, but his expression didn't change one bit, nor did he even look from his book.

"al haitham." you called out his name, eyes sparkling curiously. "what are you reading?"

"a comprehensive look at sumeru's last 300 years." his answer was short and quick. you whistled, impressed that he was willingly reading such a text.

"are you going on the field trip?" you questioned, wanting to ask but not wanting to annoy him.

"i see no reason not to." yet another blatant answer. he turned the page absent-mindingly, eyes trailing from sentence to sentence. you decided to let him read, not wanting to bother him more than you already had.

just then, a group of students walked into the room, bustling about loudly and chatting amongst themselves not too quietly at all. if they noticed the two of you, they certainly didn't care. they laughed and shouted some more before taking the tables next to where the two of you sat and continued to squawk about.

you caught al haitham wincing at the noise, mutely noting the fact that he had taken off his headphones. you never realized the ashen-haired man had sensitive hearing, but now a lot more things made sense- especially the fact that haitham never ate lunch, like the other students, in the cafeteria.

hesitantly, you reached up and cupped your hands over al haitham's exposed ears. "is it too loud?" you whispered as quietly as you could, hoping that al haitham wouldn't be bothered by your question.

as you glanced down at his expression, his look of astoundment startled you. his emerald eyes sparkled with a look of tenderness that you would've expected as he gazed up at you, his diamond shaped pupils staring up at you and you only.

then, so subtle you almost missed it, he whispered, face flushed:

"thank you."

kaveh ♡

kaveh was always a friendly person, and that was certainly not an exception when it came to you. after a class, he would always burst into the room and come to walk you to your next one.

it come to a point where you would wait for him to show up after the lecture ended, purposely packing up your things slower as you scanned the door for any signs of the blonde man. and he always showed up.

always.

except, then he didn't. you waited until the students of the next hour began to come in, and then waited more until you were sure you were already late. yet, he still didn't show up. worry began gnawing at your stomach as you fidgeted through all of your classes that day, mind cloudy.

and he wasn't there the day after that, either. you missed his presence, his sunny demeanor, and his blushing reaction whenever you decided to tease him.

after about a week of the constant torture, he showed up again, grinning and raising his hand as if he was expecting a wave after your design class.

and you didn't just give him a wave. you dropped all your things instantly, eyes wide and teary, and leaped onto the man, sending both of you tumbling to the ground as you gave him the tightest hug you could manage.

underneath you, kaveh let out a shout of surprise, trying to get you off of him so he could get up, but he wouldn't budge. and he glanced down at you, confused at what had gotten you so worked up, he spotted glistening tears spilling down your face.

"wh-what's happened?" he questioned with a worried expression as he helped you up, tears still running down from your eyes. "did someone hurt you? who was it??"

"idiot..." you leaned against his figure, burying your face into his chest, not caring if you were to be late or not. "you left without a word...!"

"i-i'm sorry-!" kaveh glanced down at your figure clinging onto him, face flushed as his heart pounded so loud that he was sure you would be able to hear it. "i caught a cold..."

"don't leave me again like that, okay??"

"o-okay."

wanderer ♡

you had known him for a long time now, you would've admitted if you had no other choice but to be truthful. but it was a hopeless thing, since never once did he ever seem to notice you - much less care about you or your wellbeing.

at least he had never outright told you that he disliked your presence. it was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

so it was a surprise when he showed up at your doorstep, clothes and hair drenched from the relentless rain outside. he stared at the ground sheepishly, expression embarrassed as he spoke. "i... i didn't have anywhere else to go."

"oh." you had stood there for quite a bit, mouth rounded and eyes wide before returning to your senses. "you can come inside. i'll get you a towel."

the dark-haired man nodded silently, stepping outside as drops of water fell from the sides of his hat. you halted, whipping around. "leave that on the porch."

"but-"

"it's wet. it's going to be no help when we try to get you dry." seeing scaramouche's face fall, you cleared your throat. "but if you must, you can leave it in the mudroom."

"...alright."

you weren't even sure why he was sitting in your living room, a towel around him and sitting on your couch by the fireside, slowly sipping a hot mug of tea. he didn't seem to be thinking of speaking anytime soon, so you did it in his place.

"did you need something?" you questioned him after taking a long sip from your own mug.

"no, i just..." he shook his head. "can i stay here? just for a little while longer?"

the softness in his voice startled you, but you managed to give him an answer without stuttering either way. "you can stay for however long you want." at your response, you saw the male's eyes light up, along with his face flushing a bit too, an action that was not gone unnoticed.

"...i appreciate it. i want you to know that i really do. thank you."

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yoursinfulurges · 2 years

Text

Serpentine

Martell!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: "Perhaps I will be the first to to prompt such obedience from you... To make you bow. To bend you... To break you..."

The reader rides a giant snake bc why not.

Your ethnicity is not specified.

Also apologies in advance as I stray heavily from accurate information. I mainly used Dorne and the Martells as a place holder so this is my own narrative. For the sake of this story Dorne is it's own independent land. Viserys isn't dying in this fic because he needs to catch a break so all is right except for the classic disfunction Targaryen family. I might make this a series but right now it's a oneshot.

Word Count: 6k

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The air laid heavy today as the undying heat of the desert dunes takes it's toll on you. Tearing your eyes away from the sea horizon your gaze wanders to the Sunspear port, small and far away but still so clearly visible to your bedroom tower. With uneasiness, your focal point lands on a large black ship bearing the Targaryen house symbol. Bold and imposing painted proudly on the black sails. You wonder if they were already in the castle, not knowing how late of the hour the ship got here, just that when you awoken it was miraculously there. As a Warrior Princess you pride yourself in never letting your nerves get to you but as of this moment you were a mess of anxiety, succumbing to all the ill thoughts and worries that sparked restlessness within you.

It felt stupid to be so choked up about such a frivolous thing, you always knew this day was going to come and that it was expected of you. But to have it be under such unexpected terms was gut wrenching. All your life you knew that you would never marry for love and you were alright with that, but you had at least hoped it was to somebody you were familiar with. And by familiar you did not mean this. The Targaryens were your rival house, or so it had been.

In attempts to amend old wounds your father had promised your hand to the second born prince of King Viserys Targaryen. A union that neither you or Aemond had expected, as it seemed rather out of place. Dorne is the least populated of the Seven Kingdoms and your people differ both culturally and physically from all of Westeros. So a marriage proposal from the well esteemed house Targaryen to the Martells appeared to be a myth of the First Men.

Although you weren't one to engage in pessimistic thoughts, arguably it made more sense for you to be married off to an Allyrion or Blackmont. Established noble houses of your region. The Targaryens were barbaric outsiders with tendencies to take whatever they want by bloodshed, they pave their own way with fire without regards for others. Luckily it isn't in your nature to bend and be trampled on so easily. It was known to all that your bloodlines were never meant to cross fates. The tale of how the silver haired angel fell from her grace off her dying dragons back, was a victory Dorne relished greatly in. It was a momentous triumph for history that proved the power of your people and the Martells. Aegon conquered all of Westeros but Dorne.

Some would say that there is no greater threat to the Targaryens than your bloodline. And you agreed, they had their dragons and you had your sand snakes, one venomous bite is enough to kill seven full grown dragons. Admittedly, it was a smart political move, although unforseen. A union with such bravado would surely strengthen both houses, and serve as a great threat to those who dare challenged the crown. You did feel a sense of pride not only in your house but in yourself as well, as the good of the realm rested on you.

But truthfully you were hesitant and weary, praying to the gods all goes well. As great as this union was, it also served to be quite dangerous, and can potentially be one of the most foolish mistakes all of Westeros had ever seen. If you aren't able to get along well enough, or even tolerate Aemond then goodwill will be lost and all of the realm will be set on fire. You would never purposely encourage war, but you had your own ways of living. And you understood greatly that you were far more fortunate than many women in Kingslanding. That being said, you intend to fight for your honor and dignity by all means necessary. Regardless if whether or not your husband turned out to be quite a piece of work.

You understood the true reason for your marriage, despite it being poorly concealed behind optimistic words from King Viserys. You would make it a point to yourself to do your best to serve your duty. But above all that must come your freedom and rights. Those are values you cannot afford to sacrifice. Although you doubt that the King would be malicious enough to pour honey into your fathers ears, only to set you up to be treated badly. A part of you wondered if there was any veracity to his words.

In his letter he emphasized the silent disdain your families both had for eachother, and he that wanted to put an end to things. If that is his true intentions or not was unclear, but you are not so easily trusting. You had never witnessed this so called fued between your families for yourself, having never left Dorne before. But you've heard stories of how defiant your uncles have been in court. Purposely refusing to bend the knee to the crown in their own kingdom, which of course prompted a rightful murder in your opinion. It was disrespectful and improper so therefore justified, and you were never fond of your uncles. However, this of course gave your father grounds to loathe the Targaryens. But he was much more cordial than his brothers, as he was a forgiving man.

To say that you were anxious for your husband-to-be's arrival was an understatement. You knew that your cultures varied so vastly, so what if he deemed what you were wearing improper? It was quite scandalous by the Crownlands standards but they were in your kingdom now. And truthfully it would be highly improper and frowned upon for them to chastise you in anyway. Not that you cared if they did, you had your own way of dressing and by your standards this was your idea of dressing for the occasion. You had decided to wear white instead of your house colors, it was a sign that you welcome them and were ready to accept their customs. Funnily enough, white was the color of purity and you represent anything but. Your dress was a simple one in your eyes. Soft and long in material adorned with a cape. Floral embroidery decorated the bodice of the dress, and around your waist tied a svelte sylphlike rope, casting a certain refinery to your aura. The neckline plunged low and the gown displayed two meticulous slits down the front, showcasing your thighs.

While yes it did seem rather unseemly to the unfamiliar eyes, you were not going to sacrifice your comfort and culture for the sake of decency. There was a reason to be in so little layers, the sun and heat of sahara was unkind. Sighing in content your eyes wanders over to your bed, landing on a sheathed dagger. You had put it out earlier and was originally planning on bearing it but decided not to with the advice of your mother. Scoffing at her words that rang so vividly in your ears you picked up the weapon. It was light and delicate, well as delicate as blades can get. The knife shined a pure sterling silver, unlike any other color you've seen before, well complementing your dress. It was curved in shape, mimicking a claw of sorts and the hilt was marbled with the texture of pearls. Beautiful, it was a fitting weapon for a princess of your stature. Disregarding your mothers words, you fastened the dagger around your waist, thus completing your outfit. If they dared say anything about your obscenity you would cut their tongue out of their mouth.

"Princess? They are ready for you." A member of your fathers small council alerted. Breaking you from your trance, his voice muffled slightly by your bedroom door.

The walk to the throne room was agonizing, though you held a strong and cold demeanor to the passing eye, inside you were dying. With sweaty palms you fear your head was going to explode by the amount of worries that whirlwind within it. You know little of the man you are said to marry, only hushed whispers that had managed to travel past the narrow sea. Being aware that he was a warrior, much like you, though he has little to no experience in the battlefield. You also knew that he rides the largest dragon in all of Westeros and unfortunately because of it he only has one eye. You were rather impartial on that fact, whilst yes your father did stress on you that the match wasn't ideal because of it, truthfully you did not care. After all, what's a missing eye to someone who has disfigured and tormented so many. You've had your fair shares of experience, as much as your father would allow you, but at this point you have seen it all. Honestly you were just glad to receive a match that's the same age as you. And although your views on Aemond could differ based off your judge of his character, as of right now you have yet to meet him. So it would be unjust to already discriminate against him, time would only tell if he warrants such behavior and you had plenty of patience.

Aemond however does not. His family arrived at Sunspear late in the hours of the night and were met by the King and Queen only. They were then prompted to their own rooms to get some much needed rest. All throughout the morning he has yet to see a sight of you and it was well beyond noon at this point. Now Aemond doesn't consider himself an impatient person, but when it came to meeting his soon-to-be wife he was in a particularly rushing mood. Not that he let his excitement showed, truthfully he didn't know why he was eager to meet you. Perhaps because he had long been awaiting this day since before he lost an eye. The good old days, when his childhood youth was once filled with the anticipation of receiving his own dragon and his own wife. Of course as time came the matter began to feel so subsequential, but back then that was all he ever truly cared about. Maybe in his young mind, having both a dragon and a wife meant that he was as equally masculine and worthy of the Targaryen name as his brother and nephews.

Though it was never that simple, no matter how much he tried to prove himself to his brother, he was always the lesser than. Getting picked on and berated for letting a bastard sully him. Being tormented with the idea that his wife would see him as hideous, or worst fear him. Aemond was a strong man, but he was also human and it is human for him to be insecure. What if you didn't like him? Yes he viewed this marriage as not ideal but what if you harbored animosity? Snapping out of his thoughts by his dear sister elbowing him, he turned to Helaena to wonder what prompted her discordant. It wasn't like her to be so... aware of the real world, as nicely as Aemond would put it. She nervously diverted her eyes, nodding towards towards the door and it was that moment that Aemond realized.

By the gods you were beautiful...

Ascending from the stairs was a young women unlike any he had ever seen before. And as you near Aemond found himself nervously clenching his fists. Despite showing such anxious stature, he beared no expression, contrary to his true feelings. For a moment his breathe quickened as you bow before his mother and father, gaze trailing over your exposed thighs. Scolding himself silently, he tears his eye away from your body. It was perverted for him to blatantly stare, especially since this was your normal. You probably didn't know sexual you appeared to look right now. Not that he complained.... Stop... That was how your people dressed, it would be improper to think so vile about their princess. Inhaling sharply, he keeps a steady feature as he listened to his mother greet you. Taking your hand in hers, she began to drag you over to where he and his siblings stood.

"This is prince Aegon." His mother introduced. Watching the way his brother blatantly ogled at your body, an unfamiliar feeling began to brew in his chest. He didn't like that his brother was looking at her like that, especially since she was to be his wife.

"Princess Helaena." Alicent nodded to her daughter, observing the way you smiled gently at her in acknowledgment.

"Please to meet you princess." Helaena bowed, her words timid but you returned the greeting.

"And this is prince Aemond... your betrothed."

Aemond watched your reaction carefully, taking in the way that you smiled and bowed to him. You appeared nice enough, though he didn't know what he expected. Perhaps for you to scowl and throw a fit? With this close of a distance he was able to get a good view of your face and indeed you were beautiful. But it all meant nothing if you were going to reject him. Testing the waters, Aemond takes your hand in his, curtly leaning in close as he brings your digits to his lips. Keeping a locked gaze at your expression as he places a chaste kiss on the area above your knuckles. You felt soft...

"Pleased to meet you, my princess." He spoke lowly, registering the way that you smirked in satisfaction, no alternative emotions in sight.

"The pleasure is all mine, your grace." Aemond looked at you with such scrutiny as you spoke. Trying to find hints of disgust or animosity through your porcelain mask yet as he took in every detail of your face he found no trace of abhorrence.

But behind your doe eyes there was something there, something he could not quite place. It was unfamiliar in every sense and he didn't know how to decipher it. You were giving him a knowing look as if you two both shared a sacred secret with one another. And although Aemond did not know what prompted this emotion, he desperately wanted to know more.

Much of the evening was filled with merriment and mirth as the hatred that once squandered friendships faded away. Your father and the king talked of many things alike and began to realize that in truth it was time to mend things. The tension between your families was long in the past although unavoidable between you and Aemond. He couldn't understand why he was so drawn to you but everywhere you went he followed. Watching silently like a predator stalking it's prey as you conversed with his sister. He didn't mean to be so stand offish. Truthfully he wanted to have a little privacy away from his family to get to know you more. There was very little room for you both to talk without intrusion. Whilst yes, the thought of being unsupervised with you may be a little unbecoming, he liked it that way. Perhaps only then, when he corners you, will he get to uncover the reasoning for your unbidden stares.

There was something rather vulgar beneath those siren eyes as you looked at him with sharp conviction. The way your vision would haze and cloud with interest, lips curling in a sly smirk displaying ardor. You were teasing him...

Throughout the evening you both danced around one another till eventually it turned into a game of cat and mouse. You moved with such precision and allure that Aemond found himself awestruck and wanting more. It was exciting to him. He admired how you carried yourself with such elegance and high importance, seeming almost unearthly. They say Targaryens are closer to gods than man, but your very existence challenged that claim. You had vanity, that was plain to see. Your moves are convoluted and don't go unnoticed by him, carefully articulating around the labyrinth of walls he built up. You were the embodiment of serpentine and he didn't know what scared him most. The fact that he is so ready to welcome you with open arms, or the fact that you were aware of your power over him.

Aemond, in principle, is not used to the physical manifestation of feelings. And yet here he was now, standing in the middle of a fucking desert, longing for affection. Or perhaps he only enjoyed the thought because it involved you touching him. There was something so genuine about you, something so raw and potent with rapport. He saw it while you were speaking with his sister, you treated her like anyone else and that was rare to see. You had an affinity for empathy and a way with words like no other, you knew just what to say to his family. That was impressive in it's own right.

It became glaringly obvious now to Aemond that the you had a gifted touch, you were able to make anyone feel like the rarest gem in the world. Yet in truth no diamond is brighter than it's maker. To Aemond you were a paragon of the finest jewels. The sapphire of his eye. He knew it was unhealthy for him to get so attached to you so quickly but how could he not. All his youth he had been waiting for this. Having grown up alone, watching everyone get the things he wanted and now here you were. You were his, he's never had anything that was completely fully his...

"Forgive me I didn't know anyone would be in here..." Aemond spoke lowly, breaking you from your trance as you tore your eyes away from your book.

"This is my private study, my prince... You are free to join me if you wish." The hour was late and nearly all of the castle has gone to bed already. All but you and Aemond... Welcoming him to sit with you over the fireplace as you set your literature aside. This would be interesting...

You both didn't speak for a moment as you feel his presence quickly approaching. Straightening your nightwear as you feel him sit across from you on the untaken armchair. You lift your graze to finally meet his stare in an act of bravery, breath halting for a moment... He made you nervous in every sense imaginable as he held your gaze in confidence.

Aemond Targaryen was gorgeous in such a violent way. You only began to observe it now. There was something so fierce and daunting about his face. Porcelain yet warrior-like, rivaling the beauty of Old Valyria. The prince had a certain vainglory to him. Silent but raw, untamed, and unchallenged. He was unlike any man, the son of war worthy of the iron throne. Strong nose that contrasted his expression well. Dainty lips that utter soft spoken words like whisps.

In secret you wanted them to articulate sweet nothings in your ear...

You did not know where these overwhelming feelings channeled from. But as his hold bore into you, it evoked a touch of insecurity. You felt like he was looking at your very core, past skin and bones and at your morals. Never in your life had you ever gazed at such man. His features preforming one great symphony. A constellation of trauma and abuse in the form of a scar kissed his skin, creating a myriad of Venus. It became painfully evident now that he brought something out in you. Gods be good...

He stared at her with a soft gaze, admiring the way the lit fire illuminated her skin. Openly, he thought you beautiful, although majority of the men here can also say the same thing. Yet as he looked at you more Aemond found himself really seeing you. That enchanting aura faltering just a little bit. You looked vulnerable right here, right now in this exact moment. You looked human. And he thought it was beautiful. The more he sat there the more content he got with this union, you were a fine match. Perhaps it was alright to be vulnerable....

Aemond doesn't say anything for a few more moments, simply gazing at the you as he licks his lips. While you could see yourself in his eye, you wondered what he was truly seeing to look at you like that. Like you were carved from the finest of diamonds and bathed in gold, like if you were to touch him he'd crumble– a careful mix of admiration and fear. Time starts to still and the atmosphere around you began to form tension. Suddenly the fireplace mutes, fading into nothing but hushed crackle as the two find themselves at a standstill. It was just you and him in your sacred little world... No one else... All turns irrelevant as you become intoxicated with eachothers presence.

"Tell me about yourself princess." He spoke, breaking the silence that overtook the room. Pausing for a brief moment to let his gaze wander from your face. Well..... this was improper indeed... The clothes you wore were foreign to him but he gathered it was your nightwear. Temperatures here hot here, it made sense for you to wear very little at night, not that he complained. It was captivating... the garment didn't look like a dress, but rather a two piece that was interwoven together with three long panels covering your modesty. The color was rather fitting on you, a darker grey than the dress you wore earlier almost appearing silver. Sitting with your thighs exposed in a leaned back and slack manner, Aemonds focus leaves your skin and meets your face once more. Breath hitching as your smirk widens. You had caught him looking...

"Forgive me for being so crass, but I'm not one to soften words. My people are very blunt individuals and I dislike small talk so allow me to have some clarity." Your words were honey to his ears, he wasn't entirely fond of small talk either, but your inquiry made him nervous.

"Please, never bite back your tongue when you are with me, what do you wish to know?" Aemond spoke after some time, leaning back to cross his leg over the other.

"What are your views are on our marriage and if you intend to honor our union."

"I'm not following..." Confused he urged on.

"Do you.... intend to stray from our marriage..." His eye widens at that, shocked that you would ask him such question. But it was only fair...

"I know that is straight forward and unseemly but please allow me the peace of knowing now, as it less complicates things later on..." Ah' he said within the confinements of his brain, finally understanding the meaning of your words. Aemond looked down in deep thought, trying to find the right words to say to you. He was a territorial man, possessive in every way so this question striked a certain nerve in him. He wondered why you would even ask that, unless you already had a lover.... He didn't like that thought. That could not be.

"I would never purposely hurt our dignity like that. Truthfully I find it foolish. I am a man that values duty above all, and tis my duty to be your husband and unite our kingdoms. I have seen what infidelity has done to my family, the strain it puts on my mother... I never want to be the cause of her pain by fathering bastard children. So perhaps it is best we stay true to one another." Satisfied with his response, you let out a faint 'hm' before turning away.

"So I've heard... Thank you for enlightening me." You spoke as you stared in great thought at the fire, though he can see a faint smile on your lips.

"Has word of my bastard nephews been so vastly spread that it reached the shores of Sunspear?" He pressed on, now an accompanying smile spreads on his lips, mirroring his companions expression. You laughed at that, a sound Aemond declared he liked.

"People talk, prince Aemond, naturally word would get around." You spoke teasingly, stopping for minute just to admire one another. Calmness falling over you both, as you sat still unbidden just gazing into eachothers rarity.

"Hmm... Tell me, do you intend to honor our union?" Aemond spoke, his voice sounded rougher than before, and you think he may have even rolled his eye. Smirking to yourself as you began to understand that he was a possessive man.

"Of course. I believe in fair playing fields, and getting even. So if you do not provoke me then I will not act out and provoke you. If you are loyal then I will be loyal." In a quick motion he was up his chair and standing directly in between your thighs. You peered up at him through your lashes, the smirk pulling at your lips growing by the second.

His heart sits heavily between the two of you, weeping for your touch, yearning with such want, such need. He swears when your eyes echoes his wants, tempting him to indulge you through curled lashes. The man condemns himself for feeling so reckless, so needy, he had never felt this way before... Felt so much desire towards another individual. He knew this was bad, a distraction but if you were a sin, he'd happily walk into the gates of hell. And at that he surged forward. Breathing a shaky sigh as his hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing tightly.

You whimper at the pressure, your small hands flying to hold his arm but it was no use. He laughed lightly, pushing your head back onto the armchair, almost taunting you. Your back arches lightly, trying to push yourself up against him, whining when you couldn't. He leans down over you, his face so close as he lifts his knee onto the chair. Placing it directly in between your thighs, almost touching your heat.

Oh how badly he wanted this...

"Is that a threat my princess?" Aemond says directly in your right ear, his thumb leaving your neck to roughly graze your lower lip. You don't meet his eyes, choosing to look at somewhere else. You fear if you looked at him you'd lose the remaining composure you had left. He didn't like that, roughly turning your head to meet his face.

"No. I'm merely stating that I refuse to be subjected. Tis' not in my nature to bend the knee. Especially not to Targaryens. I understand that it is our duty to get along but who knows how this marriage ends up playing out. The Martells have stood unbowed, unbent and unbroken for centuries. You may burn me, but you will never make me kneel." You say through a heavy chest, trying desperately to get the words out even though you sounded much needier than intended.

It’s was hot, almost unbearable, and you wondered if whether or not it was the scorching heat of the sun, or just your own body feeling all flushed. Deciding it was the latter since the introductory was highly unlikely. You waited for him to speak, looking sharply at his lips. His eyelids flutter. Never in a million years would he have expected to be driven to the brink of insanity by the mere thought of someone’s lips. Nevertheless, you came along to put all of his bravado to shame. He felt like a young boy again, experiencing all of his firsts once more but this time, it was not with a lowly prostitute under Aegon's urge. No, he was entirely in control and the feelings were infinitely better, you were a goddess. Temptation lulled together with passion and possessiveness. Emotions being cradled by divinity in it's arms, it was all so intense. He wanted more of it...

"Perhaps I will be the first to to prompt such obedience from you, princess..." Aemond whispered, placing his forehead over your own as his finger tips trailed over the exposed skin of your waist. You shiver lightly and he laughs, closing your eyes as his hands get lower and lower...

"To make you bow in submission." He draws smooth circles on your hips. You felt warm, it was all too much but you didn't want him to stop. You liked the way he was speaking so close to you, liked the way he touched all over your body.

"To bend you..." Your eyes open lightly as you began to feel him lift your right thigh up onto the armchair. Looking at him as he says the words so slowly, watching as he positioned your body.

"To break you." He does the same to your left thigh, and it was at this point on you began to realize that he had spread your legs wide open. Fuck... The situation now dawning on you. This wasn't right... not until you were both married...

"You forget yourself, Aemond." You remind him, eyes locked on the visible bulge on his pants.

"Perhaps I do, there is a fire in you and it amuses me." Channelling the words deep in his throat as he grabs ahold of your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and away from his desire.

"Would you like to keep being amused?" Smirking lightly, a playful veil over takes your features.

"It's too soon my sweet." Aemond nods. If it were any other day he would have taken you, right here, right now. But it was far too soon, you had just met today and his mother would have his head if he bruised you this early on. He was not a gentle man, the world would know if he fucked you.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Aemond scoffs at that, watching you turn away. He straightens up, but still keeps his leg in between your spread thighs.

"Oh do you not? Then please tell me, how do you plan on amusing me?" Lightly guiding your chin with his fingers to look at him once more.

"With my lips of course."

"We can't touch eachother but there's no saying we can't share a loving kiss, or perhaps a kiss more than loving..." You smile lightly and he mirrors your expression.

"Now that I can condone." And at that he leans forward to cup your face and takes your lips in his. Holding his wrists once more, you smile into the kiss. Maybe this union wouldn't be all that bad... You're getting quite content with being by Aemonds side.

Next part

Authors Note:

I want to make this a little mini series perhaps, like you and Aemond's wedding and consummation, your children being born, you meeting Vhagar and him meeting your giant snake etc. Let me know what you guys think. I also did not edit this beforehand lmao. I'm not overly proud of this story but it's a good way to revive my Tumblr and branch out from the MCU. I'm taking requests in my inbox!

- Armoni

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jenniferjareauwife · 5 months

Note

Could you do a celeb reader x jj where the teams finds out who reader is and is shocked

Actress

pairing: jennifer jareau x fem reader

category: fluff

warnings: innuendo

word count: 823

summary: request above 👆

"Are you sure they're gonna like me?" I asked.

"Of course. They're gonna be jealous. Of me. Because I'm the one who get to spend my life with you."

"Don't they have some kind of prejudice against actors or something?" I looked in the mirror and fluffed up my hair a bit, about to re apply my lipstick before she stopped me.

"Babe. It's gonna be fine. This isn't a red carpet. They're coming to my apartment. It's fine."

"Yeah but-"

"None of them are gonna care if you're best dressed or not."

"Are you sure."

"I promise. They're FBI Agents. Not the founders of Prada."

"Ok." I let out a breath and flopped down on the couch.

"They're gonna love you."

Fifteen minutes later all of JJ's friends came through the door at once. They all froze once they saw me, stopping their laughter and their conversation. "JJ you said her name was y/n. YOU NEVER MENTIONED IT WAS Y/N Y/L/N!" I woman with blonde hair squealed.

"Well I didn't-" JJ started.

"You have no excuses." The woman rushed over to me. "Hi nice to meet you I'm Penelope Garcia. I loved you in Dune!" She had a huge smile on her face.

"Thanks. It's nice to meet you." I shook her hand and looked over at the rest of her friends who had their jaws hanging open.

"Ok guys. Stop staring. I have sandwiches out on the table and a few games picked out." JJ sat down next to me and put her hand on my back.

I tried to remain casual, like I didn't have a dozen eyes watching me from across the room. "Do they always stare?" I whispered to her.

"Just at you."

"Thanks." I sighed and leaned into her.

"They just didn't expect it to be you. You know? They're shocked that they're meeting a celebrity, and that I'm dating one." She kissed my cheek and pulled me into her. "If you're uncomfortable just tell me."

"Ok." I rested my head on her shoulder, smiling as everyone came into the cozy living room.

"Do you guys wanna watch a movie or play some games?" JJ asked.

"What's your next movie?" A muscular bald guy asked.

"I actually can't say."

"Come on. We won't tell anyone."

"I legally cannot say."

"What's your favorite color?" A woman with dark brown hair asked. "I'm Emily by the way."

"Um...probably purple." It was refreshing to be asked such a simple question again.

"Do you have any pets?"

"I have an Australian Shepherd named Elmo."

"I have a cat named Sergio."

"I've always wanted a cat." I gave JJ a small pout. "I've tried to convince JJ to get one but she says one dog is already too much."

"JJ!" Penelope gasped.

"What?" JJ tried to defend herself but her fate had already been decided. Penelope and Emily started attacking her on how she could say no to getting a cute little kitten. "Are you gonna defend me at all or no?" JJ asked.

"No. Because I agree with them." I shrugged and listened to the rest of their lovely points about why we should get a cat. "See? We could get a little ginger cat and you can pick the name."

"But-"

"Baby please." I gave her my best puppy eyes and everyone laughed. I felt more relaxed now. These were cool people.

"Ok fine." Everyone cheered so I laughed, hiding my face in JJ's neck. She stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head. "See? They love you baby." She whispered to me. "You had nothing to worry about."

"Well I know that now." I tilted her head towards mine, pulling her in for a sweet kiss. I felt everyone's eyes on us but I didn't care. We would have to get used to it anyways, once we went public.

"I never would've guessed you were this lovey dovey." Morgan said with a laugh. "In all your movies you play such cold hearted characters."

"I like a challenge." JJ smiled and kissed my cheeks a few times after I pulled away. I looked back at her and pecked her lips before giving her my bedroom eyes.

"Ok guys, party is over." JJ announced.

"We've only been here for an hour." Penelope protested.

"Why are we leaving?" Spencer asked, confused as Morgan tried to usher him out of the room. "Guys?"

"It's ok Spencer. One day you will understand." Emily sympathized. I giggled as JJ pined me down to the couch, excitement rushing through me as I heard the door shut. Before JJ went any further she just stared into my eyes, leaning so close our lips were just centimeters away.

"I love you so much."

"Why don't you show me then?" She didn't wait a second to connect our lips in a passionate kiss. I knew it was going to be a long night.

#x reader #criminal minds #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x reader #wlw post #lgbtq #jennifer jareau x you

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wreckmetoji · 2 years

Text

An Audience

A fic in which Wolfwood is still bad at feelings but at least he dicks you down good

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/Reader

content warning. gender-neutral pronouns, afab reader, mild overstimulation, unprotected sex, profanity, shameless smut, fluff, slight angst, don’t worry baby boy vash will get his turn eventually

I recommend reading Stargazing and Cigarettes for a bit of context, however it isn’t completely necessary

minors DNI

6.8k words

Love wasn't in your cards. That was something you had to wake up and realize, seeing the empty space in your sleeping bag that seemed twice as big now, despite being made for only one person. You weren't surprised, you couldn't be, you knew Nicholas D. Wolfwood well enough despite him only being in your life for the span of a couple weeks. He seemed... Non-committal, avoidant, and definitely bad at expressing feelings, let alone understanding them. Still, though, the short lived pang in your chest made you visibly wince. Either that, or the sun peering over the dunes, momentarily blinding you. It seemed you were the first to wake up, thank the gods for that, because you wouldn't know how to explain your brief moment of melancholy to the honest, good-hearted people around you. They would all be waking up shortly, so you were quick to recoup. Rubbing your eyes, slapping your cheeks, and standing from your sleeping bag, you vowed to carry on bravely. It was a moment of passion, you were both looking for a lifeline. At least, that's what you told yourself. You had been silently pining over Wolfwood for nearly the entire time he had been traveling with you, but it was time to shove those feelings deep, deep down, bottle them up and put them on the shelf of regrets and things left unsaid. You would have time to reminisce over it later down the line in your life. Poorly rolling up your crumpled sleeping bag, making sure to smack the sand out of the creases in the process lest you want it in every single crevice next time you find yourself stranded. That action must have roused Vash from his sleep, as you could hear a small groan from beside you. It made you smile, shaking your head. For someone constantly on the run, he seemed so carefree sometimes. That was just so undeniably Vash, though. "Good morning," Vash rasped, both hands coming up to rub his eyes, before placing his glasses on his face. "Mornin'," You returned, clipping the straps over your sleeping bag to hold it in place. "Did you sleep alright? I thought I heard you up pretty late, and now you're the first up." You weren't sure why you didn't expect Vash to be perceptive, considering it's in his passive nature to worry about and care for the people around him. The slightly bitter purse of your lips seemed to give you away, and he obviously took the hint not to pursue how you were feeling any further. "Well, once we get to the next town over, we'll get a motel or something and you can nap. Don't worry about coming to get the car with us." A poignant smile graced your lips, more than likely noticed by Vash. "Thank you." It didn't need to be said, but you wanted to voice your appreciation to him whenever you could. You noticed in your travels together he didn't get that a lot, being that his reputation as The Human Typhoon preceded him. You'd been witness to some of the horrible things that followed Vash and his attempts at helping the general populous, and at first it terrified you, but after watching him dust himself off and get back up every single time, you came to admire him more than anything. Vash stood, kicking some sand over the makeshift fire pit that was most definitely already completely out, not that there was anything anywhere around you to catch fire anyways. "Looks like Meryl and Roberto are up," You stated, thumb pointing to the open passenger door of the vehicle several feet away. Meryl was already hopped out, and Roberto sat up groggily in the back seat. No Wolfwood, you took note after a glance around the area. "Great! We can head off right away... then..." Vash trailed off, glancing around the area. Seems as though he had the same realization you did. "Do you know–" "Let's get going." Both you and Vash whipped around, seeing Wolfwood walking over and down the nearest sand dune, his cross slung over his back in the usual fashion. You tried to make eye contact, but it seems he wasn't interested in catching your gaze, let alone acknowledging you at all. Maybe letting everything roll off your back would be harder than you anticipated. "Ahh, it's already so hot... I thought waking up early we would be able to beat some of the heat," You heard Meryl groan, earning a chuckle from both you and Vash. "How far is the next town?" "Uhm, twelve or so miles?" Vash seemed unsure, running his intricate cybernetic hand through his fluffy hair. So it could take you up to four hours to get there? By the time everyone had come to the consensus that it was time to leave right now immediately, Wolfwood was already a good several yards ahead, obviously having no intention of slowing his pace. The trek there was awful. You were tired, hungry, covered in grime and sweat, and Christ almighty, you could absolutely crush a glass of water. It didn't even have to be cold, you'd take lukewarm. You and Vash walked side by side, occasionally joined by Meryl and Roberto for a chat. At some point during your venture, Wolfwood had ended up behind everyone, probably something to do with his inability to trust anyone and everyone around him, or maybe you were just being bitter. "Wahhh, I'm so tired," You whined, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. You intentionally made it seem exaggerated, hoping covering it up as fun and games make the shake of your legs less obvious as you walked up another mountain of sand beside Vash. "How much longer until we're there?" "We should be– should– oh, we're here!" Vash exclaimed after you had reached the top of the dune. You felt like you could cry tears of joy if your body had any moisture left in it at all, so instead you settled and a pathetic little cheer, your knees wobbling and threatening to give out. Your blond companion seemed to notice this, his metal arm coming down to your waist. He didn't touch you, simply hovering just in case you were to collapse. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to keep you from falling. Wolfwood walked in front of the two of you, bumping Vash in the shoulder with his cross as he passed. He stumbled, arm catching around your waist, nearly causing both of you to tumble down the hill. His sour mood made you scowl after you and Vash had gotten your bearings, in which you got a very frantic apology despite nothing being his fault. Wolfwood was simply acting like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. The group of you got to town, branching off in your respectful directions. You and Meryl made a beeline to the nearest and only motel in this tiny backwash town, deciding it would save on money if everyone paired up into their respective rooms. You and Meryl would share, as would Wolfwood and Roberto, leaving Vash his own room. You mutually decided he deserved privacy, considering he was the one that got everyone here in the first place. (You also decidedly left out the fact you were in this predicament because of him as well, since he was on car-charging duty.) Despite the slightly murky water and shitty soap that made your skin too dry, you accepted the cramped motel shower with open arms– after you had gotten a good late lunch in you– the lukewarm water sending goosebumps up your body. It might as well have been ice cold, considering you were in the direct sun and ridiculous heat for the first four, nearly five hours of your day. Your only respite in the sweltering heat was when Vash used his body to block the rays from hitting you first thing, but once the sun was high in the sky he could do nothing to save you. Fresh out of the shower, you sighed at your bag thrown on the bed. Your day clothes were hanging to dry, so really that only left you to putter about in your sleepwear. Not that this was an issue, considering you planned staying in this dingy motel room for the next twelve plus hours. You slipped your sleep shorts on, tugging the ratty worn t-shirt over your head soon after, flopping onto the bed with a huff. Meryl had gone out, most likely to the nearest market to stock up on supplies while Roberto, Vash, and Wolfwood fetched the car with a fully charged portable battery in hand. It wouldn't hurt to take a nap, you thought, considering how little you managed to sleep last night. You kicked your foot pathetically, cheeks flushing at the recollection of how warm his embrace was. Doesn't matter if he's just gonna be a dick to me after.

With a heavy, exasperated sigh, you pulled the blanket and sheet back from the bed, only flipping the thinner of the two on top of your body. He didn't explicitly tell you that you'd get to talk about it, he just made a noise and you had made an assumption. You really don't know what you were expecting of him, you didn't know why it bothered you so much. It was fine, everything would be fine, you just had to get over yourself and everything could go back to normal. It wasn't like he was treating you any different, he was probably just grumpy because he had to walk twelve miles on what felt like the hottest day of the goddamn year. Everything was going to be fine. You just needed a nap. You awoke with a slight start, eyes adjusting to the dark of the room. Meryl laid beside you, her back rising and falling at a steady pace. It was obvious she'd been asleep for a while with how disheveled the blankets were around her, and the slight tousle of her hair. Fuck, you hadn't meant to sleep this long, you didn't even hear her come into the room. You stretched your legs, swinging them over the side of the bed, and sliding your shoes on. You hoped the motel lobby was still open at the very least, and also hoped they sold snacks and drinks. As quietly as you could, you opened the squeaky motel door, sliding out, and shutting it behind you. Luck really was not on your side today, was all you could think as you came face to face with the closed blinds in the windows of the motel lobby. The open sign was flipped, all the lights were off, and not a soul adorned the streets. Considering how high the moons were in the sky, you could only assume it was pretty late. Well fuck. Heaving another sigh, you dejectedly turned heel, heading back to your shared room. What you didn't expect was bumping into another person on your way there. Wolfwood stood outside his- Vash's room? It was fine, everything was fine You tried to get away without saying anything, but having to walk past him in silence seemed to be mission impossible, especially considering the circumstances. "Why are you standing outside Vash's room?" You asked, hand coming up to the door handle of your shared space. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the numbered key ring and spinning it around his finger. "Traded," He mused, fingers tapping the cigarette he held in his hands, "Why, disappointed?" It was intentional, you knew he was trying to get under your skin, that's what he did, and as much as you wanted to say you wouldn't fall for it, you absolutely did. "No, I was just curious. I already told you, it's not like that." Wolfwood hummed in response, low and void of melody or emotion, almost like he was mocking you. "Right, and I'm Mother Mary." "Listen," You hissed, removing your hand from the door knob and taking a quick two strides over to him, "I'm okay with pretending like nothing happened last night, that's fine, but that doesn't give you an excuse to be shitty to me. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine too, but don't be a dick." This seemed to irk him, the scrunch of his nose surprising you. "Who said I didn't want to talk about it?" God, you wanted to rip your hair out. Or his. It was fifty-fifty. "You're the one that ignored me all day," You whisper yelled, pointedly shoving a finger into his chest, "You're the one that wanted to act like nothing happened, you're the one that was nowhere to be seen first thing in the morning!" "Oh, I didn't realize you wanted an audience for it. If that's the case, why don't we wake everyone up and call them out here?" You raised your hands, dragging the heels of your palms down your face in frustration. "I can't win with you, Wolfwood. You're impossible. I'm going to bed." As you turned on your heel, you felt his hand close around your wrist. It was warm, electrifying. "You said you wanted to talk about it. Let's talk about it." A response you didn't think you'd ever hear from Nicholas D. Wolfwood. You sighed, nodding slowly, but when you turned to him he was releasing his grip on you and headed to the door of his room. "Not out here," He muttered, stamping out his cigarette while opening the door for you. Stepping inside, you saw his cross leaning up against the wall in the corner, but other than that nothing else was out of place. His room looked entirely clean, no belongings strewn about, the covers on bed were still fitted and tucked. Did he ever sleep? You kicked your shoes off and heard the door click closed behind you, making you vaguely aware that you were completely alone with Wolfwood once again. Through the thin walls, you could hear snoring, and you weren't passively aware of everyone's sleeping patterns enough to tell if it was Vash or Roberto, or both. You nervously wiped your palms against your sleep shorts, bravely turning around to look up at Wolfwood. His arms were crossed over his chest, standing tall in front of you. The longer you stood in silence, the more desperate you became for any kind of saviour. "Okay, I guess I'll go first," You whispered, stepping back and taking a seat on the edge of the untouched bed, "I... expected things to be like this. I was happy about what happened last night, but I mean... you don't exactly seem the type to want that kind of thing, y'know?" Silence. "It was nice indulging, lying to myself, telling myself that's really what you wanted as well," You picked at the skin on your fingers, acutely aware of Wolfwood stepping away from the door and closer to you, "That you wanted me. That it wasn't just... I dunno, us being caught up in the moment?" You were embarrassing yourself. What were you saying? He was going to laugh at you and call you an idiot, traveling with everyone just got that much more awkward. A small part of you wondered if you should just pack up your stuff and disappear into the night. The likelihood of you making it even a week with no food, no weapons, no money was absolutely slim, but it was a risk you were willing to take. You would leave a note for Vash, he would understand– "You done?" Blinking dumbly, you finally glanced up. He was much closer than you had anticipated, or even noticed, the proximity making you swallow the lump in your throat. Not trusting your voice, you simply nodded, a shaky exhale pushing past your lips when he began to lean down. "Good." His breath fanned over your face when he grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to tilt your head back and crane your neck up. It seemed so easy for him, the way he pressed his lips against yours, the way his hand trailed feather light touches up your jaw, fingers moving back to tangle in the hairs at the nape of your neck and tug oh so gently. And as you were, right here, right now, you didn't want anything else. It's like he knew exactly what strings to pluck to make your heart sing, knew what to touch and where to have you wanting more and more of him. Or maybe you just felt that way about him all on your own. You parted, but not for long, only pulling back long enough for him to start leaning you back, one of his knees on the bed as he knelt over you. He had a hand on either side of you, bracketing you in, much like he had done last night but this was just so different. There was no confusion, astonishment, or impulse. This was planned, this was calculated and it was desperate. His lips were desperate to feel you, his tongue was desperate to taste you. It was suffocating, having him lean into you, press his chest to yours, coax your mouth open with his tongue. It was dizzying, and instead of allowing yourself to dive headfirst into the glue trap that was Wolfwood's affections, you pulled back. "Wait, Wolfwo–" "Nicholas," He breathed into your neck, licking at your pulse point once before biting down. You whined, feeling his canines press harshly into your skin. "I told you to call me Nicholas." Hands planted on his chest, giving a gentle push, but his lips and teeth and tongue made quick work of your neck. "W–Wait, please–" You insisted, giving a gentle push on his chest, "I don't–" Wolfwood pulled back, only far enough for him to look up at you out of the corner of his eye. His body was rigid again, unsure, muscles tense. He panted, breathing uneven and hurried, but ultimately nodded, huffing out, "I'm sorry, I thought– this seemed like this is where things were going." His body pulled back first, his leg sliding down the edge of the bed when he pushed back to stand. This time you were the one to grab him, your fingers closing in on the lapel of his blazer. You were both ruddy cheeked, eyes half lidded as you stared at each other. You took a second to compose yourself, voice small and breathless. "I want you, but–" He pushed forwards again, knee back on the bed. You choked on your words, keeping your hand on his blazer, "But, I feel like we didn't really talk about things." It was a wonder to see Wolfwood at a loss for words. Still, he pushed forward, much slower this time. He leaned into you, closer, hovering mere inches above your lips. "'m not exactly a man of many words, but," He placed a slow kiss on your lips, hands palming at your waist, "I'd like to show you how I feel." All the air was punched out of your lungs, jaw hanging slack in awe at his forwardness. Part of you wondered how honest he was being with you, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes that had you falling back into his glue trap. A nod was all it took before Wolfwood was dipping leaning you back down, kissing you so deep it made the room spin. Your eyes slid shut, every nerve ending electrifying when he would touch you, kiss you. His hands felt like molten fire against your skin when he grabbed at your inner thighs, parting them so he could comfortably slide in between. His touch moved down, around, holding under your knee as he wrapped your one leg around his waist. It was slow, but deliberate, the slide of his palm back up your leg, thigh, before settling on the meat of your hip. His other hand was just barely hovering beside your neck, fingers brushing back and forth along your jaw. Something you could say you never expected of Wolfwood was the tenderness of fleeting touches. When he pulled back from your mouth, you gasped, the string of spit connecting you snapping and soaking into the fabric of your night shirt, some of it dribbling down your chin. Despite not even being touched by him yet, you could feel how dizzy and– most likely– thoroughly fucked you looked. "Fuck," Was all he growled, both hands under your ass to hike you further up the bed to make room for him. The rusty springs creaked in retaliation, the flimsy headboard gently tapping against the wall at the motion. Impossibly warm hands scooped your other leg to wrap around his waist. His hips pressed down into you, pinning you to the bed, the seam of his zipper rubbing up into your clothed mound. You squeaked, hands coming up to his hair when he ran his tongue down the shell of your ear. He kissed, licked, bit every piece of skin he could reach, and all you could do was whine and sigh and take his affections. Hot palms ran up your sides, taking your shirt along with them as he hiked it higher and higher, eventually getting to the peak of your chest. He stopped, peering up at you inquisitively, as if you would say anything except please rip my clothes off. Another nod from you, another smirk from him, and your shirt was quickly pulled up and over your head, leaving you half exposed and on display for him. You had half a mind to hide behind your arms– how long had it even been?– but he seemed to predict your train of thought and beat you to the punch. Lips descended, trailing down to the concave of your chest, kissing your solar plexus. His tongue laved across your skin, circling a pert bud, before his mouth latched down and made quick work at diminishing your leftover self conscious thoughts. You were so caught up in trying not to make too much noise, you hadn't noticed the hand that came down between the apex of your thighs to swipe a thumb up the line of your clothed pussy. It made you gasp out a moan, hands flying up to slap over your mouth just a moment too late. He chuckled, seeming amused by your outburst, the vibrations making you shudder. "You can relax," Wolfwood breathed into your skin, fingers replacing his mouth, "I won't bite unless you ask me to." "You ah–already did!" A grin, cocky and wide and toothy and just so undeniably Wolfwood, was all you got in return. You didn't have any time to chastise him, considering he was pushing one leg of your sleep shorts open with his index and middle finger. Descending back down to your mouth, he smirked, running his thumb up and down the line of your aching core, his voice a low growl. "No underwear?" Tiny and meek, the little rebuttal of how these were your pajamas, of course you weren't going to wear unnecessary layers to bed died in your throat when the same fingers that coaxed open your shorts were spinning slow circles against your clit. The sound you made was airy, desperate, surprised at his forwardness and expertise with his hands He kissed you once, twice, licking into your mouth and pressing his tongue up against yours as his fingers worked you up. They dipped down, trailing through your slick, then came back up with more fervor, tight circles winding you just a bit tighter. You moaned into his mouth, absolutely certain with how fucking wet you were already, you were going to ruin these sleep shorts. There was no time to voice how tight the coil was twisting in your stomach, Wolfwood having pulled away much too fast for your liking right as you were starting to hump into his hand. He laughed down at you, sitting up and stripping your shorts from your body. "Don't look so disappointed," He mocked, shrugging the shoulders of his blazer off, "I'll give you better than that." You squealed when he grabbed your ankles and yanked you back to the edge of the bed, pushing up on your forearms to ask him exactly what he planned on doing with half of you hanging off the bed like that, but the sight of him dropping to his knees on the floor answered your question. You think, possibly in that moment, that was the first genuine and honest reaction Wolfwood had to something that wasn't annoyance. He looked like a man depraved, starved, his hungry gaze watching your face as his mouth and tongue worked up your inner thighs. He looked debauched, hair messy, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and while usually his shirt was unbuttoned up top, it trailed much further down, exposing the dark patch of hair disappearing into his tented pants. Good God. "Ain't no God here," Wolfwood verbalized, flattening his tongue and licking up your pussy, "Just me." Heavy against the bed, you fell back, the creaks and groans of the frame and mattress reminding you that you'd have to be much more quiet if you didn't want to alert your friends sleeping just on the other side. Easy enough was a farfetched thought as Wolfwood licked up the expanse of you again, arms looping under and around your legs, fingers digging into your inner thighs. He brought two fingers down, circling your clit as he tongued around your pulsing entrance, having you squeezing around nothing. "W–Wol– ah! " You squeaked when he slapped your clit, "Nick! " The depraved groan he breathed into your pussy made your stomach do flips, bringing one hand down to his hair and the other up to your mouth, biting down on the meat underneath your pinky. He was relentless, completely devoid of rhyme or reason but absolutely he knew what he was doing would drive you up the wall. His fingers and mouth changed places, the slow stretch of two fingers sliding into your dripping pussy making you keen for him. The curl of his fingers, the way he pushed and pulled just right made you see stars but it just wasn't enough. "Nick– f–fuck, please," Your begs and pleas dripped from your mouth like honey, sweet and syrupy and tantalizing. "Please, more, pleasepleaseplease–" It would be a lie to say you didn't know what your begging and pleading did to Wolfwood, it would be a lie to say you didn't see him rocking his hips up into nothing when you peered down at him devouring you whole. It would also be a lie to say that isn't exactly what you wanted, to push him to his breaking point so he would absolutely wreck you, because it was obvious he was going to take his time in teasing and toying with you. His fingers moved faster, managing to stroke a particularly spongy spot inside of you that made your back arch and your hips jump, and the fucked out noise you moaned into your hand was downright sinful. That seemed to be the desired effect, because Wolfwood was abusing that spot like a man on a mission, his tongue working in time with your clit to send you hurdling over the edge at break–neck speed. The hand you were holding to your mouth shot down, both hands gripping his hair as you rocked your hips up into his mouth and hands. It hit you like a truck, temporarily blinding you. Your hands clenched in his hair, looking for any kind of purchase to help ground you from your earth-shattering orgasm, his free hand coming up to press down into your pelvis, preventing you from squirming and bucking up too much. You whined, gasped, moaned, and pleaded too much, please stop stop too much before his mouth was pulling off of you, fingers slowing to a stop inside you. Your entire body went limp, eyes wide as you stared up at the dingy motel ceiling. You didn't know how you were ever supposed to be satisfied with your own fingers again, let alone another person. A distant chuckle snapped you back, your eyes trailing down to see Wolfwood now shirtless, working at the belt and button of his pants. "Y'look fucked," He mused, pushing his pants and underwear down at the same time, "Hope you didn't think I was done with you yet." It was a visceral effort to not stare at his cock as it bounced between his legs when he stood up straight. He was thick, and definitely longer than anything you had taken until now. You didn't have much time to gawk, considering he was hooking his arms under your legs and tossing you to lay on the bed properly without a seconds notice. He crawled up and between your thighs, coaxing your knees to hook around his hips and circle his waist while he sat back on his haunches. His thumb pressed against the base of his cock, hips slowly moving back and forth as he dragged through your slick and his spit. He hissed, his tip catching on your hole just briefly, before he went back to teasing up and down. Your drawn out whine made him grin wolfishly, but he didn't say anything. You knew he wanted you to beg. "Please, Nick," You whined, fingers gripping the crumpled sheets below you, "Please fuck me, I need you." "Fuck, you look good like this," Wolfwood sucked a breath through his teeth, thumb angling himself down to catch on your entrance once again. "So pretty, begging like a whore." The praise and degradation made you wail, as did the slow slide of every ridge and vein of his cock as he slid himself in you to the hilt. You were surrounded by him, drowning in him, every scent and sight and touch was nothing but Wolfwood and you would gladly die like this. He leaned down on his forearms, one hand coming to the center of your lower back and angling your hips up so he could drive even deeper and you swear you saw God. He started slow, only pulling out an inch and pushing back in, his lips on your neck, jaw, temple, as he slowly worked you through any potential discomfort. "F–Fucking– feels like you're in my throat," You sighed, hands coming up to claw at his shoulders. He chuckled, biting down on your pulse points. "So deep, so big. Please move, I need–" As soon as your plea graced your lips, he had pulled his cock out to the tip, then slammed back in with fervor. You cried out, only vaguely aware of the headboard slamming into the wall with equal force. You couldn't see straight, let alone think straight, with the brute force behind his thrusts. He was still taking his time devouring you, savoring you, his pace slow but deep and hard. You could swear you felt his cock tip reach your guts with every thrust, his name a mantra on your lips and your fingers scribing his shoulders and back. "So tight," Wolfwood huffed, hips bucking out of pace for a mere second, "Feels so fucking good." He was losing himself in you, emphasizing his words with harsh thrusts, his eyes rolling back into his head as he sped up. All you could do was hang onto him, desperately raising your hips in time with him in an attempt to get him further, closer deeper. He was intoxicating, the woodsy second-hand smoke emanating from him paired with his thick cock pushing you harder and harder into the bed making you drunk off of him. You couldn't string together a coherent sentence to tell him how fucking good he felt, only punched out moans and shrill cries of s'good, fuck me, harder, faster. He took them just as well, eventually folding you in on yourself. Your knees ended up over his shoulders, his arms outstretched and hands against the headboard as he fucked down into you with vicious ferocity. The constant bang of the bed frame against the wall getting faster, and you couldn't find it in yourself to be shameful if it ended up waking your companions, because you were lurching closer and closer to the edge you could taste it. "So good, you're so good, too good f'r me," Wolfwood panted in your ear, a hand coming down to grab your cheeks and crush his lips against yours in an agonizingly desperate kiss. It was deliciously wet, all tongue, spit dribbling down your chin. Another two, three, four thrusts, and you were whining into him, trying to voice I'm cumming, fuck fuck fuck I'm cumming, only to have it sinfully swallowed up in his gluttony for you and your desire. Your pussy squeezed him like a vice, trembling and quaking and milking him for everything he was worth. He pulled back panting, a sheen of sweat illuminated by the moons peering through the window. You barely got to say please cum inside by the time he was already pulling out, fisting his cock to completion. He groaned, spurts of his seed coating your pussy, stomach, and chest. "Fuck, f–hah, should've said something sooner," Wolfwood huffed, voice low and gravelly, "Would've filled you to the fuckin’ brim." You should've been ashamed that your pussy quivered at the thought. Both of you were panting, eyes half-mast, staring at each other with an equally amused and fucked-out expression. He was the first to crack, a chuckle leaving his lips as he unfolded you from your position underneath him. A swift smack to your ass made you squeak before your legs fell back to the bed, sprawling out like a starfish. He leaned over the bed, picking up an article of clothing and wiping you off with it. You quickly recognized it being the fabric of his button-up, your cheeks flushing at the thought of him walking around with everyone cum-stained tomorrow. Once you were sufficiently cleaned up, though still sticky with sweat, he tossed his shirt back to the floor and flopped down onto the bed beside you. The bed creaked and groaned under his weight, threatening to give out if there was even the slightest bit of extra exertion on it's frail frame. His arm snuck under your head, nudging you to lean into his side and cuddle up against him. Your arm slung over his torso, hand slowly sliding up and curling gently against his chest. His heart hammered in his chest, much faster than it should be by now, and when you looked up you were surprised to meet his eyes. It was quiet, and you simply watched as he processed his inner turmoil, waiting for him to come to a conclusion on what he wanted to say to you. Finally, he quietly muttered, "Will you stay with me tonight?" You beamed, watching his ears glow red at his request, simply settling for a nod. You rest your head against his chest again, slinging a leg over his thigh, eyes sliding shut for what you think was one of the best nights sleep you've had in years. The morning after, you woke to three loud consecutive knocks on the door. You groaned quietly, turning away from the noise. Four knocks now, this time harder, had you groaning just a little bit louder. You heard a sigh from beside you, then a gentle pap pap on your ass, before the weight on the bed shifted. Turning your head, you watched a still very naked Wolfwood march his way over to the door, the scratches running down his back and shoulders still angry, red and irritated. He cracked the door open, keeping the deadbolt fastened. "What?" He drawled, clearly unimpressed he was woken up from his slumber with you, "Someone better be dying." "Oh you're just as rude first thing in the morning, great," You heard Meryl, irritation dripping from her voice. She said your name briefly, trying to get another three words in before Wolfwood started closing the door. "Don't know, probably around somewhere. Be out in a bit." The sound of her cursing him from behind the door made you giggle, hands coming up to your mouth to muffle the sound. When he turned around, Wolfwood looked just as amused, plucking your clothes off the floor and tossing them to you. "That's not gonna buy you a lot of time," He chided, watching you slide your shirt over your head as he pulled his underwear and pants up his legs, "Better get going." "Yeah– I'll probably get an earful either way though," You laughed, walking over to your shoes as you put your shorts on. You were going to say something about have fun with your cum-shirt, but a hand grabbed at your hip and spun you around before you could slip your shoes on properly. You turned around, surprised by the soft kiss placed on your lips. "I don't want this to be a one time thing," Wolfwood looked away, his blazer slung over his shoulder, "If... I don't know if you–" "No, I'd like to do this again... and again and again." His ears and neck were red, making you laugh. You went to pull away, but his hand was steadfast on your hip, grip unwavering as he stared into you. You watched him inquisitively, blinking in confusion, what else needed to be said? "I did– do, I do want you, by the way." The way you looked at him must have been absolutely bewildered, incredulous, before you snorted, stifling a laugh in the back of your hand. "I think you showed me that much, Nick." He cleared his throat, taking a step back and looking away, his face a deep crimson. "R–Right, yeah– I did." You unlocked the deadbolt, then the door, twisting the knob and opening it just a crack. Looking back at him over your shoulder, you grinned, giving a little wave. "I'll see you at breakfast?" "... Yeah, see you at breakfast." And with your final goodbyes, you shuffled off to your room discreetly, getting ready for the day. It was a race against time and you won, managing to get changed in record speed and go downstairs to find Meryl and Roberto sitting across from Vash in the small diner attached to your motel. You smiled, waving, and made up some piss poor excuse about trying to find some cheap clothing stores along the market strip. You sat beside Vash, who was uncharacteristically quiet, his cheeks and ears a dark red, as opposed to their usual pale pink glow. Maybe you interrupted a sore subject. Not even a minute behind you, Wolfwood came strolling through a door, a very obvious damp patch on the front of his shirt where he had selectively scrubbed his cum out. Vash scooted over, then you, allowing room for Wolfwood to squeeze in beside you at the end. Conversation picked up as food and coffee was served, but Vash continued to stay mostly quiet, only ever piping up when addressed or spoken to. At some point you got concerned, placing a gentle hand on his metallic arm. He jumped, looking down at you, then over your shoulder, as you muttered a quiet, "Hey, what's up? You've been really quiet today." Cerulean eyes glanced back down at you as he weakly and nervously chuckled, seeming to not completely want to divulge in what was bothering him so much. You pursed your lips, giving him a knowing look. "Ahaha, w–well, I mean... last night I heard–" Wolfwood's knee jumped, hitting under the table beside you and shaking all the cups, plates, and cutlery strewn across it. Coffee was spilled, forks were lost, and audible disappointment was voiced from more than one party. "What was that, Spikey?" Wolfwood muttered through his teeth. As messes were hurriedly wiped, Wolfwood leaned back in his seat, peering over your head and glaring at the blond sitting beside you. They held eye contact, and all you could do was nervously glance between them. ".... Y'know, I was probably just imagining things!" Vash exclaimed, running a hand through his fluffy hair. "Roberto snores pretty loud!" There was some back and forth between Meryl and Roberto that seemed mostly one sided, leaving you room to heave out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. God, how embarrassing would that have been?

A hand on your thigh grabbed your attention, eyes glancing up at a very nonchalant Wolfwood that was leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Guess you still got an audience."

#nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #nicholas d wolfwood x reader #nicholas d wolfwood x reader smut #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader smut #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede smut

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redskull199987 · 6 months

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A bright Future

Paul Atreides x fem!reader Word Count:1.4k Warnings:minor Spoilers for Dune Part II, Blood, stab Wound, Violence, you know the drill Summary:You thought you were going to be fine. Until you saw Paul cry. He knew the Rules of the Desert better than anyone else. Seeing him waste his Water so freely told you how serious the Situation was…

Masterlist

It was quiet. Or at least that’s what it felt like. A quiet and short moment, that barely anyone around you noticed. You had always thought getting stabbed would be a sharp pain, naturally. That you’d scream out in pain or drop to your knees.

But none of that ever happened. It wasn’t a sharp pain, it felt dull and barely noticeable. It was the adrenaline and Spice running through your system. Or that’s what you told yourself. You had to tell yourself something. Something to keep you focused, to tell yourself to not black out. To pull out the blade and kill the Harkonnen Warrior in front of you.

You felt slow, awfully slow. You thought that if you had been any slower, the Harkonnen might have stopped and laughed at you for ever thinking you could beat him. But Paul and Chani later told you, they had never seen someone move so fast, like you did in that moment.

The Adrenaline, you told yourself again. Over and over again. You had to keep fighting, finish the Mission. Save the Fremen. The people that had become your family, even over the short time that you had been on Arrakis. You just had to make it, that you owed them.

The next few minutes felt like you weren’t even in control of your own body. Like you were a watcher, an observer. It felt like you were back on Caladan, watching a filmbook about the Fremen with Paul. You saw yourself fight against the Harkonnen with Paul while Chani fired her weapon at the Thopters. You saw the Explosion and felt the earth shatter from the sheer power of the blast. It must’ve been the Spice, you thought. Granting you views and visions you weren’t even capable of seeing. As an Outsider, you had always been sensitive to the Melange.

And lastly, you felt the Pain.

The Pain of the weight of the world crashing down on you again. First there was silence, but suddenly you felt everything everywhere all at once. You felt like the sand beneath your feet was pulling you down and no matter how much you fought against it, you couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t escape fate. Couldn’t escape death.

You abruptly came to a halt. Paul’s hand left yours and you saw your two companions run a little further, until they noticed that you had stopped. You heard Paul call out to you and a few seconds later, he came running over to you. His expression was of pure panic when his gaze wandered from your face to your abdomen. You had pressed a hand against it, but it seemed useless. Thick warm Blood was oozing out between your fingers. It felt comforting, somehow. It told you that you weren’t dead, yet. Somewhere in your mind, you heard Stilgar scolding you, every drop of Blood was valuable Water. Water that was now lost in the Dunes of Arrakis.

“Paul?”, You mumbled. You were sure he didn’t even hear you with how quiet you spoke. Your mouth felt awfully dry. But what you did know, was that he saw you fall. And you felt his arms as they wrapped around you, dragging you back to your feet, urging you to keep going. A soft groan left your lips, as you did as he told you. Just a few more meters. A few more meters and you'd be over the next Dune. You’d be safe. You knew that the rest of your people weren’t far away. Neither was Sietch Tabr. You were almost sure that you were going to make it. That was until you saw Paul cry. Saw how his tears dropped into the hot sand, evaporating almost immediately. He knew the Rules of the Desert better than anyone else. And seeing him waste his Water so freely told you how serious the Situation was.

When you reached the top of the Dune, The Spice Harvester behind you exploded, sending the three of you flying down on the other side. Your ears rang from the Explosion. But you barely even acknowledged it. You tightly pressed your hand on top of the Wound as you tumbled down in the sand, but it was useless. Finally, after what felt like ages, you released a scream. A scream so earth shattering, Paul later told you, he thought he’d lost you in that exact moment.

For a few Seconds, all you heard were your own wheezing Breaths, the blood rushing in your ears and the sand crunching beneath your Body. When Paul and Chani came into view, you heard their Voices. Loud and Clear. You wanted to answer them. Tell them that you were going to be fine.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t talk and if you could’ve, you didn’t even know if you could promise them that you were going to be alright. You so desperately wanted to talk to them. Talk to Paul. Tell him how much you loved him, that you would follow him to the very end. Talk to Chani, tell her how much you appreciated her, how thankful you were that she took you in and accepted her as one of her own People.

But you couldn’t. All you managed to do was lift your hand, even just a few centimeters above the Ground. And when Paul grabbed your hand, squeezed it ever so tightly, you knew that it was going to be alright. It had to be. it just had to.

And then you blacked out.

You were older. So much older. At least ten years. Over the time, you’ve had many Spice-induced Visions. Never as strong as Pauls, only snippets. Short moments, often not far into the future, just a few weeks, a month tops.

But this was different. This was at least a decade into the Future. And it felt so vivid, you almost thought it was real. When you saw your own face, older and more mature, standing alongside Paul and behind a long table that you knew was in the throne room of Arrakeen, many familiar faces gathered around it, alongside with some you didn’t know, yet. You knew you were not dead, you couldn’t be. For what reason would you be seeing this, if you weren’t going to make it. It would be worthless.

As the Vision started to fade, you saw Paul look at you. Not at the older You, but at you. You who were observing this. And it felt like he could see you, standing there at the other side of the Table, smiling at you like he always did when he tried to comfort you. Your brows furrowed in confusion, but there was nothing you could do, as you felt your mind slip out of the vision and back into reality.

You heard all kinds of voices around you, most of them familiar. You felt the bed beneath your body, you smelled the warm air of Sietch Tabr. You knew you were Home. And when you finally opened your eyes, you heard a chorus of cheers break out around you. You saw the warm smile of Stilgar who patted your shoulder before he scurried off to tell the good news to the rest of the Fremen. Next you saw Lady Jessica, your Reverend Mother standing in the Corner of the Room. She gave you an acknowledging nod. You bowed your head in return, knowing that you probably owed her your survival.

Lastly, you saw Chani and Paul who were sitting at your bedside. When your Gaze wandered to them, as you sat up you couldn’t help but laugh. it was a warm and genuine Laugh. You were alive. You had made it and you would live to see them again, the people who mattered most to you. Chani smiled at you in return, gently squeezing your hand, before standing up to join Stilgar and the other Fremen outside.

Paul and You were the only People who remained in the now silent room.

“I thought I’d lost you.”, he finally sniffled. You slowly looked up, seeing that Tears were running down his face. “But you didn’t.”, You answered firmly, raising your hand to wipe away his tears,”So, stop wasting your water.”

Paul chuckled quietly, putting his hand on top of yours, closing his eyes in relief. With a grin, you leaned your head against his, swaying in the warm sun of Arrakis.

“Trust me, we have a bright Future ahead of Us.”

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writing-makes-me-human · 2 years

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Trial By Water 🐚

┍━━━━━»•» 🌺 «•«━┑

Pairing: Aonung X reader

Summary: Aonung is hiding his jealousy of your new courter and you have to track him down to find out why he’s suddenly become so hostile.

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: Hi,not dead. Let me know if you enjoy it and if you would like me to write part two( I have some ideas). My requests are always open if you want to request a character from ATWOW or if you want to talk. Anonymous is available if you’re shy :)

P.S: I’m thinking about adding a tag list, let me know if you would consider being on it or what I could do to make that seem more appealing.

┕━»•» 🌺 «•«━━━━━┙

You emerged from the water and stumbled onto the shore, desperately fighting the waves as you brushed your hair back as smoothly as you could while scanning the beach. Sure enough, sitting between two dunes, working on something you couldn't quite make out from this distance, was Aonung.

Tsireya had come forward to you this morning before breakfast and asked you to talk to her brother. He had become even moodier than ever these last few days, and the worry on her face made you forget the petty boycotting you and Aonung were in the middle of and you forced yourself to agree to speak with him.

He had been avoiding you for the past week like you had a contagious disease, and even though you wanted to seek him out and demand he tell you what was wrong, he had skilfully been steering clear of his usual spots where you knew to find him.

With nowhere else to search, you decided to brave the waters and swim here in an effort to track him down and interrogate him.

His back faced the sandy knoll that broke up the shrubbery line from the sandy beach. He seemed pissed off even when he thought he was alone. Aonung, with nowhere in mind, had found his way to the back of the island where the mangroves didn't grow and the people didn't come. Nobody came to the deserted beach for leisure in fear of losing themselves against the waves that naturally pulled you against the rocks when one tried to swim anywhere on this side of the island.

Coming to the beach from the inland would have been safer. The venture through the wooded area was guarded by many people who would be out foraging or hunting. You didn't need to bring shame to Aonung by bringing more people into your dispute, as someone would have eventually asked why you were going to the most uninhabitable part of the island that was often reserved for lovers' long nights alone.

He had spotted you out of his peripheral vision, his only tell was the way his ears pressed back against his head, not at all by his warm greeting and friendly demeanor that was not offered to you.

You trudged up the uneven sand terrain with an eye roll; he was so dramatic, sitting up here all by himself.

You watched the boy as you clambered up to meet him. He did not acknowledge you as your shadow fell over him. The water you had just been swimming in dripped onto the dry white sand below you and onto his knee that was pointed towards you, his other leg lay flat while his head was bowed. He was eagerly working on something that he didn't care to present.

"So what's got your loincloth in a twist?" You asked, trying not to sound exhausted or patronizing, even though you were slightly irked at his recent suspicious behaviour.

He didn't concede to you and continued playing his own game of pretending you didn't exist while working, adding more force to his actions now that you had arrived to bug him.

You crouched down, peeking around his head to see what he was doing. You smiled softly to yourself as you saw he was carving a spearhead. You watched for a few seconds as he roughly scrapped away wood shavings, pulling his knife to the top and letting it make a satisfying slice before returning to start the motion again. The point was rather sharp, and from the outlines he had made, you could see he was going to add deep serrations onto the side of the blade.

"That looks a bit too lethal for any fish around here. Are you planning on killing me?" You asked, watching him ignore you. He kept the pace he had set for himself and continued whittling.

"If you are going to kill me, you have to grant me a last wish, it's the warrior code, and I wish for you to tell me why you are sitting here, by yourself in a pout, plotting my death", you smiled gently but he didn't even seem even to clock you had spoken.

"AH! Fine, you win! Just tell me what's wrong. Your sister and I are worried about you!" You hissed at him, getting enraged by his anger that he was not willing to do anything to rectify, which only furthered his attitude. It was becoming tedious to live with.

He finally broke the rules of his game and looked at you. Your face faltered as you saw the most heated hatred in the boy's eyes that you had ever seen in his entire life. He pulled his top lip up in an instinctual quiver to show off his fangs, his eye bore into your soul before he returned to his work, shaving the wood away.

You stood, glaring down at his hair which had been re-braided with looser locks that lead to his signature man-bun at the top of his head. He had hurt your feelings, but you persisted, he was your best friend and you wouldn't leave him like this.

"So, you go away for a hunting trip, come back a week later, and suddenly you don't want to be my friend anymore? If you're going to do that to me you must at least explain yourself!" Reasoning with him seemed to make it worse as his shoulders tensed more from your words. He took a particularly powerful dig into the wood that skinned back a large shaving.

"Careful", you muttered as you paced around him in a circle like a vulture, trying to ascertain what had changed over the past couple of weeks. He looked the same, with no new scars or injuries, the only perceivable difference was his perspective of you.

You paused behind him, leaning down on your knees into the sand that clung to your wet body. You gazed at his back, seeing his muscles tense up and his ears flicker as he listened out to try and identify what you were doing.

You suddenly pressed your hands flat against his lower back which caused him to take a sharp intake of breath. He straightened his posture, and his head clocked up to stare ahead, but still, he didn't speak. You felt his lugs draw in more and more air but he didn't talk, he just gazed over the water and glared at the spot where the water met the horizon and tried his best to ignore as your palms rubbed circles into his back to try and soothe him.

"What's wrong pretty boy?" You whispered, allowing yourself to lean slowly onto him. Your hands crept up to his shoulders and stayed there for a moment, rubbing them with a soft massage before your hands travelled lower, sliding down so you could rub at his pectorals from behind.

He didn't gauge a reaction except for a sharp exhale that sounded caught between annoyance and anger. You hummed in his ear quietly, pressing your stomach against his back, your hands sliding themselves under the sides of his ribs, forming an 'X' shape over his chest that let you cradle him.

His ears twitched for a second before changing directions and turning to a sad downturn. He allowed you to hold him like that for a few seconds before he muttered something under his breath.

"Huh?" You asked, eager to hear what he finally had to say.

"I said that's an ugly bracelet", he quipped, bringing his left hand to your right hand and holding it up for you to see the brown cord that had the small pearl weaved into it.

You focused on the feeling of his hand on yours more than inspecting the before-seen jewellery, gently smiling as his rough hands slipped away, knowing he had broken some more arbitrary rules he had set in place so he could ignore you. Allowing you to touch him made it much harder for him to think, let alone concentrate on being mad at you for so long.

"It was a gift from Ixa'Tey, I think he gave it to me while you were away", you didn't bother admiring it, returning to nestle in the crevice of his neck.

He scoffed at you and moved forward a great distance. He used his arms as oars to push himself off the sand and as far away from you as his long arms would allow him, not caring as you tipped from the balance. That was until you grabbed onto his queue by accident and tugged on it to try and stop yourself face-planting into the sand.

He froze, and you immediately dropped the long braid, falling onto your hand now that your reflexes could manage it. You were silent as you scooted back. He dared to turn and look at you and couldn't help the amusement he felt when he saw you were blushing hard, a hand pressed against your face to try and hide it.

His annoyance at the mention of his old friend from childhood, who he knew had started courting you, was gone as he looked up at your beautiful face.

"I'm sorry", was all you managed to whisper as you stood up, entirely embarrassed you had touched such a private part of his anatomy on accident.

His smile caught you off guard, and you pulled your hand away, gawking at his grin that perked his ears up.

"You're a skxawng", was all he could seem to mutter to you as he scooted back a little, a silent welcome to talk to him.

You smiled widely, feeling the urge to be mad at him for finding amusement in such a taboo thing fade along with the tinge of blush that had previously been on your face.You plopped down next to him, staring at his spearhead and knife that were placed beside him while he crossed his legs, putting aside the work until later.

"Why are you upset?" You asked, watching as his smile died suddenly and his scowl appeared again.

He eyed the carving beside him, but you quickly leaned over his lap, ignoring how his hands flew above his head so he didn't risk touching your skin. He knew if he felt you here with nobody around, the young future chief wouldn't be able to resist his wants, thus turning himself in when he would inevitably confess his most profound feelings to you at the mere touch of your more private skin. He was distracted, watching your waist stretch in front of him like a platter, ignoring how you grabbed the wood block and knife and tossed it to the side of you, watching where it landed while Aonung slapped you upside the head as he lost sight of it.

"That took me all week!" He yelled, but you hushed him with a finger. Placing it on his lips and gesturing for him to breathe.

He took a small breath, watching your ears flicker as you stared at his chest rising and falling. You finally pulled back your hand and tried desperately to record in your mind what the soft flesh of his lips felt like against your finger.

He evened his breathing and returned to your conversation while rolling his eyes as you looked at him expectantly. He didn't want to talk about the previous two weeks, which was why he had been so careful to keep you at more than arm's length.

He knew he was expected to be happy for your new future, but Aonung couldn't bring himself to be anything more than angry, so he tried desperately to stay away and keep from ruining your new life.

"When I got back, people told me things", he mustered from deep below his emotional walls.You settled, watching him with eyes full of readiness, eager to take on what he said, but he did not continue. He chose to turn instead and look at you, his ears pressed back against his head in anger once again.

You groaned loudly, allowing yourself to fall onto your back on the sand. It was always a great big dance with Aonung to figure out his true feelings, and with every step forward you thought you had taken, he was already leading you three steps back.

He watched you groan and mumble, feeling guilt entrap him as he thought about how he had been treating you. He had come to the furthest point of the island to ignore you, and you had followed him to try and cheer him up, yet he still couldn't seem to work up the courage to say what he was thinking.

"They said...that you had mated with someone", he spoke almost silently, hoping the words would be captured by the sea and carried out far away from here where the ugly emotions he felt boiling in his stomach would die.

You sat up, staring at him, a sign to go further, but he growled, not wanting to continue without your acknowledgment to see where your mind was going.

"So? I haven't mated with anyone, I've only just turned 19!" You huffed out a sarcastic laugh. He, however, did not join you in laughter and turned to look down at his hands.

"Aonung, you know how people rumour around the reefs, people place bets on who every young one will mate with, it doesn't mean it's what I have decided", you reasoned, slowly catching onto the reason he was so upset. You placed a caring hand on his knee, and much to your surprise, your heartthrob let one of his fists unfurl and lay on top of yours. Hand on hand.

Even though his jealousy had ended with such anger and unease spread through everyone and everything you couldn't help the giddy glow you had at the idea of Aonung being jealous of people trying to court you.

He nodded to himself, of course, he knew that! He had nearly died of asphyxiation from the laughter he let out when he heard about you and Ixa'Tey being mated. The boy was insufferable and had no rank to speak of, he would have been a terrible match as your mate.

You smiled, waving your hand in front of him in a silent order for him to continue. Seeing you eased every word out of him while a terrible battle fought in his heart, debating with himself if it was worth the risk of telling you he wanted you.

"Yeah, of course, I know that! But when I got back, Rotxo said you two had been courting--and don't deny it either, I've seen him hanging around you like a bug", he seethed.

The one time he had actually calmed down enough to track you down and talk to you about what he had heard and make his claim to you, there the little insect was, following you around with gifts in his hands destined for you and shells in his hair Aonung knew you had braided in. Watching you laugh at his jokes made him want to break the idiot's face, so he just left. He didn't want to face you.

You sighed, rubbing your face gently. Aonung watched you closely, trying to interpret every twitch your eyes made and every flex of your eyebrow.

"I won't lie, he has made a claim to me, and my parents approve", you spoke as strongly as you could, watching him hiss at nothing, muttering words under his breath you knew he meant but wouldn't repeat to you.

"But I haven't said yes to him", you gripped his knee tightly, begging him to believe you. He squeezed your hand back in answer.

"Is there someone else? Why haven't you said yes to him?" He had to know where he stood with you, even if it broke him down and turned him heartless.

It was your turn to become sheepish and standoffish towards displaying your emotions at the boy. You couldn't tell him, even if this was the perfect place and the crucial moment to do it, you couldn't bare the idea of him laughing at you or, worse, quietly rejecting you.

"I don't think I can say..." you whispered, feeling the palpation in your chest grow more frequent.His anger flickered, and his face fell to curiosity, he gawked at you with those powerful eyes you tried to ignore while he crept on you, his breath changed, his heart rate increased, and his hands felt sweaty.

"Why not?" He asked, feeling the words get caught in his throat.

"Ixa'Tey is just not the one I want", you mumbled, feeling your face heat up again as you didn't dare look at him.

The clueless boy felt his heart sink. You did have your eyes on someone, and by the way you weren't even meeting his eyes, ashamed to even look at him, he knew it wasn't him.

"Who is it?" His fists balled together, his aggression clear through his unintended tone that oozed infuriation at the idea of anyone being considered good enough for you.

You let out an exhale of disbelievement at his stupidity. If he were going to act so stupidly, you would at least get your payback at him for making you swim out here after a week of thinking you had done something wrong.

"You know him well, he is very handsome", a slight grin appearing on your lips as if in happy thought, imagining the boy sitting next to you in your head while Aonung rolled his eyes, trying to think of every boy he had ever interacted with.

"He is one of the best hunters in our tribes, so very skilled", he clenched his fist tightly, pulling the hand that had been holding yours away, not daring to look at you because Aonung knew he would explode if your face were matching the tone in which you spoke about this boy.

"Who is it?" He asked again, this time though his voice was worryingly even, meaning he was enraged beyond all shadow of a doubt.

"Sometimes I go swimming with him, and I picture us doing terrible things behind the rocks, it's so embarrassing because he has no idea what I'm thinking", this quickly drew his attention and he couldn't stop himself from glaring hot daggers at you while you dreamily imagined being intimate with anyone who wasn't him.

"I was hoping he would make a claim to me before anyone else, especially since we've known each other so long, but he didn't", as you spoke these new words, you felt your ears flicker in despair. You really had been hoping Aonung would have made a claim to you before he left but he didn't. Ixa'Tey had stolen you away, and your parents were thrilled to encourage it, but you knew every time you were with him that you secretly wished it was somebody else.

"He's a moron then if he doesn't claim you", his fists were an unnatural colour now as he tensed them. He hadn't thought of you dealing with unrequited love in the same way he was. He would do anything to protect you, and if that meant beating in the face of some guy who broke your heart, he couldn't even pretend the idea made him any less than smug.

"I agree!" You yelled, hands raised to the sky as if he had just said something groundbreaking.

"He's more than that, he's a skxawng!" you yelled. He pulled back, a bit confused about your total 180 on this mystery boy, who you had gone from melting at the mere idea of to firing up at without mercy.

"He is such a conniving brat! First, he makes no claim to me, gets upset when another does, then has the audacity to take off for a week, comes back mad at me, then makes me swim to the other side of the island just to get some sense out of him!" You had jumped up halfway through the speech, punching one hand into the other with a grin before you waited for him to catch up.

His eyes widened beyond control. He could only watch you while taking heavy breaths. The words and feelings you had both been trying to cover up now lay open in front of one another. Your smile faded as you watched him look at you. Had you misinterpreted him? Did he not like you? His mouth was open, but his eyebrows were pointed down in careful questioning.

"Me?" He asked softly, trying not to sound desperate, knowing your rejection would crumble him up and drown him.

You did confess that perhaps admitting it was him you wanted to mate with more than anybody else while making a joke was probably the best way to send the poor man mixed signals.

He stood slowly, head cocked to the side, as he walked to you in two short steps. He looked down at you with the most severe look on his face you had ever seen. He bumped into you lightly, chest touching yours as he tried to find what to say.

You nodded, leaning forward with your eyes never leaving his. His skin burnt a hole through you, and his face was so close you could smell the sweetness of the oils used in his hair.Staring into his eyes made you feel like nobody else, Aonung didn't just look up and down like a few others did, he looked into your soul.

When you were children, you used a childish bullying tactic on his sister that would always catch a reaction. The two of you used to pretend that you and Aonung were such close friends you could read each other's minds, it was a treasured memory. Right now, though, with his eyes peering past your body and into your very being, you swore he could pull anything he wanted from your mind with those eyes looking into every part of you that you wanted to keep private, just like you pretended to do when you were kids.

"Yes, it's you skxawng", you whispered, tilting your head up a bit to press your forehead against his, feeling his cool skin aline with yours making your heart beat like a drum and your breath tremble.

"Good, nobody else would have been good enough", he matched your volume, both of you allowing your hands to reach to the other's face in an affectionate embrace. Everything felt perfect to you as the sound of the water not far from where you were standing crashed against the beach with a roar.

"I see you", he mumbled, louder than his whisper but not quite in the usual volume he used that commanded respect.

You pulled away from his forehead, stroking his cheek with your thumb while you grinned from ear to ear.

"Does this mean you've made a claim to me, or should I go back to speak with Ixa'Tey", you grinned devilishly, finding that the teasing lightened up the air that was thick for your desires of what to do with one another. You were two young adults in love on a beach with nobody in sight, but you still had traditions that must be obeyed even though you knew nobody could lay a claim to you that would burn brighter than Aonung's.

He pulled back a little, hands coming up to smack you before they fell to rest on your hips, squeezing timidly at your sides while you laughed, taking no notice as the symphony squeezed his heart.

"I lay claim to you, and I intend to court you better than Ixa'Tey ever could", he rolled his eyes and spat out the boy's name while you absorbed in the fact that after so many years, he had finally got the guts to say he wanted you as his mate for life and he was going to claim you.

#aonung #aonung x reader #aonung x y/n #romance #avatar #way of water #avatar way of water #avatar way of water x reader #pandora #atwow x reader #atwow imagines #atwow spoilers #avatar x reader #avatar 2022 #ao'nung #ao'nung x you #ao'nung x reader

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whirlwindimagines · 1 year

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hello! i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is upset and crying (i wanted to originally ask if it could be a panic attack but i wasnt sure if you were comfortable with that) and vash is at a lost of how to help them so he just presses his forehead agaisnt theirs just like he does when he's helping plants and to his surprise it works?

The way I gasped when I read this I love this so much! I used to have panic attacks lol I don’t mind writing mild ones. Also sorry I haven't been posting much ;p; I've been slowly getting ready for my trip, and work has been something! I'll try to crank more out lol

‘I don't have much to say’

Vash x Reader

You're thankful to have some time to yourself, being in a cramped car with so many other people, good be suffocating, not that you didn’t mind the company for the most part…it was just a lot.

So, when Meryl said she was tired of driving and wanted to camp out for the night, you were the first to agree! Once camp had been set up, you can feel that overwhelming feeling. Not wanting to be a bother you mention you’re going for a quick walk, and that you won’t wander far.

Choosing to ignore the concerned look Vash gives you, instead leaving to head out into the dunes. Making sure to keep the camp at least in someone what sight, you managed to find a boulder heading to the other side for some privacy you sit in the sand.

Trying to count your breaths in and out, digging your hands in the sand to ground yourself, doing everything possible to not let your thoughts race. It’s hard to even know what set this off, it’s pathetic. With that thought you know your crying, placing your hands over your mouth to muffle the sobbing.

Not knowing how long you’ve been sitting out, your startled when a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder, breath hitching and looking up in surprise you’ve come face to face with Vash. He is on his knees beside you, a look of such concern in his eyes your mind registers his lips moving, but your ears are ringing so loud, feeling humiliated that he’s found you in such a weak state.

The thought makes you sob more, wrapping your arms around yourself to appear smaller, Vash’s eyes widen as he looks up you, unsure how to help, but wanting too so desperately. Your clearly in pain, and he doesn’t have a clue on what to do to help.

But Vash needs to help, it’s his nature so with a thought he reaches for you with gentle hands, cupping your face with one warm and one cool hand he touches his forehead to yours in such a gentle way you nearly forget how to breathe. His eyes are closed while yours are wide open.

“It’s okay I’m here” Vash says it’s so quietly you nearly miss it, having to steady your breaths, but the feeling of his hands on your face and him being so close is just so comforting that you close your eyes breathing in his scent. You don't know how long the two of you continue to sit there simply existing with each other.

It helps, more than you could ever imagine, pressing closer to Vash as you close your eyes. “Thank you.” You feel as if those words aren't enough, that you’ll never be able to describe the pure gratitude you have towards Vash at this moment. You feel Vash’s rub his thumbs over the top of your cheeks, the motion is smoothing and continues to help ground you.

“You don't need to thank me…whenever you need me, I’ll be there.” your breath hitches at his words, feeling his breath ghost over your lips, opening your eyes just to take a peek at his face, your surprises that his are now open and he’s looking at you with an unreadable expression, his blue eyes so kind.

Your eyes soften looking at him, he pulls back a bit to place a kiss on your forehead before pulling you completely into his arms. You know all your problems aren’t solved, and you have your worries and anxieties, but you let yourself enjoy this moment here with Vash.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede x reader #vash imgaine #vash imagines #vash x reader #vash the stampede #trigun x reader #trigun stampede imagine #trigun stampede x reader

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physalian · 5 months

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8 Signs your Sequel Needs Work

Sequels, and followup seasons to TV shows, can be very tricky to get right. Most of the time, especially with the onslaught of sequels, remakes, and remake-quels over the past… 15 years? There’s a few stand-outs for sure. I hear Dune Part 2 stuck the landing. Everyone who likes John Wick also likes those sequels. Spiderverse 2 also stuck the landing.

These are less tips and more fundamental pieces of your story that may or may not factor in because every work is different, and this is coming from an audience’s perspective. Maybe some of these will be the flaws you just couldn’t put your finger on before. And, of course, these are all my opinions, for sequels and later seasons that just didn’t work for me.

1. Your vague lore becomes a gimmick

The Force, this mysterious entity that needs no further explanation… is now quantifiable with midichlorians.

In The 100, the little chip that contains the “reincarnation” of the Commanders is now the central plot to their season 6 “invasion of the bodysnatchers” villains.

In The Vampire Diaries, the existence of the “emotion switch” is explicitly disputed as even existing in the earlier seasons, then becomes a very real and physical plot point one can toggle on and off.

I love hard magic systems. I love soft magic systems, too. These two are not evolutions of each other and doing so will ruin your magic system. People fell in love with the hard magic because they liked the rules, the rules made sense, and everything you wrote fit within those rules. Don’t get wacky and suddenly start inventing new rules that break your old ones.

People fell in love with the soft magic because it needed no rules, the magic made sense without overtaking the story or creating plot holes for why it didn’t just save the day. Don’t give your audience everything they never needed to know and impose limitations that didn’t need to be there.

Solving the mystery will never be as satisfying as whatever the reader came up with in their mind. Satisfaction is the death of desire.

2. The established theme becomes un-established

I talked about this point already in this post about theme so the abridged version here: If your story has major themes you’ve set out to explore, like “the dichotomy of good and evil” and you abandon that theme either for a contradictory one, or no theme at all, your sequel will feel less polished and meaningful than its predecessor, because the new story doesn’t have as much (if anything) to say, while the original did.

Jurassic Park is a fantastic, stellar example. First movie is about the folly of human arrogance and the inherent disaster and hubris in thinking one can control forces of nature for superficial gains. The sequels, and then sequel series, never returns to this theme (and also stops remembering that dinosaurs are animals, not generic movie monsters). JP wasn’t just scary because ahhh big scary reptiles. JP was scary because the story is an easily preventable tragedy, and yes the dinosaurs are eating people, but the people only have other people to blame. Dinosaurs are just hungry, frightened animals.

Or, the most obvious example in Pixar’s history: Cars to Cars 2.

3. You focus on the wrong elements based on ‘fan feedback’

We love fans. Fans make us money. Fans do not know what they want out of a sequel. Fans will never know what they want out of a sequel, nor will studios know how to interpret those wants. Ask Star Wars. Heck, ask the last 8 books out of the Percy Jackson universe.

Going back to Cars 2 (and why I loathe the concept of comedic relief characters, truly), Disney saw dollar signs with how popular Mater was, so, logically, they gave fans more Mater. They gave us more car gimmicks, they expanded the lore that no one asked for. They did try to give us new pretty racing venues and new cool characters. The writers really did try, but some random Suit decided a car spy thriller was better and this is what we got.

The elements your sequel focuses on could be points 1 or 2, based on reception. If your audience universally hates a character for legitimate reasons, maybe listen, but if your audience is at war with itself over superficial BS like whether or not she’s a female character, or POC, ignore them and write the character you set out to write. Maybe their arc wasn’t finished yet, and they had a really cool story that never got told.

This could be side-characters, or a specific location/pocket of worldbuilding that really resonated, a romantic subplot, whatever. Point is, careening off your plan without considering the consequences doesn’t usually end well.

4. You don’t focus on the ‘right’ elements

I don’t think anyone out there will happily sit down and enjoy the entirety of Thor: The Dark World. The only reasons I would watch that movie now are because a couple of the jokes are funny, and the whole bit in the middle with Thor and Loki. Why wasn’t this the whole movie? No one cares about the lore, but people really loved Loki, especially when there wasn’t much about him in the MCU at the time, and taking a villain fresh off his big hit with the first Avengers and throwing him in a reluctant “enemy of my enemy” plot for this entire movie would have been amazing.

Loki also refuses to stay dead because he’s too popular, thus we get a cyclical and frustrating arc where he only has development when the producers demand so they can make maximum profit off his character, but back then, in phase 2 world, the mystery around Loki was what made him so compelling and the drama around those two on screen was really good! They bounced so well off each other, they both had very different strengths and perspectives, both had real grievances to air, and in that movie, they *both* lost their mother. It’s not even that it’s a bad sequel, it’s just a plain bad movie.

The movie exists to keep establishing the Infinity Stones with the red one and I can’t remember what the red one does at this point, but it could have so easily done both. The powers that be should have known their strongest elements were Thor and Loki and their relationship, and run with it.

This isn’t “give into the demands of fans who want more Loki” it’s being smart enough to look at your own work and suss out what you think the most intriguing elements are and which have the most room and potential to grow (and also test audiences and beta readers to tell you the ugly truth). Sequels should feel more like natural continuations of the original story, not shameless cash grabs.

5. You walk back character development for ~drama~

As in, characters who got together at the end of book 1 suddenly start fighting because the “will they/won’t they” was the juiciest dynamic of their relationship and you don’t know how to write a compelling, happy couple. Or a character who overcame their snobbery, cowardice, grizzled nature, or phobia suddenly has it again because, again, that was the most compelling part of their character and you don’t know who they are without it.

To be honest, yeah, the buildup of a relationship does tend to be more entertaining in media, but that’s also because solid, respectful, healthy relationships in media are a rarity. Season 1 of Outlander remains the best, in part because of the rapid growth of the main love interest’s relationship. Every season after, they’re already married, already together, and occasionally dealing with baby shenanigans, and it’s them against the world and, yeah, I got bored.

There’s just so much you can do with a freshly established relationship: Those two are a *team* now. The drama and intrigue no longer comes from them against each other, it’s them together against a new antagonist and their different approaches to solving a problem. They can and should still have distinct personalities and perspectives on whatever story you throw them into.

6. It’s the same exact story, just Bigger

I have been sitting on a “how to scale power” post for months now because I’m still not sure on reception but here’s a little bit on what I mean.

Original: Oh no, the big bad guy wants to destroy New York

Sequel: Oh no, the big bad guy wants to destroy the planet

Threequel: Oh no, the big bad guy wants to destroy the galaxy

You knew it wasn’t going to happen the first time, you absolutely know it won’t happen on a bigger scale. Usually, when this happens, plot holes abound. You end up deleting or forgetting about characters’ convenient powers and abilities, deleting or forgetting about established relationships and new ground gained with side characters and entities, and deleting or forgetting about stakes, themes, and actually growing your characters like this isn’t the exact same story, just Bigger.

How many Bond movies are there? Thirty-something? I know some are very, very good and some are not at all good. They’re all Bond movies. People keep watching them because they’re formulaic, but there’s also been seven Bond actors and the movies aren’t one long, continuous, self-referential story about this poor, poor man who has the worst luck in the universe. These sequels aren’t “this but bigger” it’s usually “this, but different”, which is almost always better.

“This, but different now” will demand a different skillset from your hero, different rules to play by, different expectations, and different stakes. It does not just demand your hero learn to punch harder.

Example: Lord Shen from Kung Fu Panda 2 does have more influence than Tai Lung, yes. He’s got a whole city and his backstory is further-reaching, but he’s objectively worse in close combat—so he doesn’t fistfight Po. He has cannons, very dangerous cannons, cannons designed to be so strong that kung fu doesn’t matter. Thus, he’s not necessarily “bigger” he’s just “different” and his whole story demands new perspective.

The differences between Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi are numerous, but the latter relies on “but bigger” and the former went in a whole new direction, while still staying faithful to the themes of the original.

7. It undermines the original by awakening a new problem too soon

I’ve already complained about the mere existence of Heroes of Olympus elsewhere because everything Luke fought and died for only bought that world about a month of peace before the gods came and ripped it all away for More Story.

I’ve also complained that the Star Wars Sequels were always going to spit in the face of a character’s six-movie legacy to bring balance to the Force by just going… nah. Ancient prophecy? Only bought us about 30 years of peace.

Whether it’s too soon, or it’s too closely related to the original, your audience is going to feel a little put-off when they realize how inconsequential this sequel makes the original, particularly in TV shows that run too many seasons and can’t keep upping the ante, like Supernatural.

Kung Fu Panda once again because these two movies are amazing. Shen is completely unrelated to Tai Lung. He’s not threatening the Valley of Peace or Shifu or Oogway or anything the heroes fought for in the original. He’s brand new.

My yearning to see these two on screen together to just watch them verbally spat over both being bratty children disappointed by their parents is unquantifiable. This movie is a damn near perfect sequel. Somebody write me fanfic with these two throwing hands over their drastically different perspectives on kung fu.

8. It’s so divorced from the original that it can barely even be called a sequel

Otherwise known as seasons 5 and 6 of Lost. Otherwise known as: This show was on a sci-fi trajectory and something catastrophic happened to cause a dramatic hairpin turn off that path and into pseudo-biblical territory. Why did it all end in a church? I’m not joking, they did actually abandon The Plan while in a mach 1 nosedive.

I also have a post I’ve been sitting on about how to handle faith in fiction, so I’ll say this: The premise of Lost was the trials and escapades of a group of 48 strangers trying to survive and find rescue off a mysterious island with some creepy, sciency shenanigans going on once they discover that the island isn’t actually uninhabited.

Season 6 is about finding “candidates” to replace the island’s Discount Jesus who serves as the ambassador-protector of the island, who is also immortal until he’s not, and the island becomes a kind of purgatory where they all actually did die in the crash and were just waiting to… die again and go to heaven. Spoiler Alert.

This is also otherwise known as: Oh sh*t, Warner Bros wants more Supernatural? But we wrapped it up so nicely with Sam and Adam in the box with Lucifer. I tried to watch one of those YouTube compilations of Cas’ funny moments because I haven’t seen every episode, and the misery on these actors’ faces as the compilation advanced through the seasons, all the joy and wit sucked from their performances, was just tragic.

I get it. Writers can’t control when the Powers That Be demand More Story so they can run their workhorse into the ground until it stops bleeding money, but if you aren’t controlled by said powers, either take it all back to basics, like Cars 3, or just stop.

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Sometimes taking your established characters and throwing them into a completely unrecognizable story works, but those unrecongizable stories work that much harder to at least keep the characters' development and progression satisfying and familiar. See this post about timeskips that take generational gaps between the original and the sequel, and still deliver on a satisfying continuation.

TLDR: Sequels are hard and it’s never just one detail that makes them difficult to pull off. They will always be compared to their predecessors, always with the expectations to be as good as or surpass the original, when the original had no such competition. There’s also audience expectations for how they think the story, lore, and relationships should progress. Most faults of sequels, in my opinion, lie in straying too far from the fundamentals of the original without understanding why those fundamentals were so important to the original’s success.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #sequels #kung fu panda

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