wixxid

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART VI

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 3,692

Warnings: dark and sexual themes, dub/con, non/con, and arranged marriage.

Summary: You've been summoned to spectate. Adrenaline turns carnal.

A game.

The kind your mother and father would play; silently challenging one another across the table. You remember the intensity in their eyes, although not the sort that would infer violence. These kinds of games were only ones of friendly competition.

The round piece between your fingers hovers above the board. From the moment you began, you've been plotting move by move. Now you're almost there, at the precipice of your own hard work and sacrifice.

You're set to win.

Setting the piece down on the board, you leant back to allow your opponent their own turn. So far, your servant has been forthcoming; an unexpected challenge. It might've been presumptuous, but you didn't think Harkonnen's would have the patients to play something as trivial as a board game.

It's too peaceful.

Observing the servants stagnant position, you watch her eyes flicker and mind reel as she thinks of a possible path. One wrong move and the game could end prematurely, or possibly, she may even be able to prolong the challenge.

The possibilities are endless, but you can only predict and plan so many steps ahead. There's always a chance great beginnings may not lead to great victories. And just as she went to seize her turn, the woman was deprived by an uninvited guest.

Piter.

The mentat enters the expansive yet minimalistic room; a quiet lounging area. It's one of the few places you feel comfortable enough to spend your days, apart from your chambers. This place at least offers large window panes, allowing you a glimpse to the outside world.

On his approach, your servant quickly stands to resume her dutiful spot; upright with hands clasped and head bowed. You don't have to look up to see the displeased look on the mentat's face.

"It's unbecoming to play with the help."

"You didn't come all this way to lecture me," you retort while still eyeing the awaiting pieces on the board. "What is it you want?"

"You're expected to attend tonight's festivities."

"I've already refused."

Getting up from your seat, you go to pour yourself a cup of wine. The liquid is almost black, a rare of kind of vintage. A type of wine only produced on Salusa. The enriched aroma of spice fills your lungs, making your mouth water before you even take a sip.

The invitation was given awhile ago, but the moment you'd been informed of the true nature of the spectacle, you'd felt utterly disgusted with the notion of attending. The arena is archaic. A hellish pit made from cracked bones and blood.

"It needn't be to your liking, and no doubt, you'll take no joy from what you see," replied Piter. "But your absence will be noted."

"Then let them notice." Taking a mouthful of your wine, you stew on the thought that crosses your mind. It's rather bold - if not treasonous - but even so, you find yourself speaking anyway. "Feyd-Rautha is to fight?"

Piter paused, "Yes."

"And what happens - if he's killed?"

Turning around, you stare at the pale man in all seriousness. It'd been mentioned that your husband much prefers to participate in the arena, rather than to spectate. Feyd-Rautha wouldn't miss the glory of killing.

Piter warned between drawn lips, "Careful."

Walking towards the glass paneled window, you sigh as you look out over the palace and city. In the distance you can see the arena; a triangular mega structure, capable of holding tens of thousands. It's daunting.

As fortunate as you find the possibility of Feyd's death, you doubt the Harkonnen heir would allow himself to be slain in a simple match; and certainly not in front of his own people. Had the chore been so easy, the man would've perished long before you ever knew he existed.

"Perhaps you can assist me in another matter," you said in diversion of the topic. The remainder of your wine is swallowed. "Those things he keeps with him - those women - I'd rather they be removed. Immediately."

"I'm afraid that isn't possible. The Harpies aren't yours to discard," he replied before somehow trying to make light of his answer and the situation. "Besides, they serve their purpose."

"To devour the dead?"

"To distract. To keep away from - you."

His answer can't help but make you scoff in disbelief. At every turn he manipulates, like a seasoned puppeteer. You aren't quite sure why he's taken to governing you, but in times likes these, you see him to be against you; in typical favor of his own master.

You utter, "Is that so?"

As grotesque as you may find the women that keep company with your husband, it isn't their vile nature that has you most resenting their existence. Your distaste runs deeper. In truth, it's the blatant realisation that you see yourself closer to them than you care to admit.

Parallels.

Beneath titles, your nothing but a glorified slave. It isn't the metal chains of a shackle or the bars of a cell that keep you prisoner, but the superiority of one man. The same invisible restrains that bind those women are the same you bear now.

Piter calmly commands, "Ensure the lady is ready and waiting."

The room settled in silence as soon as he left, to which you're now able to let out the breath you've been holding. It isn't one of relief. It's uneasiness. The kind that makes your knees weak and stomach twist.

The spiced wine has gone straight to your head, but despite the fact, you continue to sip throughout the evening. It drowns your mind, enough to allow you a sense of calm as your prepare, and eventually approach the outer rim of the arena.

The journey to the place itself was over all to soon, as you now sat within the capsule carriage. The vessel hovers in waiting, and already you can hear through its walls; a bombardment of cheer that fills the monotone sky.

"We're here," utters your servant.

After the capsule opens, she's the first to exit the vessel, before providing you with support as you follow out. As you first laid eyes on the arena up close, the structure immediately takes your breath away. It's a marvel of smooth black metal, towering higher than you first perceived.

"This way."

Soldiers steer you from the front, while two linger at the rear. Their protection guides you inside and upward, ascending until you reach the pinnacle. A private balcony. It's open and grand, with many servants and adversaries awaiting nearby.

"Under our glorious black sun," began the deep voice of the announcer. "We welcome to these very special festivities, our beloved leader - Baron Vladimir Harkonnen."

At the forefront of all the rest, you see the grossly substantial man, as he sits perched upon his levitating chair. The crowd cheers at the announcers introduction. The view is pristine and you can't help but be in awe of it, as well as the thousands of people who've gathered in witness.

"Come," orders the Baron. "Sit beside me."

Taking a seat at his side, you would have rather preferred to hide in the shadows. But as you peer over the edge, scanning the horizon of faces, to then take in the sands of the arena, you realise you've never seen anything like this; terrible yet unique.

"I've been advised that you aren't fond of our traditions," spoke the Baron, to which you discreetly eye the mentat. "Why is that exactly?"

"I don't condone the killing of others for sport."

"What you see here is more than just sport," he replies with a gravely tone. "This is politics."

Another wave of uproar drew your attention. The surrounding sea of black and white all stood in a wave of craze and excitement, before chanting the devilish name of your nightmares. The Ne-Baron. Feyd-Rautha.

"Tell me," utters the Baron. "What do you see?"

Feyd enters the arena, striding through the sands with predatory intent. Meanwhile, his opponents stubble from their confines; half-naked yet armed with swords. It all began so quickly, that soon thereafter you watched as the burley man staggers forward; the first to strike an attack.

You peer through your viewing lens. "Are they sick?"

"Drugged," confirms the Baron.

You lower the lens in time. You don't have to watch to know the burley man has been slaughtered. The uproar of the spectators in enough. They display their pleasure and glory of the moment without remorse; as if what they've witnessed is marvelous.

"You call this politics?"

"Of course!" agreed the Baron. Reaching up, he takes a drag from the black pipe he often smokes. The cloud of vapor disperses between thin lips. "What better way to earn the love of the people, then by slaying the enemy."

It's an honest confession. Although, the brutal display of violence is far removed from any politics you've ever seen on Caladan. Under no circumstance would your father ever permit a massacre such as this, let alone grant it in full view of the public.

"It's barbaric," he admits as if reading your mind. "Merciless. Cruel. It's all those words you're no doubt thinking. But, our people feed on strength. There's no room for weak men. He's a perfect example! Feyd-Rautha - my nephew - a true Harkonnen."

Looking over at the stout man, you can't help but see a mix of pride and envy glint within his piercing gaze. It's confronting. A look you hadn't imagined could ever be present on such a mans face, yet there it is.

Lust.

Following along his line of sight, you continue to watch from afar as the match goes on, soon to be followed by the next. Although you can't see it all transpire, you aren't immune to your other senses. The smell of blood and sweat. You can taste it in your mouth. Iron and salt.

War

Gripping the edge of your seat, you can't allow any of this to matter. The happenings of this planet can't affect you. There's nothing that can be done to stop it. On Geidi Prime you're powerless.

A wine glass appears in your peripheral, held out in offering by the pale hand of your servant. A silent understanding transpires between the two of you, before you take it. The inebriant will make this whole ordeal go much faster.

Taking a long sip, you devour the wine until the burn numbs your throat and dulls your senses. The matches began to blur one after the other, but they seemed to go on forever; as if time itself worked against you.

Palpitations beat beneath your chest, while your mind begins to stray. You're curious to know where exactly where they'd found and kept all these so-call opponents. It had to of been somewhere awful by the state of them.

The men are covered in filth and tattered clothing, but they can't have been prisoner for long. They aren't wasted away. They're still lean and strong. You take another sip in debate. It wouldn't be a good show otherwise.

"He's ruthless!" chuckles the Baron. "A warrior."

Yet again, his nephew wins the favor of his people; earnt by a gruesome decapitation of the enemy. Holding up your lens, you take in his unabashed show of glory; black teeth bared as he thrusts his weapon into the air. Undefeated.

"There's nothing to fear," spoke the Barron. "When fear itself is on your side."

A short and cryptic speech, aimed more to himself than anyone else. You don't allow yourself to ponder on what it could possibly mean. You're far too intoxicated to desire delving into the mind of a mad man.

Instead, you bided your time until the evening came to an end; an eternity later. It might have been the end of the fighting, but you're sure the raw energy it's ignited would no doubt continue elsewhere in the city; a reveling amongst people.

It became evident you were right as you travelled back to the palace; your vessel travelling past all kinds of celebrants. You don't take to much notice as you all want is the silent sanctuary of your chambers. This pollution of noise around you is so tumultuous it's become nauseating.

It's a chaotic atmosphere you're forced to navigate, but eventually you arrive back to the palace and into your private abode. A moment of relief is the first bring you back down. You can no longer smell the ick of blood, or feel the heavy thrum in the air.

"A bath, my lady?"

"Yes," you managed to reply.

Removing the pins from your hair, the pleasant aroma of flora soon drifts in from the bathroom. As soon as you're free of the confines of your dress, you take no time at all to sink within the water. It's sobering. Liberating. You feel somehow cleansed.

Relaxing as your skin is gently washed, your eyes flutter in a bout of fatigue; the affect of wine and sleepless nights. It takes a toll, both mentally and physically. Wading your fingers along the water, you watch as steam rises from the milky surface; adorned with dried leaves and flowers.

"Where did they come from?" you ask, as the thought can't help but linger in the back of your brain. Perhaps you thought knowing might give you closure. "The men who died tonight."

"They're opposers," she answers. "Deserters, captives, even slaves."

"Are any of them my own?". The question caused her to pause mid-stroke with the lathered sponge. You turn to look at her, only for the woman to blink and still herself, as if she were somehow struggling. "Well?"

"I-I can't tell you," she stutters. "I'm n-."

A raspy voice intervened, "What are you talking about?"

The two of you gasped, as both your eyes turn to the trespasser. Feyd stands at the entrance of the bathroom; like a demon from the shadows. His lips part subtly, face entirely unbothered, and yet his stare is narrowed. Suspicious.

"Go on," he challenges with a step forward. "Speak."

You demand, "Get. Out."

The initial shock is swift to disappear, and now you're livid. The last face you wanted to see this night is his own. Only moments ago he was killing; butchering men in an arena for entertainment. He's still in the same attire. Unclean.

"I said leave," you hissed.

"Don't you hear her girl?" he questioned, glaring eyes turning to your stunned servant. "You've been told to leave."

The twisted torment is obvious and all three of you are aware. As untrue as he spoke, you can't blame your servant from fleeing at his underlying threat. Her encompassing fear left along with her from the room. You're alone.

Defenseless.

Sitting naked and petrified within the tub, your heart skips in awareness of your own vulnerability. The safety you once felt upon entering your quarters, can't help but now scorn you in a macabre twist of humor. You're too foolish.

You asked, "What are you doing?"

"What I like," he says while eyeing you in the tub. Feyd isn't able to see your sunken form below the milky water, but it's all too easy for his sickly gaze to convince you otherwise. "Women like you are so precious."

He looks down at the floating flower petals, before plucking one from the surface. It's strange to see him hold such a pretty and delicate thing. The flower rests innocently upon his pale palm, before being crushed within his fist.

"So unlike our own," he continues as the crushed flower falls from his palm. "You're soft. Weak."

"Then you don't know women like me."

Feyd chuckles in amusement, "Is that so?"

It didn't go unnoticed how terribly close he's becoming. You have the urge to distance yourself and move to the other side of the tub - or better yet - to get out and run, but you find yourself frozen. Even as he comes to stand behind you, you're still trapped in the deadly lock of terror and pride.

"Enlighten me then," he encourages while taking a knee beside the tub. "Show me who you are."

"I'm not playing this game."

In an instant, he has you in a hold. Fingers thread tightly within your wet hair, while his other hand squeezes at your throat. If his fingers dig any further, you feel he might rip out your throat. Spluttering within his grasp, the water sloshes against your struggling body.

"Game?," he growls in you ear. "That would imply you have a chance."

Feyd pulls you from the water, as if you're as meagre as the flower he'd just crushed. What little air in your lungs is forced out, leaving you a gasping, wet mess as he drags you from the bathroom into the bedroom.

Discarding you with a throw to the floor, you wasted no time in backing away from him; squirming like a worm in the dirt. Feyd's muscles tense within his body. The way he's looking at you now, is the same way he looked at those men in the arena.

"You have fire in you," he admits while removing his outer jacket. "But even still, you're just more of the same."

As soon as he stepped in your direction, you scrambled to get to your feet; a frivolous attempt to flee. A failure. It didn't matter how hard or loud you screamed, no one out there would come to your rescue, so you didn't bother.

"There's nowhere to run," he said before catching you within his arms. "Nowhere I can't find you."

Whipping you around, he went to grab your face when you bit him; teeth sinking deep within his flesh like a wild animal. The spiced wine hadn't left you entirely. Between the fermented brew and adrenaline, you aren't thinking with a rational mind.

You just want to survive.

Pulling away from his attack, he managed to backhand you across the face; sending you hurling back down to the floor. A puddle of flesh at his feet. You can taste the remnants his thick blood in your mouth; smeared along your lips and chin.

Feral.

Feyd plucked you from the floor to push you up against the nearing wall. The metals cold surface instantly chills your flesh; a quick and painful reminder of how naked and unprotective you are in this moment.

Pinning you with the weight of his body, you're unable to fend him off, other than to kick and hit at will. It proved utterly useless. A waste of energy. The force of your weak knees and hands are nothing against his solid form.

"Don't you know - pet - not to bite the hand that feeds you."

Grabbing your jaw, his lips meet yours; tongue delving into your mouth. It makes you squeal in protest. You can feel him kissing you. You know he can taste your blood and his, and when he leans back, you see him grinning with a sinister chuckle. Enjoyment.

"Where's your fight?" he goads. "Where's that fire?"

Turning your head to the side, you feel his warmth breath fan against the length of your neck. Bait. He's trying to tempt you, to get a rise of anger. He's still high on his own rush of pleasure; an addiction to death.

"Don't act so restrained," he pesters while a calloused hand presses against your side; running the length of your body, until it reaches the top of your soft naval. "I know you want to hurt me."

"I want you to suffer," you confess while thrusting your knee into his stomach. The impact would have been enough to hurt him, but only took satisfaction in your assault. "I want you to die."

"And die I will," he said before suddenly punching you in the stomach; hard enough to leave you hunched in a coughing fit. It shocked you. The rupture of pain that struck within your belly is overwhelming. "But not today."

Forcing you over in a stumbling mess, he bends you over the nearby table; breasts and stomach pressed flat against the surface. Your hips dig into the edge of metal. Unable to think or move, he holds you down with ease; hands pinned behind your lower back.

"There's pleasure in many things," he says with a booted kick at your ankles. "Fighting and killing," he clarifies upon forcing your legs to spread wide. "And now I have just one more - now, I have you."

Rough. Forceful. He takes you like a servant. A whore. The length of his hardened member plunges deep inside of you; stretching your walls, threatening to rupture your womb. There's no mercy or reprieve. It only continues.

Again.

And again.

It's punishment. Degradation. Feyd grunts beneath his breath, while you can't help but express sharp moans. It's discomfort. The tips of your toes flare with pain as you try to ease the his forceful jabs, but he only pulls you back; rutter harder.

Fucking you.

The moment he released your hold, you felt betrayal more than relief. That was the moment you were supposed to flee; to fight back. Instead, you held on and stayed; fingernails clawing at the table for some kind of anchorage.

He's almost done. You can hear it. Feyd breathed shallower, more labored. That icky sticky trail is already creeping its way down between your thighs, and soon there'll be more, but he's not quite there.

You only found a sort of relief from the guilt when his fingers threaded within your damp hair; twisting so hard your scalp screamed. The pain is enough to overwhelm the fact he'd just emptied himself inside of you.

Warm.

Thick.

The weight of his body bears heavily atop your back, but he doesn't linger. Pulling himself free of you, trails of cum drip like blood from a wound. You wished all of it would empty itself; to be sterile.

The thought of being round and well bred terrifies you more than any nightmare. You couldn't bring yourself to imagine what kind of thing could come tearing it's way from your body; beauty or beast.

A Mosiah.

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART V

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 2,238

Warnings: dark themes, violence, death and mention of cannibalism

Summary: Your pride and loneliness gets the better, as you choose to pry in what you should avoid.

Desecrated.

It's tender to the touch. Bruised. The simple trace of your finger is enough to draw a frown. The mottled skin of your throat is obvious. A terrible site to bare witness, but there's more; a scattered mess mares your body.

The powders have no affect in hiding their existence, and so you resorted to covering them with fabric. It's better the people don't see. It's better your father and kin don't realise the damage of only one night. If they did, they might not leave you here, and the point of all this would be for nothing.

A waste.

You've come this far and you've survived. It's not for anyone else but for you to decide when it ends. It could be weeks, years or even decades, but you know this marriage is worth more than your life. It means a future for thousands of others, if not millions.

Turning from the mirror, you nod for the servants to continue dressing you. The early morning marks the hour of your fathers return to Caladan. He and the others are set to leave this planet, and you want them to leave with hope and pride.

Honour.

You aren't going to dress like your new people, nor will you ever behave like them. The void of their culture won't ever touch your soul. Instead, the servants prepare you in one of the gowns bought from home. A statement both daring and bold.

"Is it time?" you question, to which the servant nods. She's the very same to whom had once adorned the bruises you do now. For reasons unknown, you had taken a liking to the woman. "Good."

Taking a deep breath as you left your chamber, you couldn't help but yearn for what freedom you might find outside these walls; if for only a short time. If only to see your father depart this abysmal world. Gathering yourself, it was only your lone servant who guided you through the palace and up to the hithe.

The dark star that cloaks this planet bore light, and you wince as it floods your gentle eyes; having been weeks since you'd taken in anything other than the artificial. Even the air is harder to breath despite being outside; far too poisoned with fumes.

In the distance you see the great ship to which you'd arrived in, still gleaming unlike anything you'd ever seen. A beacon. There's very few in the galaxy who have or ever will travel the vastness of space. In fact, the first time you'd ever done so was to bring yourself here.

"I didn't think you would come," spoke your father. Standing in uniform, he greets you well kept but with a face of despair. The loom that surrounds him is heartbreaking. "I didn't think you would want to see me."

"Then you think too much," you replied with a faint smile. "You're my father - my duke. You're an honorable man who deserves to be farewelled."

"An honorable man wouldn't trade his daughter to the enemy."

His words hit you like a bullet. Painful. The surrounding noise grows overwhelming to the senses. Hypersensitive. You can hear the ships, the soldiers and even the planet itself resonating from all-round. Even the wind across your face feels strange.

But as you look at your fathers rugged face, see his familiar eyes and features, you feel the noise fade away. You can see the burden he's carrying. You know this was as difficult for him as it is for you. It isn't fair or right for him to keep carrying it.

"There is no call we do not answer," you repeat in mantra. "We do what we must for the good of the people." Resting a hand on his shoulder, you give a light squeeze. "We do what we must to survive."

"You're strong, just like your mother," he nods with a chuff. "You always have been."

Stepping forward, he places a soft kiss on your forehead and your eyes close amidst the threat of tears. You want to remember him as he is and as the kind-heartedness that he represents. Steadily breathing, you absorb his gentle touch and scent; to which you won't soon forget.

"We'll see each other again," he promises with a touch of your cheek. "I'll make sure of it."

Nodding your head with a mustered smile, the duke straightens himself before taking a step back. There are no other exchanges as he moves to make way for the ship. It's a quick farewell, anything more would be too difficult; too emotional.

"My lady," utters Gurney. Stepping forward, he takes your hand to lay a quick peck. "As a man of your fathers council, loyal friend and protector, it pains me that my only power now is to wish you well."

"Fate is a complexity, is it not?" you jest upon looking at your retreating fathers form. In all seriousness you added, "You'll protect him, won't you - and Paul?"

He pauses, "With my life."

"Then there's nothing to fear," you mutter beneath your breath. A rush of relief washes your bones, perhaps a premonition. "Thank you, Gurney."

Giving a curt nod, he bid himself goodbye before following suit to board the ship; along with the rest. Watching alongside what few soldiers and groundmen there are, you waited by until the doors ceiled. The tender strings in your heart tug at the site.

Loneliness is cruel.

Yet, a shadow looms on the metal floor of the platform. Piter. The mentat appeared from seemingly nowhere, and to your irritably, is the only one of any importance to see your father and people off on their long voyage.

"Where are they?" you question bluntly, not bothering so much as to look at him. Your eyes are still sharply focused on the starship. "Why didn't they come?"

In truth, it doesn't matter that your new family by law had not shown for the occasion. They hadn't done you the courtesy of it upon arrival, and so what little there is to have changed in their humiliation. You only ask in leu of the open wound it now salts.

"Pressing matters," spoke Piter. "The Baron's time is precious. It's best not to waste what isn't so clearly desired."

"And what of Feyd-Rautha?" you queried whilst turning to face the mentat; heated eyes meeting cold ones. "Is his time as coveted?"

"The answer isn't pleasant."

"I didn't ask if it were pleasant."

"Take the day," retorts Piter as he looks out towards the horizon. "This is your home now - you should see it."

The anger within your veins begins to boil. It vexes you that this twisted man won't simply answer what should be the simplest question. It causes your mind to tick, wondering what it could possibly be to make him so reluctant; secretive.

"Do I have to pry it out of you?"

The threat did nothing to change his monotone demeanor, but you can tell he'd heard you well and clear. A break of silence fills the void between you, until finally there is no more effort for him to conceal the truth. He confesses with a neutral tone.

"Prying only leads you to places you shouldn't be," he states before glancing at your servant. "But this one can show you the way."

Glancing over your shoulder, you eye the woman; head bowed low. Piter stays while you take your leave of the hithe. You'd expected him to be stronger, but his words of warning begin ring. Perhaps he's right to stave you from the trail you now follow.

"This way," utters your servant.

Following her lead, she moves at a slow pace; an evident lack of urgency. The reason is an evident one. Venturing into the palace walls and traversing the halls, the farther you travel, the more you studied the lithe and pale woman.

The muscles in her neck twitch and strain ever so subtly. A sign of distress. The way she grips her hands together, so tightly, as if she were trying to cling on, only makes you all the more intrigued yet disturbed.

"Where are we going?"

Keeping her head bowed she responds, "We're almost there."

The answer is hardly clear enough to process. Empty. The abundance of riddling and vague responses you've received only adds to your tart aggravation. It's baneful, with how the Harkonnen's have polluted this place with such fear and secrets.

A terrible infestation.

Eventually, the servant stops outside that of a chamber door; similar to your own but far removed. This place is located deeper within the palace, if at all possible. You can see her milky skin prickle and shiver beneath her thin dress.

You order, "Stay close."

Swiping a hand over the console, the door opens wide; revealing a bright illumination as it beams down from the ceiling. As you step forward, your shoes click against the glossy ground whilst the door close from behind; entrapping the two of you.

The channel of light strikes down upon the epicenter of the room, clearly irradiating the psychotic man you'd been seeking; although he's far from alone. As criminal and dangerous as he may be, his blood still belongs to great wealth.

Feyd stands within the down cast of light, muscular arms outreached while servants attend to his requisite. In a warped sense, his marbled pose and aura makes you think of an something akin to ancient; like a god from the old world.

A god of death.

The other servants are quick to stop and turn heads at your unexpected arrival, but Feyd remains unbothered. Evidently, there's not a soul on this planet for him to fear. However, his attendants have paused far too long for his liking.

Feyd turns slowly, clearly agitated at whomever had decided to enter his domain. His sharpened features don't soften upon realising your presence. Instead, he looks you up and down rather analytically.

He rumbles, "What do you want?"

"Respect," you answer simple and low. "Honour."

Feyd's lip twitches in a slight grimace and snarl. It's enough to show blackened teeth, to which you still find utterly unsettling. Feyd waves off a servant, before turning his undivided attention towards you; malicious.

"Honour," he repeats as he stalks towards you; one step at a time. "For who? For you?"

"For us both," you respond as he circles behind you. "The empire watches - waiting to see what will happen next. Now all they see is you - absent from the honour my house was due this morning."

"You Atreides," he drawls with a grumble. A flutter of feminine giggles echo from the far corner of the room. "You're all the same."

Feyd moves from behind you, instead leading himself to a table. It gave you a chance to take in the room. The servants stand predictably petrified, while three others sat lounged on a booth; the strange women are intermingled with one another.

"Would you like some fresh meat my darlings?" he boasted, whilst lifting a knife from the counter. It took you all of a moment to realise he's no longer speaking to you, but to the women on the lounge. "What would you like? A lung? A liver?"

Their own blackened mouths show in a mixture of smiles and grins. Deranged. Their giggles and moans visibly shift the tension. The other servants seem to faulter on the spot; their heads tucking lower and bodies tremoring.

"You," he leers at your own servant. "Come."

"No," you quip without hesitation. The last thing that'll happen in this room will be his hands touching the woman who stands so vulnerably behind your body of protection. "She isn't yours to torment."

"Everything's mine," he replies while approaching his nearest attendant.

You watch the girls lips quiver and eyes widen as his blade thrusts into her abdomen; once, then twice and again. She groans and splutters whilst falling to the ground in a matter of seconds. Butcher.

A pool of blood seeps as he turns to add, "Even you, Atreides."

The violent execution shocks you deep within, and control is hard to fight for as your emotions take hold like a vice. You're trying not to scream. You're trying not to react as to give him satisfaction. Instead, you watch as the girl continues to die, his victim twitching and suffering on the floor; dying then dead.

"There," he gestures matter-of-factly. "My honour."

His reasoning makes no sense. It's all madness to you. Murder. Lifting the dagger, he observes the blood which coats the blade. Transfixed. The gleam in his wicked eyes is unmistakable, but the gravity of it even more so, when his tongue licks a line of blood.

"Because of me," he elaborates. "My darlings are satisfied. Because of me, they're to live another day. There is honour in being master."

Your gaze flickers from him to the three women who sit intertwined on the lounge. It sounds as exactly as he'd announced, but you simply don't want to fathom the truth. These are fowl notions, even for the likes of his kind.

It sickens you more than the memory of his touch.

Listening to the women revel amongst themselves, they seem clearly pleased with their masters slaughter and offering. Feyd gestures and the others are swift to drag the fresh corpse from site; leaving a trail of smeared blood.

Concubines and cannibals.

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART lV

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 2,020

Warnings: dark and sexual themes, dub/con, non/con, and arranged marriage.

Summary: The ceremony is concluded, and now the inevitable.

You feel it.

The storm of thunder that brews within your body. Its rain trickles down to prickle at the insides of your soft belly; swelling you slowly with a liverish fever. The sickness it stirs makes you feel crippled and vulnerable.

Weak.

The ceremony lasted longer than anticipated, but not long enough. Time moved with unprecedented speed, and with each moment that past, the more you grew cold and bitter with resentment.

A terrible spite.

Standing in the center of the large tub, the servants bathe you with milky water; as if you're a meal in need of preparation. Woefully, it allows your thoughts to explode with dread; much like the black viscous blasts they'd let loose into the sky.

Wiping at your flesh, they remove the black markings that'd adorned your skin. The ink mixes with the creme colored water, swirling like two separate entities. Glancing towards the closed door, you wonder if they're waiting on the other side.

Anticipating.

Despite your ties to two of the most formidable families in the known universe, you're still left powerless. Defeated. There are no words or actions that could stave off the inevitable; not even the powers of the Benne Gesserit.

It's forbidden.

Brought back to reality, the servant waits for you with a cotton gown. You're hesitant to move; more so paralyzed. Stepping from the tub with a watery slosh, you're dried and powdered before being allowed the comfort of the gown.

Knuckles turn white from tightened fists at your sides. All too quickly, the door opens to reveal your awaited room; neat and still lingering with smoke. As you'd suspected, the witnesses have already arrived; a total of five who stand in a line to the side.

You don't know who they are and neither do you wish to discover their identity. The imperial court has deemed them important enough and necessary. Watching them as they stand silent and shrouded, you can only surmise by their bodies alone that its a mixture of men and women.

The spectators don't speak and neither do the servants, whom hurry from your room; fleeing like creatures from impending danger. Staring at the bed, you can't help but feel a sense of detachment at the site. It's equally as uninviting as when you'd first slept within its covers.

Turning with a slow shuffle of your bare feet, a deathly chill travels up into every limb and nerve of your body; raising the hairs on your skin. Neurotic. The room is dimmer and smaller than you remember, despite it remaining the same.

The world is closing in on you.

Gripping your gown, you suddenly wince with a grit of your jaw. The soft soak of the bath and pressure had been enough to split the fresh wound. But just as your palm began to weep with fresh blood, the door to your room opens.

Feyd-Rautha.

He enters with slow yet deliberate steps, like a predator entering its den. Haphazardly he eyes the witnesses before turning his attention to you. Taking a slight step back, you're smart to keep quiet and remain at a distance.

It's been some time since you parted ways in preparation, but still he wears the same clothing; black leather and an embossed jacket. Feyd draws nearer, darkened eyes flickering up and down. You've nothing to say and neither does he.

Static.

He reaches up, flicking a piece of your hair from your shoulder. The Harkonnen seems less than impressed, rather unenthused of his need to be here. Foolishly, you wonder if you truly are unconventional enough to repulse the man.

"Look at you," he grumbles beneath his breath.

The feral look he's giving you could kill; cold and merciless. His hand moves upward, and you have to refrain your urge to move away. Rough fingertips graze lightly at the cotton fabric at your collar; slowly wandering onto your soft skin.

You smack his hand away, "Enough."

The syllable is low but defiant. A last stand to protect yourself from his torment and cruelty. An act of instinct. Feyd doesn't retaliate as he simply lowers his hand. The calm before the storm.

In an instant, his hands are on you; calloused fingers wrapping around your delicate throat with constriction. He has your body pulled flush against his, whilst your faces remain mere inches from one another. His breath fans across your cheek.

"Do you feel that?" he questions, as you struggle to swallow. Your hands clasp around his own, desperately trying to relieve the pressure. "That's your life, in my hands."

"Stop," you wince; eyes flickering to the witnesses.

"Don't bother," he utters at your train of site. "They're here for one thing."

Reaching down to his side, Feyd retrieves a small dagger. The tip of the blade stills mere inches from your face. Staring at the glistening reflection, you cease all kinds of movement; even your strangled breaths.

Death glints at you.

Keeping the blade just above the surface of your skin, he trails it over your chin and down the nape of your neck. Any wrong move could see your throat slit. Grimly, you even go so far as to envision him plunging it into your belly; spilling your insides to the ground.

He could start a war.

Instead, he hooks the blade into the collar of your cotton gown, cutting it down in one swift tear of fabric. The opposite edge of the dagger runs coolly down your skin, from sternum to naval. Splitting the clothing from your body, he reveals your nakedness.

Supple and pure.

Pushing you with a quick shove to your chest, you fall back onto the bed; whatever breath left in your lungs now gone. Stars glitter in the corner of your eyes; a flash of life, as you're yet to comprehend reality.

"Stay," he orders.

Clutching your chest, the pound of your heart causes you to feel equally disturbed and deficient. The lonely organ skips and hammers and for a second you feel faint. The air slowly seeps back into your lungs, but you're aren't able to take the reprieve.

Inhaling a gasp, you're dragged down by the ankle; sheets burning your skin with its friction. He's formidable. The brute stands at the end of the bed, pale torso now bare; the black lines which mark his chest now in view.

Pulling your ankle from his grip, you can't help but move to protect yourself; shaky legs crossing and hands reaching for the cover of twisted sheets. In the corner of your eye, you take notice of the smudges of blood from you sliced palm; splotching the linen like an arena.

"I've seen lesser than you with better, Atreides."

The added insult sparks a flare of anger. A trap you fall for. Lashing out, you sit up to strike him cross the face; only for the man to grin with a lowly chuckle. The force of your blow had been enough to split his lower lip.

"You're sick," you seethe, whilst he licks the blood with a swipe of his tongue. Feyd's piercing eyes stare without shame. "Psychotic."

He draws closer and your muscles tense at the proximity. Grabbing onto your arms, you struggle and fail as he handles you like a ragdoll. Pinning you down with such ease, he demonstrates your inferiority in bodily power.

"Weak," he states pointedly.

You can barely move beneath his weight; muscled body bearing down on you like an immoveable object. It's force is crushing and humiliating, and again, your heart races beneath your chest. Feyd-Rautha's game of torment and mockery is over.

Forcing his body between your shaky thighs, the rough fabric of his pants chafes against your sensitive skin. You turn away from his gaze, but it does it does nothing when you know how dangerously close he is to you; breathing the same air, feeling each other.

You can smell him.

Lying trapped, you become caught in a moral dilemma to either defend or surrender. You want it to be over and done, but you also want to sleep at night; to be able to tell yourself you fought back. That you tried to stop it.

Clutching onto the sheets, your fingers interlock with the fabric in an attempt to find comfort and stability; a way to release your fear. The distant wall in your line of site is grey and uninviting, but the shelf pressed against it holds an item; one you'd brought from home.

The bull statue.

A representation of your family legacy. The Atreides approach to that of a dangerous circumstance. Your father had given it to you when you were a child, as a means to always remind you of who you really are in this vast world.

"Look at me," he goads while taking hold of your chin. "Look at me."

The longer you try to avert your gaze, the more his bruising grip digs punishingly into your jaw. Eventually, your watery eyes are forced to lock together; like two apposing forces, collapsing in on one another. You didn't know it, but he wanted to see the look in your eye; to see it all.

The pain.

The suffering.

When he takes what last bit of yourself remains untouched. He's already hard and free between yours legs, pushing against your womanhood. Your eyes widen with panic, not having realised until he's already forcing himself inside of you; obliterating your womb.

Straining beneath him, a sharp gasps ruins the air of silence. Abrupt. Relentless. He buries himself within you, over and over again. Stretching and tearing. Filling you in a way you couldn't imagine.

You swallow and moan.

The words you want to scream can hardly form. They're trapped in the back of your swollen throat; buried beneath garbled sounds. You push and hit against his toned chest, but he keeps you down despite your protest.

Uncontrollably, your stomach tightens in reaction to the affliction, as do your legs around his waist; trembling but numb. Every hard thrust impels another sound from your lips, while you're body can't help but jolt at the force.

It's been minutes, hours, eternity in your world. He keeps going with vigor and slowly you begin to break. Frozen beneath him, entangled in sheets and invisible shackles, you grow exhausted. The smell of blood overcomes the chard incense.

It stains the sheets, your skin and his; stuck beneath your fingernails and wet on his lip. It's nauseating. A low growl emits from the depth of his chest as he takes hold of your burning throat again; fingers tightening with purpose.

An inaudible sound strangles from you mouth. You look right up at him, a monster of mayhem. Harkonnen. The last few thrusts are slow, but deep and deliberate as he finishes inside of you. A torture now bitterly seeded and done.

Feyd's eyes flutter every so slightly, and with a light huff he looks you over. Even now, he appears indifferent. Pulling out of you, your quiver at the sting and emptiness, while breaths draw uneasily as he removes himself from the bed.

You're cold and naked. Sore and ruined. Staring up at the ceiling, you're drawn back to the harshness of reality. You remember now, that the witness are still here in the room; still silent as they watched his brutality unfold.

You might've felt something akin to shame, if it weren't for the flare of pain that now consumes your body. It all hurts, no matter where you think. Pulling your legs up, you can't help but ball yourself in the middle of the bed.

Feyd is neither quick nor slow to arrange himself. Shrugging on his leather jacket, he doesn't bother doing it up all the way. His chest remains exposed with the superficial scratches you'd clawed across his flesh.

You see him carelessly eye the witnesses before leaving the room. Not a parting word for either you or them. A blur of tears threaten to spill, but they're quickly absorbed by rage and humiliation. A malicious wall of stone surrounds you.

"Out!" you suddenly scream at the witnesses. "Get out!"

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART llI

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 1,602

Warnings: dark themes and arranged marriage

Summary: The endless wait is over and your ceremony continues, alongside ill awareness of your future.

A direful verdict.

There is no other way to see the path that lay afoot. In the recesses of your mind, you see a refraction of yourself suffering; buried beneath the earth and screaming. The sound saddens you, as your pleas fall on deaf ears.

The beldams burn their concoction of herbs. Smothering every inch of the room, it offers as a cleansing ritual. The smell is of sage and wood, perhaps even spice. The smoke consumes your lungs, making it harder to breath in your corset.

There's too many faces around you, all catering to the necessities that require you to be ready for the ceremony. It's been several days since your arrival, and more passed until the appropriate arrangements were deemed satisfactory.

This is to be a spectacle for the masses.

Standing on the pedestal, the servants dress you in a gown made of black cloth. It's simple with its layers, and hardly what you'd expected given the occasion. None of this feels as special as your younger self had once imagined. It truth, it feels more sacrificial; all too dark and grim for your taste.

The beldams mutter wickedness beneath their breath, "иблфщё."

A servants pale hand reaches steadily towards you; fingertips coated from a pot of black ink. Marking a line down your lower lip and chin, she continues to block in the simplistic design. The meaning of it is lost to you - this isn't your way.

It's their tradition.

The few unions you've witnessed on Caladan are far removed from your own tragedy. On your planet, they most often choose the harvest season. A time where all of nature is at its most beautiful. The peak of creation.

The orchards are in bloom and the ocean is at its bluest. Even now, you can taste the salty air on your tongue and breath the fresh scent of flora. The memory depresses you, in the likes you most probably will never take part in it again.

If so, it'll be decades.

The guttural echo of a horn brings you from your senses. The vibration is enough to churn the pit of your stomach. It blasts deeply, not once but three times; signaling the beginning of your end.

It's time.

The servant holds an an oval mirror, allowing you to peer briefly at the stranger in its reflection. A woman you barely recognize. The knock to follow is brash as it sounds from the guards on the other side of your chamber. They're waiting to escort you and your entourage to great hall.

The walk is long and tedious, but the others pay no mind along the journey. Despite the swarm of company, you feel dreadfully alone. The beldams continue to chant beneath their breath, whilst swaying their thuribles with wafts of smoking incense.

A lamb to slaughter.

It isn't until you arrive at the closed metal door to the great hall that you finally see your family and kin. Your father stands with Gurney, along with a handful of others from your planet. They're all here to bare witness.

Your entourage of women rearrange themselves in an orderly fashion, allowing you to finally be at the forefront and by your fathers side. His presence sooths you from the nerves shuttering down your spine. A stroke of fear.

"When those doors open, when they say the words - it doesn't matter," utters your father as interlocks your arms. "You're still an Atreides. You're still my blood."

Your lips quiver, "I'm afraid."

As strong you are and as you've tried to remain all this time, your hardened self can't help but crack in realisation. The man on the other side of that door is to be your life forever. There is no revoking him. Even in death, you'll be his widow.

"Keep your eyes forward and mind sharp."

The guards opened the heavy doors, slower than you last recounted. As if this terrible charade isn't enough, the universe must make you suffer within the warped hands of time. If only you could blink, and it all be over.

On the other side, you see the Barron sitting upon his elevated throne. The rest of the room is crowded with the bodies of unspecified Harkonnen's; most of which you will never have to associate. It's all purely for formality.

Walking down the clear aisle, you don't pay any mind to the sea of a thousand eyes; all hollow and black. They all watch in uniform as you draw closer to the epicenter. It lasts for a short while, and soon you're forced to look up.

A sinister noise plays faintly in the background, like the turning gears of one of their vile metal machines. It disturbs you, like cracked nails along a sheet of steel. It has to be their own eerie way of attempting to fill the void of silence.

Nearing the end of the aisle, you catch a glimpse of a familiar silhouette. They too are shrouded beneath shaded robe and veil. Silently, you acknowledge the older woman's presence. The formal representative of the Benne Gesserit.

Reverend Mother Mohiam.

Halting at the end of the aisle, you breathe shakily as you're forced to confront the inevitable. A priest awaits mid-way on the slabbed staircase, and next to him - the man you're to amalgamate.

Feyd-Rautha.

A gentle squeeze of your hand brings to the present. Your father is to join the others, leaving you alone. The duke gives you a subtle nod. It's enough to encourage you to ascend the steps, until your level with priest and the man.

Feyd-Rautha stands tall and intimidating, and although he isn't as broad in size as his older brother, you can tell he's still strong. He could kill you just as easily as Rabban. Mercifully, he isn't able to lay eyes on you through you veil; your one last barrier of protection.

"Atreides," he rumbles through blackened teeth.

The guttural voice forces your heart to pound. He sounds as savage as those piercing black eyes portray. The priest begins his prayer. A foreign chant envelopes the audience, giving you a moment to observe your counterpart.

Sinister thoughts creep into your mind, and like the slow cold hands of the devil; they wrap their fingers around your throat. He's a man dripping with poison. A creature that'll constrict and corrupt if given a moment of weakness.

"...may thy houses unite."

A servant steps forth, offering the priest a silver platter; holding the intricate blade of a dagger. The site of it unease's your nerves, and even more so when you see Feyd's eyes flicker slyly to the weapon.

"One oath," he vowed whilst looking back at you . The priest pressed the edge of the blade to his pale palm. Feyd didn't flinch as it sliced across his flesh. "One blood."

All eyes turn to you, silently goading for you to allow the same mutilation. There's little choice other than to obey. Holding out your arm, you swallow a wince as the tip of the blade drew a line of blood.

"One oath," you repeated. "One blood."

The Harkonnen extends his bleeding palm, and the two of you join hands; thick blood intertwining with a sting. The touch of his rough flesh against yours is enough to disgust you, knowing those hands have been covered in more blood than his own.

Murderer.

The priest chants as your blood melds. Oozing between your palms, it drips to spot the marbled floor. There's enough of it for you to smell and taste. The tang of iron stains the air like an open arena.

Ghostly.

A subtle force compels you to gaze over at the crowd. Swiftly you lock eyes with your father. The man stands brave in your moment of grief. Despite his words, you can't help but feel yourself being erased; like a fading memory.

The Barron levitates from his throne, "History will remember this day."

The room of men gave a saluted cheer to the Barron's declaration. At long last, after traversing distant stars and waiting with baited breath, the decree of your match is now complete and your people safe.

As safe as you could offer.

Releasing your hand, the fresh air stings the open wound. In the eyes of the known universe to which your Emperor governs, you are now a Harkonnen. Another pawn to join their ranks and their property by law.

There isn't anything to stop the hands that reach the edges of your veil. Feyd-Rautha has earnt his right to see your face. And a part of you wonders what he's to think of you. His hooded eyes remain emotionless and critical as they roam your features.

Your appearance is unconventional by their standards. Although pale, your skin is still warmer compared to theirs, and hair is certainly not a trait to be found in any corner of the planet. Silently, you hope he finds the variation to be distasteful.

Repulsive.

It might stave off his unwanted attention. It might save you from the consummation. No doubt, the thought has crossed upon every one of their minds; including his. You know it takes more than vows and blood to consecrate a political match.

It's sickens you to the core.

It twists at your insides, knowing that the duties of a noble woman aren't in the least bit dignifying. After the celebration of your marriage, you know what is to follow. The part where he'll take you, in front of watchful eyes; some more eager to see your pain than others.

It's the fuel that ignites your nightmares.

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART ll

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 1,658

Warnings: dark themes, abuse, and arranged marriage

Summary: Deceit leaves you waiting in doubt, while also allowing you a glimpse into the violence that is house Harkonnen.

"It's been days."

Sitting at the metal dining table, you stare down at the meal sitting on your plate; a platter of strange meat and fruit. It's late evening and yet you've still to see the sky. The duke sits the table opposite of you, troubled with a face equally as displeased as you sound.

Three day's have passed since your arrival to Giedi Prime.

That's how long you've been waiting to hear from the Barron. That's how long he's been making the envoy wait, with little to no news other than the fact his nephew is nearing to the planets orbit.

Feyd-Rautha was never here.

We've travelled time and space only to be left in disillusion. Stranded and seething in what is only another insult. The Barron had denied all your fathers requests to speak. We're to simply wait the coming time for the ceremony to take place.

"Is he dead?"

The question slips from between your lips, more as a suggestion than a question. In these last few days you've been contemplating the delay in your marriage to the Harkonnen. Your mind couldn't help but wander to the faint possibility.

You're father glanced you and then to the female servants. He utters, "Don't say that?"

Turning your eyes to the women, you observe how still the three of them stand. Their bald heads are bowed lowly, their eyes everted as if it were forbidden to look upon us. Neither of them spoke, a noticeable trait amongst these walls. It's terribly quiet.

"Do you think they listen?"

The duke sighed with a gesture, "All of you, leave us."

Immediately, the three women scurried from your site and out of the dining room. It leaves only the two of you now. Taking your glass of drink, filled with a substance you could only describe as strong - alcoholic - you take a sip.

"Don't get comfortable," he counselled. "They all listen. The servants. The guards. The walls. There's nowhere here you can ever believe is secure."

"Then why do we stay?"

He paused, "You know why."

Getting up from your seat, you headed towards a decorative wall ornament. A silver plate, rippled and bent into an unusual disk. The shiny chrome reflects the jarred image of your pale face.

"I'd accepted my fate from the beginning," you started whilst refusing to look at him. You can feel the emotions bubbling within your chest. "I'd made peace and readied myself for our arrival - and for nothing - to be made a fool."

"If he didn't need our alliance, then we wouldn't be here."

"You think he'd kill us?"

"Yes, and yet we still breathe," replied your father. "Whatever it is that's happening, it's not without reason. I don't believe this is the Barron's doing."

"Then it's true."

"What is?"

Your turned around, "Feyd-Rautha."

The duke tensed at the mention, before looking away with a sigh of defeat. It haunts him. Your father never wanted to speak of the marriage. It was your mother who came to you after the fact, confessing the identity of your match.

Your father is too shamed. Surrendering to the enemy and going so far as to parlay with his only daughter. It had hurt the mans pride, not only as a duke but as a father. He wanted better for you, better than a monster.

"He can't hurt -."

"Don't lie to me," you interjected. "As soon as it's done and I'm alone, there's nothing he can't do to hurt me."

"He won’t kill you."

"No," you mutter bitterly. Pausing, you emptied your cup with a last mouthful. "That would mean mercy."

Pursing your lips, you flare at his poor attempt to reassure your welfare. There's paths worse than death, and murder is too clean. Striding across the dining hall, you exited hastily without properly bidding him goodnight.

It angers you.

This waiting game has brought you to the edge of sanity. As you said before, you'd made peace with the situation, but now you're unsure. You're stuck in a twisted purgatory; neither free from this place nor bound to it.

Navigating the abandoned hallways, the click of your heels echoes amongst the wide tunnel like space. The palace is endless and vast, and sometimes you wonder what you might discover if you were to steer from the trail.

There's much the other houses don't know about the Harkonnen's. They're a secretive and sly race, who don't take kindly to sharing their technology and resources; other than the exorbitant production of Spice.

"Why are you following me?"

Pausing in the middle of the hall, you waited for the hidden figure to emerge from the shadows. You had herd them trailing you from the moment you left the dining room. Their mind is far too active for you to ignore amidst the emptiness.

"It's only polite to mind one's guests. The palace walls can easily deceive the unfamiliar."

Piter appears the dank recesses of the hallway, still clothed in traditional black. The two of you have barely associated after your initial contact upon arrival, but you aren't at all surprised to find him lurking.

"And what might I find, if I were to stray?" you asked daringly. "Perhaps the truth?"

"The truth isn't always worth it's labour."

You're gaze narrows, "Tell me what you want."

"Answers," he simply responded. "It's my function to seek answers - even to questions still yet to come."

"Isn't it only inevitable."

"In a manner, but why not reach for the power of foresight?"

Stepping towards him, you inch closer to the mentat; until you're merely inches from one another. Although he doesn’t move, you can see the uncertainty in his face. He expects you be otherwise, but you react differently; a miscalculation.

“Tell me my future.”

He looks at you with hesitation, before answering. “Your future is your own creation. But,” he adds whilst looking you up and down. “I do expect it be bleak.”

You scoff beneath your breath. He’s blunt, but at the very least he shows honesty. It may not be on the most respectful of terms, but it's better than you expect. Eyeing him once more, you leave Piter alone in the darkened hallway.

Walking back to your room, you're quick to take notice of the servant standing idly outside of your doorway. This one’s different. You’ve not see her face before. There seems to be quite a few, following you like shadows.

“A bath,” you instruct, to which she obeys.

Opening the door to your room, you enter first while she trails afterwards. Swiftly she maneuvers herself to prepare the bath in the adjoining room. It’s gives you time to breath, and you do so deeply.

The weight on your shoulders is overbearing. A force to be reckoned. You’ve been on constant guard the moment you step foot on this rock, and although you know you shouldn’t allow yourself to slip, you bring yourself at ease.

If only for a moment.

The servant returns, helping you undress from the layers of clothing that've been shielding you from the many faces. They’re not to see you before the ceremony, but you’d rather they don’t see you at all.

It’s easier to hide.

Slipping into the hot bath, you submerge down into the milky white water. It smells subtle but flowery, not a smell you first expected to breath in a place like this. You'd expected something unpleasant and sterile.

They say the Barron himself bathes in vats of black oil. They dredge it from this very terrain. It's supposedly a mineral enriched concoction. A way to heal the mans fowl wounds and morbidly ill health.

Improbable.

Rotating your neck, you ease the taut ache within your muscles. The ceremony will be soon, if not tomorrow then surely the next. You’ve not seen their ways of marriage, but you imagine it to be cold and emotionless; savage.

It’ll more akin to a fete, than a true celebration.

Sponging along the length of your arms and shoulders, the servant carefully washes you as if you're made of precious material. Leaning over, you cant help but catch site of the bruised flesh at her collar.

“Stop.”

Immediately, the woman stills like a statue. Your damp fingertips running across her soft but marred skin; the color of deep purple. She flinches when you press the tender wound. It's recent enough.

“Who did this to you?”

Remaining quiet, her unmoving eyes stare into the distance. Fear or loyalty. Either way she refuses to reveal the abuser. The artery at her neck throbs with the increase of her heartrate.

“Speak.”

She stumbles at the sound of The Voice. It brings her to her knees, hand splashing against the waters surface as she tries to steady herself. The answer you compel comes unwillingly and to a surprise.

“Ne-Barron."

Frightful eyes gape up at you, body shaking as she tries to come to terms with the power that'd overcome her freewill. Disorientation. As much as her instincts beg for her to flee, she makes no move to runaway; to scream in horror and obscenity.

Instead, she collects herself as much as she can, before retrieving the sponge to continue bathing your flesh. There's no need to force for further elaboration. Her words came accompanied with a testament of emotions.

Torture.

Torment.

A common endurance on this planet. Resting in the bath, you only need to imagine as to why the brute would decide to leave the servant so obviously bruised and battered; only the reason hardly matters. Logic is for the sane.

Feyd-Rautha is psychotic.

Your only real concern is, if he's so willing to inflict pain and suffering to that of his own people, then what might he do to you; an outsider. An Atreides. Those bruises hold no shame or remorse. They stand as his representation.

Would he make you walk among them as another?

A symbol of his dominion.

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART I

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 2,176

Warnings: dark themes and arranged marriage

Summary: An arrangement is forged between two apposing houses to save your world the cost of war.

Fear is the mind killer.

It snakes inside of you, twisting and strangling until bitter death. It’s an escapable pit of darkness. A place where light fears to tread and all life suffers. You feel it now, the deep ripple of dread as it slows your precious breath.

The laces of your corset are drawn tight, narrowing your passages even further. Your humble servants dress you in silence; their faces veiled in sheer fabric. They don’t dare speak on this occasion. It's ritualistic. The way they prepare you in lavish fabric and accessories the color of gold and deep crimson.

It marks your arrival.

A fiery sun, rising upon a dark and desolate planet; far from the one to which you were born. There is no green on Giedi Prime. There are no vast oceans or scraping mountains. Their world is shrouded in black and white, a monochromatic wasteland.

Metallic toxins ruin this world, while great machines plow the surface; devouring its resources like a hungry beast. You’ve not stepped foot on this sphere, and already you can feel the shift. It's quick to form a haze over your mind.

This is no place for you.

This isn’t the future you envisioned, but rather the one to which has been so cruelly dictated. It’s a strategic alignment that only the Bene Gesserit would dare to conjure. The task has been assigned, and now you must survive. Failure is unthinkable - unacceptable.

There is only the union.

A pact to save your world the cost of war.

Walking the grand gangway of the starship, your father lead at the head of the envoy; a steady hand rested on his sword. Gurney stood guard on your fathers’ side, whilst your servants trailed at yours. The rest of your family – your lady mother and older brother – had remained on Caladan.

It isn’t custom to have them in your company. It’s the father’s duty to relinquish the daughter, as an act of traditional and good faith; but this is merely a transaction. This is a trade of life for peace, and as much as you despise the fact, your opinion has no meaning in the era of entitled men.

Maintaining your line of vision, you try not to allow your gaze to wander too far from the site of your own kin. This place is foreign and cold, and it wreaks of violence. The instant you detected the small huddled committee of Harkonnen officials, all waiting for your arrival, you shivered in realization of your pitiful reality.

“We welcome you to Geidi Prime, Duke Leto.”

A particularly lanky man stood eerily emotionless as he received your house; dressed head to toe in black layers. It’s a stark contrast to his otherwise hairless and pale skin. It didn’t take long at all for you ascertain the being’s true nature. You could sense it. A twisted mentat who serves logic to his master.

“Where is he?” questioned your father, voice absent all formality and kindness. “Why is the Barron not here to greet us?”

“He awaits your arrival in the hall,” gestured the mentat. The way ahead is lined with armored Harkonnen soldiers; far from a warming embrace. “This way, if you will.”

The skeptical glance Gurney gave your father only serves to unease you more than you’d prefer. You know that look. You know the two men hold little to no trust for these people. They’re all savages. A race of violent individuals who’ve somehow thrived in their own wickedness.  

Several lifetimes ago, the two of your bloodlines crossed, but it’s hard to image their sinister race could ever be related to the likes of your own. In truth, the Harkonnen’s are the most alien of all the great houses; with their balding heads and pale flesh.

The archives can only tell you their past, but what you see all around is the present. It’s terrifying and with each step you take, you wonder how someone like you could possibly exist in their world. The back of your throat tightens, yet you shift to stand taller as you proceed to walk the grand hallway.

Pride keeps your strong, for now.

Despite the palace’s mega structure, you feel imprisoned within its steel walls; soon to be shackled by a vow. The mentat before you signaled two of the soldiers, bidding them to open the large doors of the hall. The smell of iron and soot wafted into your lungs; tainting them with every breath.

The room itself is expansive and minimalistic; eerily empty despite those occupying its space. The thick stream of light illuminated the foreboding figure which sat on the heightened, cushioned throne. You can hardly believe the sheer mass of the Barron, and yet it’s no kept secret.

“Duke,” spoke the deep voice of the Barron. The hulking man gestured outwardly with his hand, in what one could only presume to be a greeting of sorts. “Here you are – at last."

“We expected to be greeted on arrival,” replied father; clearly unimpressed with our reception to the planet. “We’ve travelled light years – and yet here you sit.”

“And there you stand, Cousin. Do we not greet each other now?”

The tension is palpable, and the seconds of silence feel more so like eternity. The duke’s bitterness hardly went unnoticed, and whilst others would try to correct themselves in fear of their lives, your father remains headstrong. The man's a pure representative of your family’s values, but he forgets.

This is their planet.

These are their rules.

It’s best you learn fast now, lest you shatter. If your family could offer no comfort here within your new life, then that leaves only yourself left to care. As the daughter of a duke and offspring to the sisterhood, your mind and body is its own protection.

The Bene Gesserit have governed you since you were a babe. They’ve showed you things few ever witness. They’ve taught you their ways, and now they’re to be the pillars of both the survival and success of this alliance. You are your only strength and weakness.

Observing the room, there’s only those of your own envoy and the close confidants of the Barron. Particularly, it’s hard to mistake the broad and brooding man standing to the left of his glutenous uncle. Rabban appears stiff, if not livid as he glares distantly at your father.  

Wide fists clench noticeably at his sides, displaying his obvious displeasure of the situation. Rabban can be described as simple minded, but a brute. He uses sheer force to conquer, and for that reason, he’ll gain nothing of any real value. Power is more than strength.

“Come,” spoke the Barron. “I want to see her.”

“Where is he?”

It drew you to realize your father’s pointed absence of the man in question. You’ve only ever known your suiter by name and reputation. Feyd-Rautha. Ambitious and psychotic. You wouldn’t know his face to pick it from the rest.

“Is it your nephew’s intention to insult my daughter, or was he simply not made aware of our arrival?”

The Barron gave a low groan, his tongue tisking against his grey teeth whilst he leant into his throne. A clear sign of impatience. This is the Barron's most inner dominion and so far, your father has only defied his every will and word without hesitation.

Stepping forward, you moved with steady purpose upon your intention to diffuse the rising hostility. Gurney is the first to stop you with an outstretched hand, only for your father to intervene. Despite his reluctance, the duke knows this is an alliance even he can’t afford to break.

Amusement shone in the Barron's eyes upon your willing approach. Ascending the slabbed staircase, you watch as the silk donned man rose eerily from his seat. The mechanical and unnatural elevation of his large body caused you to stop.

“There you are,” he grinned as he hovered closer. “Bold, just like your father.”

The Barron's thick limbs reached out, slowly lifting the veil that sheltered your face. In all these years of residing within each other’s existence, the two of you had never met until now. Gazing up at him, you saw his pale and wrinkled face morph from intrigue to impassive.

He gave a low hum, “And so we meet.”

The way his eyes roam over your face and body feels more analytical, rather than that of a perverse nature. You aren’t entirely sure if he’s disappointed or curious. The room turns silent, and everyone waits with bated breath for what the Barron will do next.

“You’re prettier than I imagined,” he announced. Hovering away from you, he slowly sat himself back onto the cushioned seat of his throne. “No matter the sort, beauty is a rare site to be had on Geidi Prime. It certainly doesn’t last for long.”

“She's to be unharmed,” interjected your father. The protectiveness in his voice is further stated with the underlying hiss of a threat. “As soon as she’s with child, she’s to be escorted back to Caladan.”

“Nonsense!” boomed the Barron. “If your daughter is to marry my nephew, then she’s to remain on Geidi Prime.”

“If?”

Turning, you faced your father to see his angered expression. Despite the intimidating and strange aura of this planet, the site of your father is still apposing. Standing in full uniform, you know with time and familiarity that the duke won’t accept or backdown.

“My nephew can be stubborn. Youth is so often irrational.” Shifting in his seat, the Barron sighed whilst narrowing his gaze. “As suited as she may be, your daughter isn’t the only hand of worth within House Major.”

“I see,” scoffed your father. “Then you’d willingly allow yourself to break law and dishonor the name Harkonnen? The Benne Gess –.”

“Witches and spies!” cursed the Barron. “I’ll not have them dictate the future of my house!”

“And I’ll not have you shame mine! Feyd-Rautha will take my daughters hand in marriage, as agreed. House Atreides holds not only political power, but the largest arsenal in the whole of the empire,” he boasted with intent. “There is no other of worth.”

Immediately, your gaze lowered with his proclamation. It's difficult to hear your father defend your house, whilst also acting to secure a marriage neither of you desire; but he does it for the people. It's his responsibility and your duty, but even still, you can't help but feel betrayed.

“Then you have my word. Let our houses be united once more," smirked the Barron. The mentat was summoned forward, “Piter will escort your daughter to her chambers. I won’t bore her with the concerns of politics."

As quickly as you arrived within the Barron's presence, you were now dismissed from the huge hall. Daughters aren’t privy to such discussions, but you know to what it will most likely pertain. You know there’s terms and conditions to matches as important as this one.

Lowering your veil once again, you headed down the steps to the awaiting mentat; who’s now no longer nameless. Piter walked steadily in lead, and whilst you couldn’t interact with your father in this moment, the two of you locked eyes in passing.

Despite the tragedy of your new circumstance, he'll always have your best interest at heart. At the very least, he’ll fight for your comfort and safety within the confines of your new home. He’d never travel the galaxy, let alone leave you behind if he didn’t think you would be safe.

“This way.”

Piter turned the corner, and soon you felt as if you were being burrowing into the bowls of the abyss. There's no windows this far into the heart of the palace. You’re cut off from all aspects of nature, and all that’s left is a labyrinth of metal and synthetic light; producing a warm yet sterile glow.

“This one’s for you,” he spoke monotonously as we stopped outside of a doorway. “You’ll be called upon later in the evening.”

Piter went to leave before you decided to speak, “Where is he?”

The man showed reluctance before turning to face you. Clasping his hands, those dull eyes stared into you as he asked, “Whom do you refer?”

“What are you, if not calculative?”

The mentat's face shifted at your taunt. Stepping forward, he appeared serious. “The two of you have yet to meet, but certainly enough you will.” Piter waved a hand over the doorway consol. “Embrace what peaceful moments remain.”

A quick turn, and you stood watching as the mentat traversed back down the lengthy corridor. Piter’s words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. It's a warning. Perhaps even a threat. You've heard too much to think it's not.

Despite the sheer vastness of space, it’s whispers which travel the fastest. Feyd-Rautha is a name that’s passed by your ears on more than one occasion. Stories or truth. You’ve heard the court recount his cunningness and brutality.

You've heard him in your dreams.

It bleeds you with fear, and fear is the mind killer.

[wixxid]

[wixxid]

FLESH AND BONE • PART I

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Words: 3,785

Warnings: mature themes, incest and family conflict

Summary: These are dangerous times and although you must play your part, you fear for your future.

The sharp sound of steel rings through the air as swords collide in an effort to defeat their opponent. It’s late in the afternoon but still they train, despite the lowering sun and cool temperature. Standing up on the higher stone ledge, you watch as your older brother spares amidst a circle of spectators.

They’re all so marvellously impressed by your brother’s swordsmanship. Aemond thrived the night he’d laid claim to his dragon, and not a single man or woman from court could deny how wicked he’d grown. The meek boy he was once had died, and an inviolable man was born.

A swift change in wind caused your strands of platinum hair to blow from your shoulders and flutter. In the corner of your eye, you can see the turn of heads and curious gazes, and instantly you sought to find the reason. Tilting your chin, you caught site of the two young men.  

Your guarding knight commented, “They arrived not long ago, Princess.”

It’s been years since you’ve seen your nephews, and yet they walk the training grounds with such confidence; as if they’d never been absent. Watching them carefully from your perch, they began exploring the place that once occupied their childhood. A place they once called home.

There’s only a handful of memories that come to mind when you think about your distant relatives, and none of which are particularly fond. It had always been difficult being around one another, with the quarrels that have and still continue to fester inside your divided families.

It’s poison.

Leaning on the railing, your silver rings dug into your fingers as they clutched for support. Jacaery’s has grown since the last you met and one could say he’s almost a man. Although you know him not to be of your blood entirely, you know there were once rumours of marriage.

A marriage that’s still absent from your life. It’s a burden you don’t yet have to carry, but you know is only a matter of time. A part of you fears their arrival, knowing that anything is a possibility when there’s two royal and unmatched boys, and whose mother seeks reclamation.

“Princess,” uttered your knight. “We should prepare for Ser Vaemond’s arrival.”

“In a moment.”

The sound of splintering wood caused a stir within the circled crowd. It’s enough to usher in the two boys in hopes of catching a glimpse of the action, only for them to still in shock. They hadn’t realised the true identities of the men sparring in the middle, and the one who’s eye they’d taken.

That horrid night still scars your brother in more ways than the one which marres his face. Aemond loathes not only his own slight of weakness in that moment, but also the boy who’d so dared to get the best of him. Aemond is a man deep and full of spite, yet few see the true danger he poses.

“Open the gate!”

The soldiers rushed to clear the way, before opening the gates to welcome in the house of Velaryon. There’re no smiles or words to be exchanged in such an intense moment. There’s only the loud and uniform footsteps of armoured men, as they marched into the grounds of the castle.

Holding the railing as you descended the stone staircase, your short heels almost sank into the soft dirt of the training grounds. The edge of your dark dress grazes over the spots of hard and wet mud, but you don’t care. You’re not frightened or repressed by the feral and filth of the world.  

Trailing behind the storm of foreign soldiers and toward the huddle of nobles, all but your relatives gave a bow in respect of your presence. Aegon eyed you with his one blue orb, whilst still clutching his sword with a death-like grip. There’s a tenseness in your brother’s jaw that’s all too familiar.

“Nephews,” you greet with a courteous smile and clasp of your hands. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet after all this time.”

Jace looked at you in confusion before recognition lightened his features. Bowing in a polite manner, you looked toward your younger nephew. Lucery’s had yet to blink as he stood rigid, if not a little frightened. Swallowing hard, he fled in a rush to rid himself of the situation.

The two of you hold a bitter history from childhood. It’s by no real fault of your own, but rather due to the young boy bearing the brunt of prank he once conspired. A rather embarrassing mishap that so happened to cause your nearby brother to turn on him in a fit of rage.    

“Luke!” bellowed Jace before tisking in frustration. “He didn’t –.”

“You’ll address the princess as her title commands,” retorted Criston as he stepped forward in your defence. The man holds little to no compassion with his harshness. “You should know better.”

“It’s alright, Ser Criston.”

Stepping forward to link your arm with your nephews, you gently tug him to follow. Aemond’s eye glares in your peripheral, but you have no choice. It’s your mother’s command that compels you to intervene and comfort the boy with ample friendliness.

“Come,” you encouraged as you guided him away from the two men and gawking crowd. Heading toward the castle entrance, the guards allowed you inside with a heavy push of the doorway. “Let me show you to your room. You must be tired from your travels.”

It’s a daunting move to have performed in front of those who already despise, if not question, your poor nephews, but necessary when it comes to showing calm and stability to the public. The whole world is watching, and while your father’s still lives, all your futures are uncertain. 

“It’s different than I remember,” spoke Jace as the two of you navigate the wide corridors, before walking up one of many winding staircases. “It’s almost surreal, as if it were a dream. The statues and carvings of the seven are –.”

“They seek only to guide us,” you justified in the words of your mother. “And although I know this must be difficult, this is still your home. You should feel at ease whilst you’re here.”

“Thank you,” he smiled sadly. “But safety is not so easily found.”

Rubbing his arm with a gentle squeeze in comfort, you pause to look at him with a sympathetic gaze. Jace has lived a complicated life for many reasons, and all of them out of his control. You can’t help but pity the poor bastard, who will forever suffer the cruel hand he’s been dealt.

“It won’t be this way forever,” you said before stopping at the door of his guest rooms. “Perhaps, I have something that might ease your mind. “

Jace’s brow furrowed, “Like what?”

“Join me on the morrow. We’ll walk the gardens together,” you offer in a gesture that would please your mother. “Let us leave the others to bicker how they please.”

“But –.”

“If only for a short while,” you nodded before nudging open the door to his room. “Meet me in the southern courtyard before the first bell. The sunrise is quite beautiful at that time.”

Standing back, you kept your distance as he stepped foot into his quarters. The offer is kind-hearted, and regardless of your mother’s command, your much like your sister in the fact you hold no real ill will against your nephews.

“I’ll leave you to rest.”

Jace nodded, “Princess.”

Headed back down the hallway, you wandered absent minded as your thoughts drifted. There’s no doubt these next few days will be difficult. The health of your father is deteriorating by the day and you all know it’s only a matter of time before he’s summoned into the arms of the stranger.

“Thank you,” you said to your knight as he proceeded to follow. “But I’d like to be left alone for the evening.”

“Princess,” he nodded before distancing himself with a single step back. “I’ll take my leave.”

Clutching the hem of your dress as you ascended the stone staircase, you walked until you found a familiar door to what’s been your sanctuary for years. The small library is a place that holds hidden gems of literature, and not just ones of history, but also of adventure.

Tucked high up in one of the western towers, the room has a single arched window that overlooks the open sea and bordering horizon. In your younger years, you would sit up here and occasionally ponder what the world would look like beyond the walls of this cage.

Aemond always discouraged your venturous mind, as he stuck to his books of philosophy and many pages of history. In the depths of his heart, he’s always sought strength and power, and that desire has only swelled in the years he’d grown from a boy to a man.

Closing the narrow door behind you, you went to reach for the matchsticks when you were startled by a shadow. The dark figure lingering by the window isn’t a complete surprise, but you still hadn’t expected him to be waiting in your quaint place of refuge.

Leaning his shoulder against the wall, that blue orb of his stared out toward the darkening skies. The clouds are changing to make way for starlight, and in the distance, you can hear the faint but distinct echo of dragons. The pit that houses our great beasts isn’t far from the castle.

“Aemond,” you acknowledged while picking up the matchsticks from the study desk. Striking one, your heart quickened in suspense of his looming presence. “What are you doing here?”

Seeking to illuminate the dreary place with warmth, your brother’s prolonged silence is nerve raking to say the least. Aemond’s always been a man of few words, but it’s when he’s at his quietest that you worry for the thoughts that course his deep mind.

“The embodiment of lies and deceit,” he quoted the private words of our grandfather, with a clear tone of equal detestation. “Do you remember?”

“Our nephews are still apart of this family, as illegitimate as you may see them.” Extinguishing matchstick, you took a seat on the leather chair at the study desk. “The rest of us know enough to understand the chore that needs to be done. Why can’t you?”

Picking one of the many books on the desk, you opened the heavy cover to flicker carelessly through the pages of the book. It’s been a long day, and the last thing you desire is to quarrel over something as insignificant as being hospitable to your guests.

“What did she tell you?”

Aemond questioned you with a hint of suspicion. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve conspired with you mother about personal matters. Refusing to answer him, even as he stalked closer, you focused on the turning pages of the book; barely pausing long enough to read more than a few lines.

You sighed, “What does it matter?”

Keeping your gaze down, his shadow came to loom over the desk with the flickering of the candle light. The pale reach of his large hand came to plant itself onto the pages of your book, before he forcefully closed it in your face.

Aemond leant down closer, “It matters.”

The leather patch that protects his right eye makes his presence, but you know the jewel that hides beneath his mask. The rich and rare sapphire was gifted from you years ago, as a way to somehow mend his broken self.

“Rhaenyra may very well sit the throne, and her oldest son to follow,” you added while slumping in your seat with a purse of your mouth. “It’d be unwise to cut all ties while our father lives. This may be our only chance keep the peace and reunite our houses as one – as is our tradition.”

“You’d be marrying a lie,” he retorted in disagreement. “A bastard.”

“That’s enough.”

Standing from you seat, your brows furrow in anger and fear of someone overhearing his treasonous words. As gossiped as his accusation may be, even royalty can’t openly express such slanderous allegations aloud, and not expect consequences

“You’d defend him?”

“I’d defend you.”

Reaching out to take his hand in your own, you can feel the rough but familiar callouses of his palm. The product of years’ worth of hard work and dedication. Leaning into the warmth his body radiates, you can smell the lingering scent of beast mixed with leather.

The two of you have been close since you were children, and over the years you grew, so did your bond. It was a night similar to this when you’d first dared to touch each other; to feel and explore the curves and muscles of one another’s bodies.

It was forbidden.

The two of you weren’t destined, unlike your older brother and sister, who already share a marriage and children. The two of you younger siblings are instead fated to be wed only for the sake of power and ambition, rather than upon the desires that transpire behind closed doors.

“Promise me,” you whispered beneath your breath. “You won’t do anything reckless.”

Slipping his hand from your own, the gentle graze of his knuckles ran along the smoothness of your cheek. It’s an endearing gesture in comparison to his otherwise cold and rigid exterior. Taking your chin in his hand, you look up to stare into that one lonely eye.

“They don’t belong here.”

Inching forward, the nudge of his body against yours forces your backside to press flush into the side of the study desk. Aemond is subtle but purposeful with his every word and action. He’s a figure who can easily incite an aura of intimidation, as well as excitation.

The press of his mouth against yours is steadfast, but you can’t help but turn away in caution. The last thing you need is to be caught or suspected, especially when there’s guests within your midst’s. A vengeful revelation of your secret affair would do more harm than good at present.

Your hand rests on his chest, “No.”

Aemond looked at you, before his eye began to wander down the nape of your neck to pause on the laces of your front bodice. There’s a glimmer of defiance and desire as he reaches up to slowly pull on one of the laces; the string of fabric uncoiling and loosening to reveal you bosom.

“Not here.”

The words hold little meaning as they’re merely muttered beneath your weakened breath. You don’t ever want to stop, but you can’t help but be frightened. You’re always frightened when the two of you are alone like this, as you dread constantly that may be the last.

At what point will you be stripped and taken away from your home. At what point will you be truly alone and afraid, in some foreign land or island, with not a single soul to find comfort and refuge in other than your own. It would surely drive you mad.

A dragon alone in a world of men.

Pulling on the last string of lace to free your front bodice, the loosened fabric made it easier for him to slip the dress down from your shoulders. You’re practically half undressed, yet you don’t dare to hide. Instead, you shiver at the exposure of your pale chest and stomach.

Aemond looks at you as he always does, with silent admiration. Standing up straight, you can’t help but kiss him with a sense of urgency. It’s been a short while since you were last together. Reaching for his decorative belt, you’re suddenly drawn to have him close and feel him inside you.

“No,” he commands.

Snatching your hands in his own, he spins you around in an instant to have your back pressed flush against his broad chest. The fine leather of his tunic is smooth against your soft skin, and you can’t help but lean back into the security that comes with his embrace.

The narrow door to the library is within your half-lidded vision, and your heart skips at the thought of any and all lurking shadows. It’d only take a curious servant or a malicious spy to find and report you being discovered in such a precarious and corrupt position.

It stirs your concentration, but it also makes you wet.

A tightness pinches at your throat as heat warms inside you belly. Aemond’s hands wander as he cradles you close to his body. The tips of his fingers trailing over your supple chest and down the smooth expanse of your stomach. They soon disappear beneath the fabric of your skirt.

“Close your eyes,” he orders as his fingers glide through the spars and delicate patch of hair between your quivering thighs. “I want you to think.”

The command is peculiar but you don’t question it as your eyes close to darkness. Your lack of vision instantly heightens your other senses. Aemond’s touch feels rougher and the air cooler as it sweeps in from the window. You can even hear the crackle of candles and cricket of insects.

“And what am I thinking?”

Squirming in sensitivity, the slow swipe of his digits tells you how slick you are despite his minimal touch. All you want him to do is bend you over and take you, but his arms are coiled tight around your waist. Pressing his cheek flush against your own, you can feel the warmth of his breath.  

“The first thing you see,” he taunts as you squeeze both impatiently and desperately at the fabric of his sleeve. Aemond pressed a tender kiss to the very corner of your mouth. “Tell me.”

Sinking his fingers inside of you, the stretch of you walls forces your lips to part with a low and long moan. The very first time you’d dared to give in entirely to each other’s obsession, the two of you had already grown into your later years. A time not far gone from now.

The first time was painful, unlike this pleasure.

Aemond didn’t know everything and neither did you, but together you learnt what it meant to fuck for the fun of it, as well as the love of it. Burying his fingers deep inside of you, over and over again, your brows furrow as he worked you up to a mounting peak.  

It’s all too easy for him to make you undone.

Biting your lip, you try to suppress the moans that are held within your shaky lungs. The deep and rhythmic stroke of his digits inside you quivering walls makes you equally speechless as it does to make your utterly thoughtless. Aemond’s question is a ghostly presence within your mind.

“Is it me?” he asks as you fidget within his hold. The firm press of his thumb against your clit makes you gasp, before silencing as the arm around your waist uncoils to clutch at your throat. “Iā iksis ziry bona nādrēsy valītsos?” Or is it that bastard boy?

Opening your eyes in sudden reality, the taunt of your brothers’ words tries to sink in and break through the wall of pleasure, but he’s relentless with his ministration. Your hearts pounding and your stomach is tightening. As much as you want to, you’re simply unable to protest.

There’s no truth to his accusation, but still, you think of your nephew.

It’s a sick game he plays, but he sees no issue in having you squirming and vulnerable. Aegon can act the same in his blunt cruelty at times; a family trait. In all truth, Aemond knows you’d never think of fucking another man, because no other man could ever be worthy of compare.

The bond you share far exceeds mere flesh and bone.

Desperately taking hold of his wrist at your neck, something meek sounds from your lungs as your belly begins to coil with the sweet sensation of release. It’s the edge of your orgasm brimming to spill over the edge and fill you with pleasure, but now you fear the sound it may create.

“Aemond.”

Breathing heavy and hard, a sheen of sweat coats your skin while your heart proceeds to pound like a stampeding hoard. A fiery spark ignites as your spine shudders, and just as you whimper in leu of a more powerful exhale, he seals your mouth with a kiss. 

The taste of him is sweet and intoxicating as you swallow the strangled hum in your throat. Slipping his hand from between your damp thighs, he cradles you close as he devours you like a man starved; so entirely aggressive yet sincerely passionate.

Ceasing his assault, your teeth graze to pull gently at his lower lip, before automatically releasing it with a flutter of your eyelashes. Aemond looks down at you in silence, and you can’t help but smell your own sweet scent coated on his caressing fingers.

Aemond smirks in agreement with how weak yet satisfied you appear; so easily subdued. Setting you free from his hold, you remain stuck in a hazy aftershock while he straightens his tunic. The pleasure still courses through you veins as you move to adjust your attire and cover yourself again.

Standing by the open window for the fresh breeze, you brush your long hair to one side in hopes of cooling your flushed and sweaty skin. Aemond is standing behind you, watching from the corner of your eye as you try to come back down to the world.

“Our father has arranged for a private supper tomorrow. In honour of our family reunion,” he spoke with minimal enthusiasm. “We’re expected to attend.”

“And we will,” you breath steadily.

The affirmation of your words holds confidence, but there’s a heavy weight sinking in the pit of your stomach. The thought of a supper makes you sick and bothered, as you now ponder the outcome of such an event. The sound of your mother voice enters your train of thoughts like a ghost.

“It’s our duty to keep the peace.”

Aemond eyes you from the doorway with a sense of challenge set within his cold features. The two of you have your obvious different, but even you know this supper won’t end up for the good of the family. Grunting a resonating hum, Aemond moved to leave with his final declaration.

“Peace is a fool’s dream.”

[wixxid]

WICKED GAMES • PART II

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Niece!You

Words: 2,718

Warnings: Mature themes, sexual content and incest

Summary: A heated dream has you conflicted, while a family invitations leads you to solving potential future arrangements.

A sensual warmth.

The heat spreads down from your breast to settle in the pit of your belly. Despite the morning breeze, a sheen of sweat covers your pale skin. It’s intense and passionate. Restlessly twisting into the sheets of your bed, the dream that fills your head plays out in a mirage of explicit images.

It’s fleeting.

The sudden creak of your bedroom door wakes you from the vivid fantasy. Sitting up with a frightful gasp and flush of confusion, you squint whilst clutching the covers of your duvet. It’s only your lady handmaid. Relaxing in relief, you run your fingers through your tangled hair.

“Forgive me,” she bowed in apology. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Princess.”           

“No, it’s alright.” Turning to seat yourself on the edge of the bed, your bare feet dangle limply over edge while your mind slowly clears from its morning haze. “It was only a dream.”

A rather lewd one that has you tingling from between your soft cream thighs, and sweating like a sinner in the Sept. Wiping your forehead, your turned to your handmaid as she busied herself in preparing your outfit. The gown she’d chosen seems quite floral and lite for your taste, but not hideous.

“That seems rather elaborate,” you chimed in intrigue of the garment. “What would be the occasion?”

“The king and queen have chosen to host this morning’s breakfast in the garden. They wish for you to join them, alongside your sister and uncle.”

“The garden,” you muttered in amusement of the location. It’s a place your father isn’t well known to wander, although you’re sure his new queen enjoys the view. “That’s different.”

Getting up from your bedside, you headed through the opaque curtains that draped and fluttered the arched entrance to your wide stone balcony. The grand view overlooks the various courtyards beneath, as well as the great city in the distance.

Peering over the edge, you know it isn’t decent for you to be standing out here in nothing but your short nightgown, but you need the breath of fresh air. The sweat on your skin is already cooling as is the rest of your body, but still, you feel the ghostly tingle along your flesh.

“I’d like to have a bath before breakfast,” you instructed over your shoulder. “And make it as hot as you’re able.”

“Yes, Princess.”

Reaching up, your fingertips touched your soft lips. The images that’d filled your head are no stranger to your dreams. They’re scandalous and erotic, the way they depict you wreathing beneath some unknown man. A fantasy of pleasure and excitement you know you’ll never find or taste, until you’re married.

It’s a tease.

Watching the birds saw through the cloudy and blue skies, you wonder curiously of your own creature and companion; whose whereabouts remain unknown for the meantime. Veraxy’s rarely resides within the confines of the dragon pit, but instead spends most of his time scouting the lands.

It’s as you wish.

The bond you share with your dragon is strong, and you know he tends not to stray too far. Veraxy’s is a free spirit and he’s done well to thrive with his wings stretched, instead of caged. The sheer mass of him is evidence and often intimidating, as he rivals your sister’s more docile companion.

“The bath is ready.”

“Thank you,” you replied on your way from the balcony. “You may go for now. I’d like to be alone.”

Bowing her head, the handmaid excused herself before exiting the room. It’s quiet but not entirely silent. The smell of sweet-scented oils fills your lungs on your way to the open spaced bathroom; designed with carved pillars, expensive tiles, and shuttered windows.

The hexagon stone bath sits centred in the middle of the room. The milky water steeping as visible heat radiates from the water’s surface. Unlacing the front of your gown, the cotton material falls to your feet, before you step over and into the baths comforting embrace.

It’s serene.

Lowering yourself in, you take a seat on the carved seat lining the inside rim of the raised stone bath. The water waves and then ripples, and already you can feel the tenseness leaving your body. That dream has worked you up in more ways than one.

Stretching your legs and wriggling your toes, you close your eyes at the feel of your soapy and slippery thighs rubbing softly together in slow motions. As much as you’re relishing the scorch of the water, it’s done nothing to ease that budding urge; that which’d been built from your dream.

You’re sensitive.

The more you think about it, the lower your hand strays down toward your navel. The sparse but soft fuzz tickles your fingers on their way to reach your swelling treasure. A slow but firm swirl of your wrist sends jolt of pleasure up through your centre, just like always.

This isn’t the first time.

The coil wounding inside of you makes your brows furrow and lips part in leu of a silent moan. It’d be mortifying to be heard, let alone discovered. We’re all taught that us young and noble women should keep our hands and ill-tempted thoughts to ourselves, if not snuff them completely.

Leaning with an arch of your back, the water at line with your breast’s sloshes more vigorously in tangent with your rougher movements. The faster you rub the more that edge builds, in hopes of toppling into an intense orgasm. Licking your lips, your chest rises and falls with meek and breathily pants.

The void of your mind makes way to a shadow.

A blurred face who you feel drawn to enough to conjure in this moment of bliss. This mysterious man is the erotic point of focus you need right now. An imaginative attachment to spur you to the end. You’re more desperate and frantic the closer it comes, and just as you feel it peaking – you see him.

“Princess.”

Splashing as you sit up with a snatch of your hand, your heart hammers at having been interrupted in such a heated moment. You can’t help but sigh in both relief and irritation. It’s only the voice of your handmaid, no doubt coming to fetch and ready you in time for breakfast.

You call out, “I’ll be out in a moment.”

Slumping back with a wipe of your damp face, you try to calm your beating chest as a rush of adrenaline pumps through your blood. You’re still high from the pleasure of the moment, but not yet fully satisfied. The oval mirror on the wall shows you as you are, dripping wet and flustered.

That man.  

That familiar face you’d conjured, with alabaster skin and eyes pure as the Sapphire Isle. It makes you feel twisted and torn on the inside, and utterly conflicted. The man isn’t a stranger or imaginative figure, but a man close to family and whom you hold dear to your heart.

“Daemon.”

Getting out of the bath with a watery slosh, droplets trickle down your skin whilst silver strands clung to your face. You dressed into a robe before entering back into your room. It’s getting later by the minute, and you’d be sure to hear of your tardiness if you’re late to this so-called family breakfast.

Sitting at your vanity table, your handmaid rushed to your side to finish drying and styling your hair. The free flow of your trait locks, intertwined with braids, matches your simple but elegant gown. Slipping on your white stockings and shoes to match, your handmaid secured your precious necklace.

“Princess?” spoke a masculine voice through the door, alongside a heavy and resounding knock. “I’ve been sent to escort you to the gardens.”

Walking over to the large double doors, you opened it to see one of the men of the royal guard standing at full attention. It seems rather excessive to be needing an escort to a garden of all places, but you can only assume it’s to ensure your attendance. There has to be something of importance.

You half-smiled, “Then let us not be late.”

Walking hastily along the wide corridors of the castle, you passed nobles and servant alike, before finally exiting outside and down a long staircase. The breeze ruffles your hair whilst carrying the smell of sea salt and flowers. At this height you can bast in the view of the ocean and grandeur of the royal garden.

The guard prompted, “They’re waiting for you, Princess.”          

Making your way down the rest of the twining staircase, you started along the garden’s stone footpath. The air chimed with the faint sound of bells and small animals. The hedges and shrubbery are neat and blooming with an array of colourful flora. This time of year is always a spectacle.

“There you are,” greeted your father as you neared the gazebo, built by the edge of the cliff and with a stunning waters view. There’s a lavish spread of mornings foods, although no one seem to have started their meal. “It’s good of you to join us.”

“It’d be too beautiful of a day to refuse.”

“Come, sit down.” Father smiled and then nodded, “We’re soon to be joined by another, it seems.”

Taking the vacant seat next to your sister, you were just settling in when you glanced up in time to see your uncle walking swiftly toward us with a striding entrance. Theirs an obvious look of amusement on his face, but you dare not look at him long enough to find his gaze.

“Pleasant morning,” he greets before taking his seat. “Do continue.”

A shocking flutter in your stomach causes you to shift in your seat. The display of food on the table takes your focus, but it’s hardly enough to draw all your attention. Snatching a lemon tarte, you bite into it to try and help swallow the lump in your throat. The pastry’s sweet as it melts in your mouth.

“Thank you all for joining,” spoke father as he sat in the middle of the long table. “It’s been quite some time since we’ve all sat to enjoy a moment as peaceful as this one. I’d like us all to cherish this while we can.”

Raising his cup, the table obliged before we continued to eat and sit in polite small talk; although none of it warrants your fancy. The family time your father so desperately wanted us to enjoy is heartfelt, but still tense in nature. We’ll never be friends but we’ll tolerate each other’s presence.

If only for now.

Sitting humbly in your seat, you toyed with the golden rings that adorned your thin fingers; a mixture of gifts and heirlooms passed through time. There’s some that bring bitter memories and some that tug at the tender string of your heart. They’re bits of precious metal and jewel, but their value is unmeasurable.

“The celebration of your name day has caused quite the stir,” announced father as he began to eat away at his plate full of food. “There’s proposals coming from all four corners of the kingdom.”

You queried with a knit of your brow, “Proposals?”

“Proposals of marriage.”

The word made you coil on the inside, as if it were a sour taste. There’s no denying the conversation was to happen sooner rather than later, but you’d hoped your father still had his match-making attentions on Rhaenyra. At the very least, it warrants being a private conversation; not one to be had over breakfast.

“You may not have the title of your sister,” he added with a sip from his chalice. “But you’re still a royal member of house Targaryen. The trait alone makes you a desirable prospect.”

“Although not one which requires immediate action.”

“You’re eighteen. You’re the same as your sis –.”

“We aren’t the same,” you interjected in a sudden outburst. Standing from your seat, a clear silence fell over the table. They didn’t all look at you, as the queen chose to bow her head in avoidance. “Thank you for the invitation. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll walk the gardens.”

Leaving the gazebo without a response, you travelled swifty until you were far enough away. That isn’t at all what you were expecting and it’d taken you off guard. Releasing a harsh sigh, your eyes flickered over the exotic flowers. The servant who attends them bowed on your passing, along with a few nobles.

There’s always someone, no matter where you venture.

Walking up to a bush that hosts a cluster of white flowers, you admire the glistening petals that fold out like the wings of a swan. The centre of it carries a bright red bulb, which you stand awe for its contrast in colour. The elegant white petals are so pure, only to have something so bold at its core.

“Since when do you look at flowers?” spoke a familiar voice, to which you heart skipped at his nearing footsteps. “Have you grown soft in my absence?”

“Only you would call a woman soft for looking at a flower,” you retorted whilst turning to face your uncle. You continued to walk along the lonely pathway. “It serves as a distraction.”

“A distraction from what, dare I ask?”

“The chaos of duty and family.”

Keeping your attention on the garden, your words hold deeper meaning than just in reference to your morning outburst. You still can’t get those sinful thoughts out of your head. The hairs on your neck are already standing on edge and you can’t help but feel rigid and vulnerable.

“The responsibility of marriage is a task we all have to perform.”

“Yet here you are, spiteful of a wife and seat you never chose.” Turning to your uncle, you look him dead in the eye with all seriousness.  “Would you want the same for me, if I were her?”

“You’re nothing alike.”

Reaching the end of the pathway, the sound of trickling water drew your attention to one of the gardens many fountain-features. The elevated sculpture in the middle represented a woman, carved from marble and barely clad as she gestures elegantly towards the sun. The craftsman ship is exquisite.

“What if I were to renounce all my titles, and live as a common traveller. Would I be free then, to do and be whatever I please?”

“It wouldn’t be a wise decision,” replied Daemon. The man’s sites scarcely rested on the statue before they came back to look at your face. “All things considered, there’s worser things in the world than an arranged marriage.”

Revealing a white flower, cradled in the palm of his hand, you saw it to be the very same one you’d been so closely admiring. Daemon stepped forward to tuck back a whisp of your silver hair, before slipping the short green stem behind you ear.

“Don’t discredit yourself,” he added whilst taking a step back to admire your appearance. “You’re a fine young woman who belongs to the greatest house to have ever ruled. If you were to pay closer attention, you’d soon learn you have more power than you think.”

“Power enough to change my future?” you queried with disbelief. “In the last four years, I’ve never felt so alone. I’d surely die a slow death if I were to be taken and chained in some far away castle, forced to bear children. That isn’t a life for a dragon. It’s cruelty.”

A wash of silence overcame the two of you as you stood in each other’s presence. Daemons eyes drifted before lowering to trace over your lips and then down to your neckline; where you bore his gift from old Valyria. Clenching his fist, he released it as he reached to caress your soft cheek.  

“It brings me no joy to see you upset,” he uttered in our mother tongue. Lowering his hand, he pursed his lips in thought. “Ask the king you wish to find a match at your own discretion, but one still suited to your title. If I know my brother at all, he’ll give you that, as he has your sister.”

“If you’re right,” you nodded then smirked with a bow of your head. “Then I’d like to find the man who’d dare match with me.”

[wixxid]

WICKED GAMES • PART I

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Niece!You

Words: 1,848

Warnings: Mature themes and incest

Summary: The celebration of a name-day gives rise to buried desires and connections.

The atmosphere is palpable.

A mass of bodies crowds the grand hall in a mixture of noble guests and exotic entertainers; with their finest of fabrics and unusual of displays. All of whom are present to help commemorate the eighteenth name-day of the realm’s fraternal princesses.

The celebration has lasted far into the night, as the two of you continue to dance side by side on the dance floor. A duo of femininity and royalty. A sea of a thousand eyes looms ever watchful over you and your sister, but this time you pay them no mind.

The wine makes you bold.

It blocks the true penetration of their lingering gaze, but still, you feel something swift tingle across your pale flesh. It makes you both delighted and senseless, if not a little daring for something more adventurous. A hazed smile stretches across you sister’s angelic face.

Rhaenyra.

Linking arms as you skipped in tune with the beating orchestra, you giggled boastfully alongside one another. The two of you have remained the closets of pairs, even beyond sharing the womb of your late mother. The queen’s sudden death only reaffirmed your inseparable bond.

Spinning around to swap partners with a young son of a nobleman, you barely cared for his fawning attention as your focus shifted to find your sister. You don’t much care for the suiters waiting to gain your favour on this night. You care only the present.

“Forgive me,” you breathed to the young man. The dance and wine are making you flush like the petals of a rose. “But I must excuse myself for a moment.”

Removing yourself from the dance floor, you left in the direction of your seat at the royal table. The one so eloquently perched at the head of the festivities. The music and boastful conversation grows louder by the second, as does the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

You’re both elated and elevated.

The movement of flesh and fabric is disorientating to the senses, causing you to rush and take your seat; lest you fall in front of half the kingdom. The dryness of your mouth thirsts for water, but the cup bearer is too quick to serve you more wine. Your too merry to complain.

You drink a mouthful before sitting back with a playful twirl of your necklace. The pendant is older than the castle you call home, having been forged in old Valyria. It was gifted to you by your uncle, after returning from one of his many ventures.

A rare treasure.

Turning your head to the side, you glanced at your father as he sat with his golden chalice in hand, uttering words to his close friend and advisors. They’ve been bickering all night long, leaving the poor young queen almost entirely alone; despite being in a room full of people.

Alicent.

The brunette is pale and tired, and appears far too disinterested in tonight’s festivities. The way she stares so blankly into the distance is worrisome at times, but still, she insists on her own happiness. Alicent grows weak serving as not only a queen, but a mother.

“Are you to retire already?”

The familiar voice piqued your interest, before your eyes could find the source of the man rounding from behind your tall chair. Taking a seat beside you, you watched as your only uncle nonchalantly poured himself a cup of wine, before leaning back with a slug of his shoulders.

“And leave the biggest festivity of the year?” you retorted with a jest, only to then narrow your gaze. “And you? Where have you been this whole time?”

“A man’s duty never ceases, no matter the occasion.”

Daemon has been absent the entire dinner celebration, whilst during the last week of entertainment he’s weaved like a dark shadow. Your uncle isn’t one to stay put for long, and so it’s quite often you and others would lose track of him amidst his so-called duties; which you know are questionable.

“Not even for one night?” you smiled into your cup of wine. “I’d think it rather ill-mannered, if not dangerous to deny a woman – especially on her name-day.”

“Deny you?” he replied with an intrigued raise of his white brow. “I’d never dream of denying you anything, Princess.”

Turning your gaze to the mass of people in front of you, your finger tapped once then twice against the metal of your chalice. An idea conjured in the drunken whirlpool of your brain, before finally voicing itself alongside a cunning smirk.

“Dance with me.”

You’re far more amused with the notion of your request, than it being in all seriousness. You’ve only seen your uncle dance a handful of times; once being at his own wedding to the Lady of the Vale. A rather awkward, if not miserable affair for all who were present.

Daemon scoffed, “You wish to torture me.”

Leaning froward rather casually, he picked at the bowl of exotic food perched on the table. Ignoring his obvious lack of interest, you stood from your seat with a sense of confidence. The music is still as strong as ever, as is the atmosphere.

“Come,” you grinned while taking his hand. “There’re worst things in life than dancing with your niece. You can grant me this one favour – if not offer it as a gift.”

Tugging on his hand once again, he eventually moved to get up from his seat. You couldn’t help but half roll your eyes as he downed his cup of wine. Daemon has a way with his theatrics at times, but you aren’t going to let this rare opportunity of amusement slip away.

Looking up at him with a mischievous purse of your lips, the two of you made way to the dancefloor. The nobles and servants parted from your path while keeping a close watch. The glint in their eyes is filled with intrigue, as they know the true nature of your uncle to be untameable and unpredictable.

A man made of wild fire.

Taking your positions amongst the other couples, the men were the first to move as they bowed to the beginning of the song. Daemon had not long since returned home, with his hair shorn from his long locks of silver hair, to nothing but a slicked back style.

It suited him to degree, if not making him appear more youthful. Daemon arrived a new man that day, upon his entrance into the throne room. You barely recognised him, and for once you saw him as not the cunning man you know so well know, but one of honour.

The Prince of the City.

Swaying to the music, your arms flowed softly by your sides as you twisted and danced in tune to the orchestra. Swapping partners, your body drifted elsewhere but your attention wouldn’t part with his crystal blue gaze. The two of you tracked each other, like a hunter would a stag.

Thick.

A tightness formed in your throat, while the air grew heavy to breath. An odd warmth tingled over your tongue before trickling down into your stomach. It’s pleasant but strange. Severing your eyes from his own, you couldn’t help but lick your lips and swallow.

It’s sweet.

The taste of wine still coating the inside of your mouth. Glancing up at your partner, a young and unknown nobleman, you glanced briefly at his lips with interest. You’ve wondered in your growing years what it would be like to kiss a man.

Rhaenyra would always blush and shy away at the interest of an admirer, but a curiosity had been planted inside of you years ago. A fleeting act caught through the window of your carriage, as you were escorted through the city streets.

You saw them.

A man and a woman, belly to belly against a wall in an alleyway. You heard their grunts and moans echo even from a distance. The moment had passed so quickly you barely had a chance to see, but still you knew what they were doing. You felt it, just as you feel it now.

A swell.

An urge.

A forbidden pulse that would thrum explicitly from between your thighs, only for you to squeeze them so tightly together you’d extinguish the desire. The daring and delicious wine in your blood. The bodily touch and sensation. It’s impossible to deny.

Trapped in a daze, you mindlessly danced to the deep sounding cello and drums. Your hands moved at your side with a delicate sway of your body. Twirling once more, your sites blurred into a whirl of mixed faces and flickering candles, only to be stopped by a heated embrace.

Daemon.

His warm hands planted firmly on your waist, before effortlessly lifting you into the air. Staring down at those piercing set of blue eyes, your breath hitched with a confused frown. That feeling stirred in the pit of your stomach like a faithless sin.

It’s wrong.

The mutant thought that had so boldly entered your brain. The vile and dirty deed that us dragon tamers call tradition. The people like to gossip about its vulgarity, but deep down they half expect the act to continue for many more generations; so long as our house rules.

Targaryen’s will always seat the Iron Throne.

Setting you back down, the dance carried on, but you’re far too lost. The whole world seems to be watching and you can’t seem to bare their attention. You don’t want them to see what you’re really thinking or feeling in this forbidden moment, but you know he’s different.

Daemon see’s right through you, like a vale of lace.

Those signature eyes of his haven’t left your sites for even a second. Picking you back up to perform a gentle rotation, your hands rested on his strong shoulders for support, but this time you avert your stare. You don’t dare to meet his contact.

It would be the end.

Lowering you down, he took your hand to swiftly spin you around. Your back pressed flushed against his firm chest, and far too close unlike the other ladies. You can smell the subtle but familiar scent of dragon mixed with musk and spice, so distinctly him.

“What is it you said?” he muttered with a rumble of his chest. “That they’re worst things in life.”

A wave of goosebumps prickles over your flesh. You don’t truly know the meaning of his repetition of words, but you know it has to mean more than anything innocent. The way his warm breath fans over the nape of your neck makes your eyes flutter.

Swiftly moving to the next step, the dance lasted only a short while longer. Then finally, you were able to break free from his clutches and this dread. Snatching yourself away from him, you tried to calm your shallow breaths whilst lowering in a quick curtsey of respect.

“Thank you for the dance, uncle.”

“Of course, Princess.” Daemon held his hands behind his straightened back, while your face turned up to his own alongside a seemingly darkened aura. “My gift – to you.”

[wixxid]

BREATHE

Fandom: Mammal

Pairings: Joe x Female OC

Words: 3,455

Warnings: sexual content, suicidal thoughts and attempts, near death experience, drowning, mentions of abuse

Summary: A chance life saving and two strangers who feel and care more then they like to admit.

Ireland, Dublin

Peace.

The calm of the water has always had a way of compelling me into the depths of its embrace. It’s almost romantic in a sense. The way it lulls me with its promise of serenity is ultimately beautiful, as is the tender envelopment of my body.

As if being drawn into the arms of a lover.

The thrill of it is intoxicating at first, but the feeling never lasts. It’s only a matter of seconds before the initial relief turns sour with deprivation. The breath of air that lingers in my lungs is starting to burn like a fire; threatening to perish me altogether.

The steady pound of my heartbeat thuds amongst the quiet of the water. It’s almost terrifying to experience, but its only nature. It’s my instincts urging me to survive and keep this frail body alive, despite the mind having already failed.

Resting at the very bottom of the pool of chlorinated water, my blurry eyes stung from the polluting chemicals. It hurts, as does everything these days. At the same time, any kind of physical pain seems irrelevant compared to the scorch wrecking my insides.

Watching my locks of hair float in suspense, remnants of my dying breath escaped me in the form of a few clustered bubbles. It feels like insanity to watch them ascend so easily to the surface. My brain can’t help but scream to do the same.

It’s self-entrapment.

Suicidal.

Biting my tongue with a wince, the need to take a breath suddenly entered my mind. An entirely reckless and irrational thought to try and quench my hasty thirst for oxygen, despite knowing I’m completely surrounded by a wall of water.

It worsens by the second.

The desire to do it grows increasingly more compelling and then almost assuring in the end. It began to make sense. The voice that taunts my conscience justified the action, a battle that soon convinced me enough to gently part my lips in surrender.

Only, it’s already too late.

The sudden swell of water and rush of white haze clouded my vision even further, before a pair of hands latched onto my arm. Hauling me to the surface in a rushed act of resurrection, a sharp gasp tore from my lungs the moment my face broke the barrier.

The public pool isn’t particularly busy this time of hour, but there’s enough faces to create a scene amongst its concerned citizens. Spluttering in the arms of a complete stranger, water spilled from my mouth and nose as he un-ceremoniously dragged me from the pool.

“Fuck,” he hissed with a firm tap to my cheek. “Aye, come on.”

Sprawled on the rough concrete that surrounded the perimeter, the lilted accent coaxing me from above sounded concerned and mildly irritated; almost as if he cared. Convulsing in a series of hard coughs, the panic and fear became increasingly evident and surreal.

“What happened?!” shouted a man.

Hazily watching as the lifeguard dashed toward us, my brows furrowed at the realisation that he, of all people, isn’t my saviour. Suddenly relapsing into another fit to clear my lungs, there was barely enough time to focus as the stranger quickly rolled me onto my side.

“Did she hurt herself?” questioned the lifeguard. “Tell me what happened.”

“You tell me, huh,” retorted the stranger in defence. “You’re the one supposed to be watching.”

“Just, keep her there. I have to call an ambulance.”

The word immediately brought me back to life. Sucking in a raspy breath of air, my arms trembled as they pushed me sit up. Getting the ambulance and possibly the authorities involved is the last thing I needed to happen right now.

“No,” I said with a shake of my head.

Brushing my wet hair out of my face with another clear of my throat, the two men looked at me with confusion, but it didn’t matter. They don’t need to understand me and my circumstances, and they certainly don’t need to interfere any further they already have.

“It’s fine,” I clarified. “I’m fine.”

“You need an ambulance,” stressed the lifeguard. “You almost drowned.”

“Just,” I paused with a sigh. My gaze turned from the two men to see the rest of the pool still staring at me with shock and concern. “Leave me alone.”

“Hey,” called the lifeguard as I stood to leave. “You can’t just –.”

“She said leave her alone,” snapped the stranger in my defence. “Now, fuck off.”

Watching the tense interaction between the two, the stranger’s protective stance took me by a bit of surprise. He stood barely a head taller than me, and with almost all the characteristics of a true Irishman, but there’s something about his demeanour that screams trouble.

Delinquent.

Wrapping my arms around myself, the cold shiver that raked over me left my skin prickled with a rash of goosebumps. The crowd of eyes seem harmless, but they feel like hot pokers. They’re all scrutinising me, my behaviour and now this argument.

Stumbling backwards, all the attention became overwhelming nauseating. The embarrassment alone forced me to rush into the changing room. Collapsing into the first vacant toilet stall, my head hung over the bowel as a wave of sickness made me heave.

It’s nothing but a gut full of water, but it made my throat burn none the less. Gripping the ceramic, tears fell before a choked sob followed. It’s all coming back to me now, both the memory of water and the deed it almost made me commit.

A shadow loomed, “You’re alright.”

The touch of the strangers’ fingers on my hair instantly initiated my self-defence. Spinning around to face him, my hand shot out to shove him away in anger. He has no right to stalk me into the change room, let alone touch me as if actually knew me.

“Get away from me,” I hissed loudly. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me?” he scoffed in disbelief. “That’s a funny one, coming from you.”

Glaring with a scowl, my back pressed flush against the stall wall. The accusation and truth behind his words is obvious, as is the mild insult. Clenching my jaw in irritation, the sting that’s still fresh behind my eyes couldn’t help but prickle in leu of new tears.

His ocean eyes seemed indifferent as they stared down at my crumpled form. Apart of me had to at least wonder why he’s willing to bother himself. Curling my knees up o my chest, my body trembled as the tears began to drip down my flushed cheek.

Humiliating.

Hurtful.

The swirl of emotions mixed toxically within my chest, making it tighten with a cramp. It’s getting hard to breathe again, my lungs burning for more air. The tremor of my limbs turned into a violent shake, causing the stranger to quickly kneel in front of me.

“Aye, calm down,” he instructed. “Come on, look at me.”

Taking my face in his hands, he tilted my head until our eyes finally united. The firm demand and purse of his thin lips made my heart skip a beat. The instant connection pulling me away from my panicked thoughts to ease my laboured breaths and rapid pulse.

My voice crackled, “I can’t –.”

“Breathe,” he interjected with a gentle nod. “Just breathe.”

The same awful sensation of suffocation gripped me more and more by the second, while my lungs struggled to obey any and all commands. My weak breaths feel barely sufficient, but it’s enough to pull me through the episode; my head slowly clearing of all the nonsense that filled it.

“You’re alright,” he muttered in reassurance. “You’re alright.”

The subtle caress of his thumb against my cheek feels soft, despite his otherwise calloused hands and rough nature. It’s an unexpected and intimate moment to be had with a complete stranger. A tough boy whose seemingly not afraid to be gentle amidst another’s terror.

Perhaps, we could be the same.

The stranger’s so close it’s easy to see now, all the details that had been missed amongst the chaos from beforehand. The fresh scrapes and colourful bruises that mare his pale flesh tell an ugly story. They aren’t the kinds you get from random accidents.

They’re the kind that are all too familiar. The sort of marking that show how brutal this world can be to the people who aren’t so fortunate. It’s a harsh and unrelenting life filled with suffering, and it can either make you strong and resilient, or weak and afraid.

We’re entirely the same, just alternate realties.

His wound will heal and his scars will fade over time, but the cruelty that constantly festers my own mind is a harder evil to destroy. The deep impact can last a life time, and sometimes the thought of having to live with the torment seems unbearable.

“Why did you save me?”

The question isn’t by any means an accusation, but rather one of genuine curiosity. It didn’t make sense to think someone would dare to care, especially for someone like me. The thought of a total stranger entering my life just to bring it back seems awfully tragic.

Those blue eyes flittered in hesitance before he answered, “If you’re going to kill yourself, it shouldn’t be here, with a pool full of strangers.”

“And that matters to you?”

His hands lowered from my face, “It should matter to you.”

Getting up with a sniffle, the tears had since stilled themselves to dry on my stiff cheeks. Every muscle in my body is aching in protest, begging me to get out of this place. There’s no need to keep going on with this whole ordeal.

“Well, it doesn’t matter.”

Shooting his hand out, he blocked my attempt to swiftly exit the cubicle. “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?” I snapped.

“Keep trying,” he stated certainly. “You come here. And every time you sink to the bottom, hoping no one will notice. It’s stupid.”

“The only stupid thing here is you,” I retorted in anger and frustration. “You’re a nobody. A thug who can’t mind his own business. It’s really no wonder.”

The quick glance of my eyes flickered over his battered body. It was a low blow. A cruel remark, that perhaps he had every reason to be run down and beaten. That as strong as he desperately wanted to be, he couldn’t really protect himself from it all.

Those blue orbs narrowed in a split second. The muscles in his jaw clenched just before his fingers wrapped themselves around my throat with a threatening squeeze. He’s not trying to kill me, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he could if he wanted.

“Do it,” I uttered under my breath.

Shrinking beneath his hold, the stranger continued to glare at me with a slow tightening grip. The pressure is enough to part my lips for air. It would be a clean and merciful execution. The struggle would only last for a minute, and it’s nothing he couldn’t manage.

“Do it.”

Closing my eyes to stare into nothing but a black void, all my most personal memories couldn’t help but play like the reel of an old film. They’re the moments to remember and the moments to forget, but they’re all that’s made me the person I am today.

It’s my reason and my existence.

The several voices of the pool-goers had barely resonated before, but now it seems amplified and loud to the ear. The smell of chlorine and wet clothes is strong in the air, tingling my senses, while the florescent light blared with a wiring hum.

The world seems livelier.

Basking in the warmth of his body so close to mine, the heat warded of any signs of coldness. It’s a comforting embrace. The minuet contact, even if it is with a nameless stranger, is more than I could ask for in comparison to my otherwise lonely death.

Waiting in anticipation, his fingers couldn’t help but flex around my neck; prolonging the inevitable and making my grow increasingly anxious. It should have been over and done. A few more seconds passed before I opened my eyes, only to feel his mouth over mine.

A kiss.

The firm press of his lips is unexpected. He tastes like chemicals and the faint linger of cigarette. The whole situation had me utterly confused, and the situation entirely unconventional. We’d met only moments ago and here we stand, lips pressed flushed and his hands at my throat.

A hard shove severed our mouths, “What are you doing?!”

The look on his face is unreadable as he stood with a blank expression. He isn’t in the least bit shocked or apologetic. Instead, he seems almost transfixed by my face, as those blue eyes ran over my every feature.

“I’ve never seen someone like you,” he paused in search of the word. “Sad.”

The comment made my lips tightened into a purse, now knowing that this whole charade is nothing more than some kind of twisted pity party. Shoving him in the chest, the stranger barely flinched at my series of attacks; feeble attempt to do him harm.

Hitting and slapping him anywhere my hands could reach, my face screwed so tight with anger that a frustrated whine managed to escape. My weakness has always been the thing I’ve hated most. My inability to defend and protect myself has costed me so much over the years.

In all honesty, it didn’t surprise me to see him so unaffected. Despite feeling pain, he simply stood there and took it. Removing his hands from my throat, there was nothing left to holding me back or keep me from leaving, only now I didn’t want to just give up and leave.

Pushing forward to wrap my arms around his neck, my lips came crashing against his so hard it not only hurt, but throbbed. The feelings he’d brought out in me are vulnerable ones, but still raw and real in every way. The kind that made me want for it.

A want for something more.

It only took a second for him to respond, his hot tongue diving deep into my mouth. Threading my fingers through his short brown hair, a sharp tug elicited only a small groan, but enough to get him spurred into action.

Hooking his hands under my knees, he pulled me up to press against the stall wall, my legs locking firm around his toned waist. He isn’t a statue of pure muscles, but the stranger is stronger than he appears. His movements of control are almost effortless.

Sighing hard between the kiss, the gooey melt now swelling in the pit of my stomach dripped down to wet between my parted thighs; yet another throb. The aching pulse quickened and thumped the more his hands roamed and the more he pushed against me, evidently hard and ready.

Pulling away for air, he didn’t stop his frenzy, but instead trailed hasty kisses along the length of my neck. The shiver that ran through me from top to bottom made my toes curl and knuckle crack. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any level on intimacy, let alone sex.

Tugging at the string of his black swim pants, the stranger had no problem in helping them the rest of the way down. The tight lump in my throat made me swallow, and my thighs couldn’t help but tremble as they tried desperately to keep their hold around him.

The tensity and anxiousness is evident, but the heat flaring in my core still had me wet and dripping; no doubt drenching my already soaked bikini bottoms. Moving his mouth back over mine, the sweet yet demanding dart of his tongue pushed back the moan sitting in my throat.

Slipping his hand down between us, the entrapped sound escaped as a mule as soon as his fingers ran ever so heavenly along my slick folds. Delving them inside of me without so much as a warning, the deep curl of his digits and grinding palm released the unearthly loud moan.

“You want them to hear?” he breathed against my neck. The stranger isn’t in the least bit ashamed, but lilted with amusement as he retrieved his fingers. “Look at me.”

Brushing my plump lips against his cheek, my forehead came to rest against his just as the tip of his hardened member nudged against my entrance. He’s so enticingly close, but holding back. The coax of his gentle voice drew me to finally look up into his eyes.

The very moment he sank into me.

Moaning low and heavy with drawn brows, my fingernails curled to brand half-mooned shapes into his flesh. The sudden stretch of my tight walls and the depth of his blown pupils as they watched me had my heart and stomach feeling things it never had until now.

A different kind of pleasure.

Sinking to the hilt, the slight burn and fullness felt gratifying but also overwhelming. Almost as if my womb were going to burst, the tip of his cock reaching places that made my vision blur. It was mind numbing in a sense, the way it took my breath away, only to give it back with a single thrust.

Our interlocked eyes didn’t dare stray away, far too captivated in the spectacle of each other. Our own breathless moans played like an erotic orchestra to the ear, peaking even further when he picked up a hard and steady pace. The pleasure rutting through the pain.

The solidity of the stall wall rattled with every snap of his hips against mine, tempting our discovery if someone were nosey enough to investigate or simply stumble in. The only thing keeping us going is the need to finish and our lack of care, for them or the world.

“Faster,” I whispered as muffled voices drifted closer.

The change room is well and truly alight by the constant smack of wet slick and colliding flesh. Biting my bottom lip, the tight coil winding inside of my aching belly strained by the second. Every brush of breath against my ear and every thrust pushed me closer to the edge.

A dam waiting to be broken.

The pleasurable cramp had my tongue tingling and mouth salivating. My finger nails scratched and maimed at his already wounded body, as if trying to viciously claw my way to the finish line. It’s almost embarrassing and animalistic to be this desperate.

A firm knock sounded on the change room door, “What’s going on in there?!”

The stern call of the lifeguard didn’t waver us in anyway, my head barely turning to glance at the simple door. Holding on tight, the stranger didn’t even bother as he continued to fuck me against the stall wall. A man fully intent on finishing what he started.

Vaguely tuning into the bickering happening on the other side of the door, it’s clear the pool-goers had made a complaint about our explicit behaviour, and for a moment it made me worry. My brows furrowed at the increasing pressure building inside of me, and then toward its consequences.

This could be bad.

If only it didn’t feel so good.

Barging through the changing room door, the life guard took a single step before he laid eyes on our intertwined bodies; still going like two bunnies in heat. Staring with a slack jaw and failing to utter a single word, the rather concerned complaintive peeked behind him with equal shock.

The stranger yelled with a scowl, “Get the fuck out!”

The daggers he must have shot them had the lifeguard and people scurrying away from the change room. Another moan tore from my throat when he thrusted harder and faster, hammering away as if it were his soul purpose to destroy me.

The split second he peered back was the exact moment the coil inside of me snapped. Hitting the back of my head against the wall, my spine arched as the orgasm raked through me in an intense wave; the moan in liberated sounding like a sinner reaching for heaven.

Euphoric.

The manly grunt of his that followed filled me with a gush of warmth, his own release causing him to gently shudder before he leant to press a kiss against my bare chest. It was chaotic and exhausting, and my skin flushed and sweaty despite having done nothing but submit.

Wading through the aftershocks, a soft hum thrummed from within as every fibre of my being clung to the warmth and lasting satisfaction. Keeping me up and steady within his arms, the still nameless stranger’s gentle envelopment slowly eased my rapid pulse, and he softly smiled.

“Breathe.”

[wixxid]

HALLUCINOGENICS

Fandom: Marvel

Pairings: Druig x Female OC

Words: 2,487

Warnings: manipulation

Summary: Talita is on the verge of discovering not only herself but the intentions of her leader.

1724, The Amazon

The dense vastness of the amazon rainforest has been our home for generations. The seclusion of it keeps us protected from the turmoil of the outside world, leaving us to flourish humbly within the confines of our own community.

The enormous evergreen trees tower over every inch of the forest floor, shielding us from the direct bore of the sun but not the humidity its rays and the frequent rains create. The moister clings thickly to the air making today a particularly uncomfortable one to endure.

Sweeping the modest living room, the primitive hut we call home is made of planks of harvest wood and crafted stone. The front door opened to welcome my mother; her dark hair askew and olive skin flushed from laborious work.

“Are you nearly finished?” she inquired.

“Yes, just now.”

Setting down her woven basket full of freshly scrubbed laundry, mother took a moment to catch her breath while drying her hands against the white apron strung around her waist. Turning to me, she gestured toward the basket.

“Good, then you can take these out to dry,” she instructed. “Once you’re finished, you can go and make your collections for the day.”

“And Francisca?” I questioned. “Should I pick extra again?”

The elderly woman who lives on the edge of the village has been troubled with terrible aches and pains for several weeks. The many medicinal plants provided by the grand forest and then prepared by my mother offer her much relief, while the rest go towards aiding the village.

“She hasn’t asked,” replied my mother before nodding in agreement. “It wouldn’t hurt to make sure. Pick extra and you can deliver it to her tomorrow.”

Nodding my head, I picked up the heavy basket of laundry while mother busied herself elsewhere. Heading outside, my first breath of fresh air drew in the distinct scent of wet leaves and earth. It’s always been a familiar smell that instantly eases me; knowing this is truly home.

Walking around to the rear of our hut, a stray pair of brown feathered chicken clucked as they hurried to stalk out of my way. The hand tied ropes strung between nearby trees offers a large enough space to set our clothes out to dry.

Setting down the basket with a heavy thump, my hands focused on the task while my mind began to wander. It’s easy to tune into the sounds of my surroundings. The village and forest both come alive in their own natural ways, but never anything too harsh.

It’s a melodic harmony.

The voices of our neighbours carry with a light echo, while the animals communicated alongside a gentle gust of wind. It’s a peaceful kind of coexistence we have here, unlike the brutal and savage reality once uttered by our leader centuries ago.

Druig.

The strange sound of his name is as familiar and yet as foreign as his entire existence. As children we would often whisper to each other in both fear and awe of the powers he possesses. Divine gifts that no one could ever explain or possibly even appose.

A force of control.

Our leaders sheer command over human will could be a terrifying spectacle to witness, but one that’s rarely ever enforced. It’s up to all of us to learn, and eventually come to understand the importance of peace rather than violence.

Draping over the last piece of linen with a smooth of my hand, the bead of sweat rolling down my spine caused me to grimace. The sticky layer of sweat now coating my skin pulled my cotton dress flush against my body; the feeling as constricting as a snake with its prey.

Taking the empty basket back inside the hut in favour of a smaller one, the delectable smell wafting from the kitchen caused me to stop in my tracks. Mother stood hovering over the wood fire stove as she stirred a pot of boiling stew.

My mouth watered, “Is that supper?”

“It will be,” she nodded with a light chuckle. “But not until you get back. You best hurry, before it gets too dark.”

Swallowing the hunger growing in my belly, mother kept her back turned, giving me enough time to snatch an apple from the bench. Dashing out of the hut and across the village, a sweet bite of the fruit instantly eased my stomach, while neighbouring faced greeted me on my way past.

“Make sure you’re back before dark, Talita!”

The village carpenter, Carlos, stopped after a strike of his hammer to watch me scurry toward the denser forestry. The middle-aged man is the closest person I have to a father figure, after my own passed away at a young age.

“I will!” I waved back in a rush.

Following the worn trail that leads out into the flush rainforest, the further away my footsteps fell, the more remote my surroundings appeared. Despite having taken this journey since a small child, straying from the main trail always makes me feel secluded.

It can be dangerous.

We all know the significance of the rule that instructs a strict curfew. Our leader had put it in place decades ago for our protection, so that we might never have to suffer an encounter with the so-called monsters that lurk within our world.

Navigating the overgrown forest floor, the foraging for medicinal plants and other things could take place in numerous locations within the amazon. Some species can be found easily, while others are much harder to source.

Kneeling down at the base of one of the larger evergreens, the thick trunk spanned at least a meter in circumference. Carefully plucking the bark along with bits of foliage that grew by the roots, the rest of the scavenge continued until my basket began to fill.

It’s no easy chore.

Glancing around my surroundings with a wipe of my damp forehead, the smell of fresh water in the air caught my attention. The local waterfall isn’t far from here; one of the more popular places for us adolescent to convene for hours on end.

Just the thought of taking a dip in the sweet pool made me yearn, before quickly compelling me in its direction. It’s a risky venture to go there this late in the day. The sunlight glinting down through the tree tops has already started to transition into bright orange hues.

“Just for a minute,” I muttered in reassurance.

Mother would scold me beyond belief if she were to ever find out, or perhaps forbid me altogether. She certainly wouldn’t hesitate to revoke my collection duties in favour grimmer tasks. But then again, what’s one moment of rebellion in the grand scheme of life.

Following the smell of running water and the sound it emitted, the litter of rocks and lush thickening of trees and plants told me I’m getting closer. Pushing through the wall of drooping vines and branches, the waterfall revealed itself nestled on the other side.

The cascade of water isn’t nearly as tremendous as some of the monumental ones that can be found within the amazon, but it’s enough for just ourselves. A perimeter of foliage, dark boulders and rocks rimmed the main circular pool of the waterfall, making it rather exclusive.

A hidden paradise.

Setting down my woven basket, a smile lifted my face as I glanced over the scenic view. Hurriedly unlacing the ties on the back of my dress, the fabric fell to leave me in my undergarments. Tossing the dress over a low hanging branch, I kicked off my shoes.

The touch of my bare feet against the cool, yet tickly moss-covered rocks of the bank instantly made my lips part with a shiver. This place appears as if something had struck from the sky, hollowing out this spot in amongst solid stone for the water to simply fall and collect.

A heavenly creation.

Carefully stepping along the slippery surface to get closer to the water, the rocky edge elevated just a fraction higher than the water level. Diving in with a splash, the soothing pool enveloped me within seconds before I surfaced for air and a giggle of satisfaction.

“Well worth it.”

Swimming toward the middle of the waterfall, my legs lifted up for me to float flat on the rippling surface. The unsheltered view of blue above the pool is one of a few places where the trees don’t block out the sky completely.

Staring up at the pillows of white clouds as they drifted through the airspace, the more time that went by, the more the stars began to gleam. The bright specks glittered like precious diamonds; known to us all but completely untouchable.

Gently wading along the water’s surface, the sound of the rushing falls and its continuous spray of mist eased my eyes closed for a moment of relaxation. If the choice were mine, then I’d stay here forever. In a sanctuary as blissful as this one, there’s never any need for worry.

You’re free.

A heavy sigh fell from my lungs before my eyes opened to reveal just how late it had become. The darkened hues of the sky are slowly creeping into the bright orange. If I’m not careful with the time I’ve left, then my way home could be shrouded in darkness.

A petrifying affair to brave.

Swimming back to the rocky bank to climb out, the cool water dripped heavily from my body and soaked undergarments. Wiping my arms and legs to rid myself of any droplets, I’d started to wring my hair dry when a loud crack snapped in the distance.

It sounded like a large branch had broken nearby, but my mind raced with a more vividly imaginative explanation. The envision of a snarling mouth filled with a thousand razor-sharp teeth and slashing claws caused my heart to pound beneath my chest.

“This is quite the disappointment.”

The lilted yet masculine voice startled me into a shriek. Spinning around to face the source, I came face to face with our leader himself. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, Druig looked none too concerned by the loud crack, but rather annoyed with my presence.

“Well?” he prompted unenthusiastically.

Those cold blue eyes stared expectedly for an answer to my defiance. Barely able to think let alone concentrate, my voice failed to find any words to explain. This isn’t at all how this was supposed to go, and no amount of excuses could possibly justify my being out so late.

“Rules are set for a reason,” he said with a slight tilt of his head. “And you of all people should know better.”

“I’m sorry,” I finally blurted.

A creeping shiver travelled down my spine as his eyes flicked to look me up and down. The quick gaze of them made me utterly aware of my indecency and lack of clothing. Wrapping my arms around myself, the man stood completely unfazed by my improper appearance.

“You humans,” he said nonchalantly. “You’re all the same in your young lives – eager to explore and disobey.”

The comment made my brows furrow in confusion. I’ve never heard the word he had just used to describe me, or rather all of us people, but it sounded somewhat cold and degrading to the ear; almost as if he believed us humans to be inferior, or at disappointing at least.

“Haven’t you ever wanted for more than just this life?” I questioned defensively, and perhaps out of turn.

There’s no denying that our leader and the rest of us humanssit on two very difference levels in this world. The powers he possesses are sufficient enough to justify our differences, but that doesn’t mean we’re worth anything less.

“I’ve had more,” he replied calmly. “I’ve seen it all.”

“And?”

Druig paused, “It’s chaos.”

The answer pulled me into a moment of disbelief and confusion. A single word couldn’t possibly describe an entire world beyond the borders of one rainforest. There had to be more wonders to explore and experiences to be felt.

“That’s a lie.”

It came out as a whisper, but he heard me none the less. Tilting his chin up with a slight squint in his darkening eyes, the air surroundings us became eerily stagnant. Even the waterfall in the distance quietened in anticipation of his response.

“Why leave when you have everything you need here?”

The breath that had found itself hitched in my swollen lungs shakily released, but the muscles in my body remained defensively taut. Although our leader is by no mean a cruel one, there’s no telling what he might do or say next in a circumstance such as this.

“Desire,” I replied hesitantly. “And passion.”

“And you’re not afraid of what you could discover? There’s more out than you could possibly imagine.”

“The monsters, you mean.”

“They come in all shapes and sizes,” he confirmed with a drop of an octave. “Just waiting for you to cross their dominion.”

Swallowing hard, the imagery of those savage teeth and feral eyes repeated itself in a sequence of horrible flashes. Although I’ve never seen the monsters that we’ve all been led to believe exist, our ancestors once spoke of its true beastly form and the terror it could inflict.

It’s a long-standing legend that may or may not be roaming these very lands. Our story-telling and traditions surrounding the creature breaths a constant bout of fear into our lives, but apart of me wondering if it’s all just a charade.

“Then where are they, if they exist?” I questioned curiously. “Why haven’t they come for us again? The rules were meant to keep us protected, but really were all just – trapped.”

Druig took a sudden step forward, causing me to startle back with a stumble. The quick movement of his came with an ounce of aggression, making me fumble to collect my inner thoughts and the reason for my sudden candour.

“You have a lot of ambition for such a young girl.”

“I’m sorr-,”

“We’re all trapped one way or another, and some for their own good,” he added in a firm tone. “What you want can do more harm than you think. What you all deserve is order amongst the chaos.”

“We deserve freedom.”

The words coming from our leader conflicted with me deeply, as did his reasoning for it. Druig’s power over us gave him no right to rid us of our freedoms entirely. We deserve the truth in the matter, and he just confessed he’s been withholding that and much more from us.

Lowering his head with a slight strain in his jaw, Druig sighed almost inaudibly. Eventually nodding his head in a vague motion of agreement, he looked straight into my eyes. The contact made me shift uncomfortably, somehow knowing his intentions.

“Then by all means,” he said as blue turned into pure gold. “Go right ahead.”

[wixxid]

LOVE AND WAR

Fandom: Marvel (AU)

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female OC

Words: 3,387

Warnings: sexual content, smoking, mention of war, ptsd, dub-con

Summary: The war is over and the men are home. James might be the same man, but he's most definitely a changed man.

1945, America

The war is over.

The announcement came as a relief and a great sorrow to the nation. Countless lives had been lost to the battle between the power houses of the world, and now the fight is over. The men are finally able to come home to their friends and families.

It’s time.

The crowd is thick as the troopship docked in the New York harbour. The people waved and cheered from the large platform, but the men on the boat are not so boastful. Those poor souls have been through the worst this world has to offer.

“How are we going to find him?” asked my mother with a worried look. “There’s so many people.”

“I’m sure we can manage,” I replied reassuringly.

Pushing up on the toes of my feet for a better view, my gloved hand protected my eyes from the glare of the sun. It’s a warm kind of day with not a merciful cloud in the sky. Finally, the sharp blow of a whistle shot through the air before the soldiers began to disembark from the ship.

“Your mother’s right Janette,” said my father with an adjustment of his black hat. “We should have organised for him to meet us somewhere less crowded.”

“Harold,” scolded my mother.

“He’s been fighting in a war for nearly four years,” I retorted while keeping a careful watch. “The least we can do is greet him on the docks.”

“We’re too far back,” announced my mother with a nudge. “We should get in closer.”

Shuffling through the dense congregation, a few families were already reuniting with their beloved sons and fathers. It was a touching but difficult moment. My heart sank in sympathy as some cried tears of joy, while others cried out in pain.

Not everyone made it home.

Finding a decent spot relatively close to the ramps, my mother and I helped search the sea of green uniforms. The shorter distance might have given us a better view of all their faces, but it also left us confronted with the horrifying details of warfare.

The men appeared worn and rugged as they staggered off the ship. There were some with white bandages soaked in blood, and some with entire limbs missing. Covering my mouth, a distasteful sickness curdled in the pit of my stomach.

“This is just awful,” whispered my mother with sorrow.

Stifling the dreadful sickness, my hand lowered as my lips pursed in agreement. The minutes flew by as we stood in a small trio amongst the many others. There’s still so many more troops who’ve yet to disembark, but a part of me wondered if we might have already missed him.

“I’m going to take a short walk,” I said to both of my parents. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

“You go ahead,” replied my mother with a nod. “We’ll keep watch from here.”

Swerving through the mass of people, every so often I would stop to try and spot the familiar face. A trailed whisper of courteous excusals fell from my lips with every nudge against the crowd. Standing on my tip-toes, I’m beginning to feel more and more hopeless and disappointed.

There’s nothing.

Stepping to take my leave, a warm and heavy hand placed itself on my shoulder. The weight of it made my heart skip and flutter. Spinning around with a gleam, the fluttering sensation stopped at the drop of my stomach. The site of his face melted my smile into a mix of guilt and shock.

“James?”

Despite these last four years, it never occurred to me that he might look so entirely different than last we met. It was entirely selfish of me to expect him to stay the same. It’s clear the hardships of war have taken a heavy toll.

He’s almost unrecognisable.

James stood broad and muscular in his green jacket and grey trousers. A scruff of stubble had grown on his face and his hair had managed to reach just passed his ears. The contrast is shocking and even somewhat distressing to take in – but it’s still him.

“Are your parents here?” he asked with a rough voice.

Ever since he left these shores, there’d always been a distinct image in my mind of how this moment was going to transpire. To say the least, this far from my dreamy depiction of reunited love. The cold and casual question of his felt like salt to a wound.

“Yes,” I replied with a nod. “They’re waiting by the ramps.”

“We should go,” he said while reaching down to sling a duffle bag over his shoulder.

There was a moment of hesitation, before we navigated our way through the remaining crowd. A bout of anxiousness forced me to pick and play with my gloves. This won’t be what my parents expect to see, and my throat couldn’t help but tighten as they both turned around.

Mother was quick to hide her shock with a gracious smile. “Welcome home, James.”

“Welcome home,” nodded my father as he held out his hand.

James looked down with pause before returning the gesture with a shake of his own. Standing in a huddled group, the silent interaction became rather awkward. Mother smiled again as she gave my father’s shoulder a gentle pat.

“Why don’t make our way to the car?” she announced.

“Good idea,” replied father with a clear of his throat. “This way, shall we?”

Lowering my gaze, my attention followed the click of my heels as we made our way from the dock of the harbour. Walking through the parking lot, the black car glimmered as we approached. Getting in the back, the smaller space and rising tension started to make me feel claustrophobic.

The gentle sound of the radio is the only thing left to ease my nerves, as no one dared to speak as we drove. Staring at a smudge of dirt on my glove, the light press of a knee against mine caught my attention. Glancing over, James sat silently glaring out of the backseat window.

The mood is incredibly sombre.

There was no longing embrace or passionate kiss. There’s hardly been a meaningful word spoken to one another since we met. Turning my head, the constant blur of buildings and traffic passed us by through the glass of my own side window.

Driving over the Brooklyn Bridge, my father navigated the narrow roads until we stopped just outside of our small home. It was before the war when me and James had decided to move in together, and away from my parents’ abode in the city.

It should have been exciting to welcome him back into our house, but now the thought of it only puts me on edge. We would be alone together for the first time in over four years, and I’m not so sure how it’s going to turn out.

Getting out from the backseat, another frown dampened my face as James wasted no time in going to grab his duffel bag from the trunk. It’s as if he’s in some kind of hurry to get away. Mother quickly pulled me into her arms for a soothing hug.

“There’s always the telephone,” she whispered before pulling away. “No matter the time.”

Nodding in a quiet response, father cleared his throat after checking his pocket watch. “We should be on our way now. But, we’re always here if the two of you need anything.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

Standing on the sidewalk, we watched as my parents drove back down the road with a rev of the engine. Clutching my purse in a death like grip, a gust of wind caused me to shiver. The sun is just starting to lower in the horizon, while the sky turned a few vibrant shades of pink and orange.

It’ll be night in a short while.

Making my way past the gate of our white picket fence and up the front pathway, my hand dove into my purse to find the house keys. James is waiting just behind me, and the feeling of his burning gaze only made me fumble to open the door.

The metal lock clicked before the door swung open with a creak. Setting down my purse, the sound of solid boots thumped against the floor boards as James made his way to the bedroom. My curious eyes couldn’t help but linger down the short and narrow hallway.

The shadow of his body shifted against the wall. After taking off my gloves and unclasping my short-heeled shoes, I sat down on the lounge chair with a gentle sigh. There was a quiet rustling before a door closed with a hard thud.

The familiar gurgle of the metal pipes only meant that he must be showering. Switching on the radio on my way to start supper in the kitchen, my sites briefly fell on a picture that we had taken during a summer carnival.

It was a one of our happier moments.

Sliding a tray of meat and vegetable into the oven, the bathroom door finally opened. Shrugging off my mittens, my muscles drew tense with the groan of wooden draws in our bedroom, along with the prospect of finally having to interact with one another.

Only, it wasn’t quite so.

The back screen door slammed as James made his way out to the small back porch. Scrubbing my hands in the sink, my cheeks puffed in both relief and irritation. This is just becoming one childish game of silent treatment, only it’ll have to end sooner or later.

It’s just a matter of who speaks first.

Finding a moment of strength, I took a deep breath before heading down the hallway. The sun had lowered almost an hour ago, leaving the moon as our only light in the darkness. Opening the screen door, James leant against the handrail while a puff of smoke trailed from a lit cigarette.

“You’re smoking,” I muttered more to myself than him.

James didn’t acknowledge me as he took another drag. “You should go back inside.”

“Because you don’t want to talk?” I asked as my arms wrapped around my waist in discomfort.

“Because it’s cold,” he stated with a curt look in my direction.

It might have been the lack of lighting, but those baby blue eyes seemed to have turned a hard shade of grey. James looked away before taking another puff of his cigarette. Taking a few steps back, I went to reach for the door in defeat.

“You don’t have to talk,” I said while stepping back inside. “But you can’t ignore me.”

Walking past the bedroom with a sigh, the subtle siting of his green duffel back made me backstep. Glancing at the screen door behind me, my lips pursed in curiosity. Inching my way over, the heavy weight of the bag made it a struggle for me to pick up.

It’s rather dense and heavy.

Setting it down on the end of our bed, a quiet tug of the zipper unveiled a stack of neatly folded military clothes. Rummaging further down, my fingers wrapped around something cold and hard. The object peeked from up through the layer clothes to reveal itself to be a weapon.

“What are you doing?” questioned James as he stood in the doorway.

“You have a gun,” I stated with a slight crack in my voice. Squeezing the handle of the weapon, my eyes couldn’t avert themselves from the scratched black metal. “Why would you have this?”

James strode forward to snatch the gun from my hand. A thrum of adrenaline made my heart beat a mile a minute. That was the last thing I expected to find. Storming passed the man and back into the kitchen, my hands clutched at the edge of the bench to try and balance myself and my emotions.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” said James as he followed suite.

“I never meant to find anything.”

The words came out as a muttered whisper, while rubbing my eyes in an attempt to find clarity. It’s only been a matter of hours, and already my world has turned upside down. It would almost be hard to believe if it weren’t really happening

“Then why bother?” he argued.

“I don’t know!” I replied in distress. “It’s the way you’re acting.”

“Acting like what?”

“Like this,” I retorted with a gesture. “As if you’re disappointed to eb home.”

The pause of silence paved the way for an unbearable amount of tension. Spurring forward, I went to make my way back to the bedroom when James caught my wrist with his hand. The grip wasn’t tight or even painful, but just enough to make me nervous.

“James.”

“I’m not,” he interjected. “Disappointed.”

A small tug of my arm wasn’t enough to free my wrist. “James, let me go.”

Pulling me forward, he quickly took my face in his hands before planting a hard and uncomfortable kiss on my mouth. The stubble on his chin grazed against my sensitive skin, while the lingering smell of cigarette made me nauseous.

“Please,” I squirmed. “Stop.”

It was almost impossible to pry myself from his strong hold. Pushing against his chest one last time, he finally let go, only for me to stumble and hit flush against a nearby wall. Closing the gap between us, the confinement of his bulking stature spurred me to hit him harder.

“Stop it,” I said before slapping his muscular chest.

James reached down in one fell swoop to pick me up from the ground. The sudden unbalance made me stiffen and gasp as a breath hitched in the back of my throat. Wrapping my legs tight around his waist for support, my hands gripped onto his broad shoulders.

This isn’t like him.

Turning my head to the side, I squirmed at the touch of his lips and nuzzle of his nose against my neck. It’s been so long since we were last together. The sensual touch couldn’t help but make me feeling things that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The spotted kisses trailed further down my neck and along my collar bone. Closing my eyes, a pair of rough hands lifted the skirt of my dress as they roamed up my stocking clad thighs. The warmth that seeped between my thighs forced them wider in search of friction.

“Every day,” he whispered by my ear. “I thought of you.”

Sighing, the sound of those words made my belly ache in response. It saddened and gave me joy all at the same time, like a terrible whirlwind of mixed emotions. Drawing myself closer, the scent of rich earth and musk filled my lungs with every breath.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s the only worth response that came to mind. Leaning in, my body tensed from the gentle press of his lips against mine. The taste of him is sweet despite the cigarette smoke. Clutching tightly at the back of his shirt, my touch turned frantic in search of more.

He made me want.

A moan parted my lips as a hard bulge pressed between my aching thighs. Shifting his hand along my smooth skin and underneath my dress, he pulled my cotton knit panties to the side before curling his fingers up inside of me.

Wet.

Burying them as deep as his knuckles would allow, my brows drew taught with a series of whimpers. Swallowing hard, each tantalising stroke forced my thighs to clamp tighter against him. The sinfully slow and deep squirm of his digits couldn’t help but make me drip with heat.

“The picture you sent me,” he muttered, referring to a risky type of image that most women had send to their men overseas. An exotic memento to keep them company during lonesome times. “It made me remember how good it felt to be inside you.”

Leaning my head back against the wall, my chest rose and fell in a rather breathless state. Every fibre of my being trembled as we continued to stare at one another. A kind of haze clouded my mind, but there’s no denying how those icy grey eyes of his had blown almost entirely black.

The pure site of him, along with the lingering sound of his words, made the ache between my legs grow into a vicious pulse of desperation. It’s almost unbearable. Leaning in for another firm kiss, the pair of us fumbled and tugged at each other’s clothing.

Animals.

Pinning me flush against the wall, the tip of his cock pressed at my entrance before sinking into me with a hard thrust. The deep and burning stretch tore a gasp from my throat. It felt like the very first time, only more pleasurable and with little to no reservation.

Clutching on to him, a sheen of sweat glistened on our skin as my panting kept up with his faint string of grunts. The unwavering and erotic sounds echoing against our kitchen walls are almost foreign and shameful, but they simply couldn’t be helped.

It feels too good.

Digging his fingers into the flesh of my outer thigh, James pulled us away from the wall only to move us over to the dining room table. The cold wooden surface felt hard but stable. Pulling me closer to the edge, his pace quickened after a hard slam of his hips.

Strong and intense.

The sweet scent of sex lingered in the air, along with the dull sound of the radio as it transmitted from the lounge room. Holding onto the sides of the table, the wooden legs squeaked and wobbled in sync with his persistent thrusts.

Relentless.

Biting my bottom lip, my head turned to catch onto an unexpected reflection. The shiny glass of our display cabinet couldn’t help but offer a carnal reflection of the two of us rutting like animals. Licking my lips with a wet glide of my tongue, the visual image spurred on my climb of pleasure.

This isn’t like us.

Turning away, the harsh tug on the front of my dress drew my attention, along with the distinct pop of buttons. Sighing at the warm squeeze of his rough hand on my breast, the moment was suddenly interrupted by a cool drift of air.

“James,” I shivered as it sent a chill down my spine.

Ignoring my plea, another gust of breeze made me think that a window must be open. Tilting my head back, the upturned view of the jarred window from behind confirmed my suspicion. Pushing against his lower stomach, an uneasy flush tinged my cheeks – only he didn’t seem to care.

“James.”

“Don’t,” he replied as he took my wrists.

Pinning them down beside my hips, the strikingly demanding and intense look on James’ face made my muscles clench around him. It’s always a distinct kind of feeling and one you’ll never forget – the feeling of knowing when you’re going to cum.

Unmistakable.

Biting my lip with a muffled moan, my toes curled with a crack, while a familiar tingling sensation built in the back of my throat. James drove into me with a few more thrusts. That and the added sound of wet slick and manly grunts was all it took to finally send me over the edge.

Tensing on the table, my eyes drew shut as my back arched with a strangled moan. Rolling my hips along with the crashing waves of pleasure, my thighs clung to keep him close. Lasting a few seconds longer, my body relaxed as the euphoric high slowly simmered down.

Silence.

Slumped and tired, everything turned into a blissful blur. Gazing up at him, the weight of his body felt comforting while the clink of his etched metal dog tags chimed in my ears. Long strands of hair dangled to frame his face and one that still held little to no emotion, even after having sex.

He’s still hard.

The feeling of him inside of me is undeniable and somewhat unnerving. It could be the way he’s still peering down at me, or the fact of what we just did. It was a kind of heat of the moment that’s never happened before, and also a subtle way of signalling one thing for certain.

He’s the same man, but most definitely a changed man.

[wixxid]

THE INHERITANCE

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: None

Words: 1,307

Summary: A funeral and broken ties changes the life of an innocent girl.

Warnings: violence, death, assassination, kidnapping, human experimentation

1996, America.

Black.

The people wept as they surrounded the burial site. The grey clouds rolled with the sound of thunder as the casket was lowered into the ground. Falling from the sky, droplets of rain spluttered down on the misfortune of my mother’s death.

The concept is too strange and unfamiliar for my naïve mind. The reality of the situation hasn’t yet reached my own comprehension. The preacher spoke his final words while my father reached down to clutch my little hand.

“To live in hearts we leave behind, is not to die”

My eyes flickered up toward the sky as a single drop of water landed on my rosy cheek. My father gave a gentle squeeze of my hand as my fingers wiped it away. Drawing my attention, a sea of teary eyes stared at me with sorrow as an attendee offered me a basket.

“Go on,” said my father.

Reaching in to pluck a white flower, my shoes shuffled along the plush green grass as I stepped toward the open grave. The delicate flower dropped from my hands to land on the coffin. A rush of sadness rushed over me as my feet stumbled backwards.

A cold touch of reality.

The others began to offer a flower from the basket before slowly dispersing from the grave. Patting my father on the shoulder, they offered comforting words before leaving the ceremony. The storm rumbled as a familiar figure approached.

My father gave a nod, “Pierce.”

“My condolences for your loss,” replied the man “Helen was a wonderful woman.”

“Yes, she was.”

Turning his attention to me, those sharp blue eyes made me shiver. This isn’t the first time we’ve met one another. As the secretory of the world security council, this man used to oversee my father’s work during his commitment at the Triskelion.

“You’re a very brave young girl,” he said while kneeling down in front of me “You remind me of my own daughter.”

“Thank you for coming,” interrupted my father “It was good seeing you again.”

Pierce stood back up, “Of course.”

Glancing down at me one last time, the man left back along the field of open grass and headstones. Watching the funeral attendees pack away the setting of chairs and decorations, we stood alone in silence as the rain continued to splutter down from the clouds.

“Is she gone?”, I asked quietly.

My father reached down to tuck away a stray strand of hair, “No matter what, your mother will always be right here with you.”

My eyes lingered on the flower wreath along with the image that rests inside. Father gave a gentle tug on my hand as we slowly made our way back to the chapel building. Crossing the open parking lot to the silver four-wheel drive, a voice called out from the distance.

“William.”

My father opened the door before helping me up into to the back seat. The sound of shoes crunched against the gravel as the same man approached the vehicle. My father wasn’t impressed as he turned around with a sigh.

“I thought you left,” he said.

“I was hoping to have a word in private.”

“Do you really think now is a good time?”

“This isn’t how I wanted it to happen, but these are desperate times,” replied Pierce.

My father scoffed, “Desperate.”

“The progress you made is invaluable, but there’s work to be done.”

“No. There isn’t.”

“Reconsider my offer, William” pleaded the man “Finish what you started.”

“I’m finishing it now,” replied my father as he opened the drivers side door “I need to start taking care of my family.”

Closing the door with a thud, the engine hummed as the car reversed out of the parking space. Driving past the man, our eyes briefly connected with one another. Pulling onto the main road, we travelled in silence.

It’s a long journey home.

Staring through the window, the splutter of rain had stopped but not the rumble of the clouds. Playing with the hem of my black dress, the car stopped at a red light. My fathers voice broke the sombre silence.

“What are you thinking about?”

“It’s a little cold.”

Reaching over to turn on the heater, the fans blew a gush of warm air as the light turned a bight green. The engine gave a low rev as we drove forward. Leaning my head against the door, my finger drew the shape of a heart on the foggy glass window.

“Is it getting warm back there?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

My father tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel, “Why don’t we go somewhere for the weekend? Would you like that?”

My head perked up, “Where would we go?”

“We can go anywhere you like.”

My lips pursed in consideration before I replied, “I want to go to the beach.”

“That’s a great choice,” he smiled in the rear-view mirror. My mother loved the beach.

A pang of excitement filled me at the prospect of escaping our empty house. It’s been a week since mother had passed and everything is still how it was before she died. All the family pictures are still hanging on the wall for when we arrive home.

My excitement dulled, “Am I going to have another mom?”

“Audrey,” he replied with a pause “It’s important to understand that no one will ever replace your mother.”

“Even if you find another lady?”

“Yes,” he replied while turning a corner “Even if I found someone else.”

The top of my shoes tapped against the seat in front of me while my fingers kept picking at the hem of my dress. The sky had turned darker as the sun lowered behind the thick coverage of clouds. The bright yellow road lights would gleam every so often through the window.

“Are we almost home?”

“Almost,” he replied while reaching over to the fiddle with the radio station “Why don’t we play some music?”

The channel flicked over one another until a loud bang shot through the air. My father cursed as he grabbed hold of the steering wheel. Swerving across the road, the tires screeched along with the sound of my pitched scream.

We’re losing control.

Veering off the side of the road, the air bags blew as we crashed down into a shallow ditch. The hard impact of the inflated safety bag caused my vision to go black for a few seconds. The bright yellow blinker eventually coaxed a flutter from my eyes as it flashed toward the dark wood of the trees.

A whimper escaped my lips as my brain throbbed with a dull headache. My body struggled to move a single inch as the hard seat belt strangled me against the chair. Reaching toward my father, my short arms couldn’t quite manage the distance.

“Dad,” I whined.

A groan of metal and gush of air brushed past me as my door flew wide open. The dark figure loomed with a pair of deep grey eyes. My brain scrambled at the idea of rescue before a haze clouded my thoughts. The stranger didn’t speak as a flash of silver reached toward me.

The metal snapped as he pulled the seat belt buckle from its hinges. Reaching in, a pair of strong arms picked me up from the seat. Wrapping my legs around his waist, the man held me close to his warm body. The rush of movement caused a swell of dizziness.

My arms wrapped around his neck as my rosy cheek rested against the cool metal of his shoulder. It wasn’t until we were a few feet away that my brain came to realise that we’re walking away from the scene of the crash. My hand stretched out in a final protest.

“Dad.”

[wixxid]

MASTERLIST

Last Updated: 07 May, 2024

Requests: Open

Smut Ω • Dark ▲ • Fluff ∑

FEYD-RAUTHA

Ivory Ω ▲ Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI

BUCKY BARNES

Bloodstream

The Inheritance ▲

Love and War Ω ▲

DRUIG

Hallucinogenics

DAEMON TARGARYEN

Wicked Games Part I

Wicked Games Part II

AEMOND TARGARYEN

Flesh and Bone Ω Part I

JOE (MAMMAL)

Breathe Ω ▲

[wixxid]

BLOODSTREAM

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: None

Words: 3,912

Summary: 1987, Belarus. A family on the run and who's luck has just come to a screaming halt. Will Alysia be able to protect her saviours from the very organisation they helped her escape?

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, violence, death, capture, description of combat, drugging.

1987, Belarus

“Shall we say grace?”

The customary saying came every night; more as an invitation than a question. The transient time of night now represented significance with its normality. This is the only time where the three of us will ever truly appear as a family; seemingly virtuous and mundane.

Bowing our heads at the table, our connecting hands formed a bonded circle around the meal which mother had prepared. The food is humble, but far superior to the bland taste of protein and fibre in its most rudimentary of forms; meagre sustenance to the body.

“Our heavenly father, kind and good,” started my mother intently. “We thank thee for our daily food. We thank thee for thy love and care. Be with us lord, and hear our prayer.”

“Amen,” we finished.

The candle sticks flickered in the centre of the table, while the wooden beams of the home creaked with the wind. The farmhouse is at least a few decades old. It was an abandoned place, found in the middle of a vast acreage of dead crops; extensive enough to see far and wide.

A refuge.

The home had been mostly gutted and long forgotten, besides a few neglected items. The furniture is either completely amiss or damaged, but there’s enough to make do with ourselves. Father says the most important thing of all is that we have each other.

Always together and safe.

Passing the bowls of food around the square table, we ate in silence with nothing but the scrape of our knives and folks. The quiet makes it easier to hear the sounds outside; the subtle way in which nature would whisper through the trees, or call out through the birds.

It’s safer to keep guard at all times, even when we wanted nothing more than to be vulnerable. It’s been nearly a month and there’ve only been a few exceptions to our rule of silence. A rare occasion in which my parents would play the old phonograph, just loud enough for them to dance.

It was graceful.

The way they would move slow and intimate with one another, made me dream of a future in which I could do the same. A normal life in a normal world where we could all live free of fear and violence. A place so far and gone that the organisation could never find us.

Finishing our meals in silence, we never wandered far or bothered to sleep in the other vacant rooms; despite the house having many within its two-story structure. Instead, we stayed close together on the main level and with the warmth of the fireplace.

“Help your mother,” instructed father as he rose from his seat.

The middle-aged man stood tall and heavy, with a brown beard and round eyes to match. It isn’t a kind face, but the face of a man who knows the dangers of the real world. In a former life not long removed, the man had played the role of more than just a father, as did my mother.

“Be safe,” she warned as he checked his handgun.

The usual routine consisted of various safety checks; a sweep of the house’s perimeter being one of them. It comforted father to know he kept vigil of any and all changes, while his efforts uneased my mother’s nerves; knowing the peace could change in a split second.

“Always,” he nodded before leaving through the front door.

Heading over to the small corner kitchen adjoining the living room, mother washed the dishes while I dried them with a scrap piece of towel. The domestic chore still feels as foreign as when she’d first instructed me to engage in the normalcy of human life.

They know all too well that this isn’t what the organisation had trained me to do, but they make me do it anyway. It’s their way of overlapping two very different life styles; the killer and the civilian. It can seem pointless at times, especially when there’s more that needs to be done.

“We should move,” I said while placing a plate on top of another. “We’ve been here for too long.”

“You’re right,” she admitted; her voice wavering with the confession.

It’s not hard to understand why she’s formed an attachment to the home we’ve built here, but deep down she knows it’s only temporary. This was never meant to last forever. The organisation would find us sooner or later; if not faster than the last time.

“Do you think we’ll ever stop?” I asked curiously. “Running?”

“I don’t have to think to know they’ll do whatever it takes,” she replied painfully. “But so will we. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Handing her the piece of towel, mother dried her hands before turning to me with a smile. It’s a sad smile that didn’t quite reach those ocean blue eyes. Placing a hand on my cheek, her soft and loving touch is all the memory worth keep from that place.

The Facility.

Amongst all of their violence and manipulation, it was always her touch that brought me back down. The gentle octaves of her voice soothed me through countless outbursts and nightmares. It became my anchor to a humanity the organisation would rather eradicate.

“Here,” she whispered while reaching for a black box sitting on a shelf. “This is for you.”

The small and square container is worn and tied together with a piece of frayed pink ribbon. Holding it in my hand, the gesture came as a shock to the system. A gift is given out of kindness and respect, but having never received one myself made this a mildly uncomfortable experience.

“It’s to celebrate the day you were born,” she explained. “It’s a popular tradition.”

Pulling gently on the piece of ribbon, the lid lifted to reveal an ornate metal hair pin. The precious stones are a little worn, but they still glint and gleam with the glow of the candle flames. Picking it up, the hair pin felt weighted and yet incredibly delicate.

It’s a strange sensation.

Swallowing hard, the poison coursing through my bloodstream spurred me with a deep urge to crush it from existence. The sheer strength of will worked hard to keep my fingers pried over such a fragile Item. A thing so personal and precious isn’t what I’m so used to holding, let alone possessing.

“Do you like it?” she asked worriedly.

“It’s beautiful.”

A smile lifted the corner of my lips, while hers widened in relief. Placing the hair pin back into the box for protection, mothers’ hands enveloped over mine. The look on her face is all to knowing of the feelings that still struggle to surface; happiness and gratitude.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

Parting her lips to form a response, her words were cut short by a sudden stir of commotion coming from outside. The incoherent grunt of my father’s voice suddenly blared with a painful echo, before a loud gunshot split through the air.

“Go upstairs,” ushered mother with a push of my shoulder. “Hide.”

Opening the pantry in the kitchen, she retrieved the shotgun we had stored for emergencies. It’d be enough to fend back a person or two, but not all of them. The last time they’d come for us, they had sent only a handful of men.

This could be an army.

Grabbing the ruined couch, the poison gave me the strength to effortlessly block it up against the front door, while mother shook as she hastily loaded the shotgun. The fear in her wide blue eyes amplified my own; my heart quickening beneath my chest.

“What did I just tell you?” she hissed as I blew out a few of the candles. “Go upstairs, now!”

“What about you?” I snapped in irritation.

“I don’t matter,” she retorted with a harsh grab of my forearm. The dig of her fingernails did nothing other than leave half mooned indentation. “You do what you’re told, remember? You run, and you don’t ever look back.”

Letting go of me, another push of my arm sent me reluctantly running up the splintered staircase and into the master bedroom. The plan is a simple one, but flawed; a simply selfish plan to leave them behind and to keep on running, just as she had said.

Grabbing the stocked backpack from under the bed, the bedroom window would lead as my main escape route. There’s a thick line of rope, already prepared and ready for an affective escape. It’s enough to give me a head start for the distant tree line.

Pressing my back flush against the wall next to the door, the sudden quietness of the farmhouse made my brows furrow into a frown. The rustling of people and the rev of engines sounded from outside the window; signalling that they’ve surrounded the perimeter.

“Maksim!” cried my mother in distress.

The muffled voice of my parents through the many walls made it somewhat difficult to listen in on, but the painful grunts of my father are obvious. He’s alive but he’s injured, leaving the two of them entirely defenceless; other than they have each other.

It’s makes me burn.

Clenching my fists until my knuckles cracked, the sorrowing way they cried to one another made me want to go back downstairs. Staring at the backpack and rope, two sides of myself became torn with the order they wanted me so explicitly to obey.

“Isabel!” yelled my father, followed by shattering glass.

The call of my mother’s name was all it took to make up my mind. Ripping open the bedroom door to rush down the stairs, the cloud of gas spewing from the cannister on the ground along with their raspy coughs spurred me into action.

Throwing the cannister back out the broken window, I grabbed the tea towel in the kitchen before shielding it over my mother’s face. Taking it with teary red eyes, she struggled to keep standing in my arms while father crumpled to his knees.

“What are you doing?!” he coughed in my direction. “Go back upstairs!”

There wasn’t a moment to argue when the front door was suddenly blown wide open. The force was enough to tear apart the rest of the couch and knock us onto the floor. A grey cloud of dust and bits of debris now covered us and the living room.

“Alysia!” called my father.

Clutching my ears with a painful groan, a loud ringing screamed in the depths of my eardrums. It’s enough of a distraction to allow the men in green to start filing into the house. Pointing their guns with a harsh bark of orders, barely any of them registered.

“Get the girl!”

Storming straight toward us with their terrorising gas masks and heavy boots, the site of my mother lying unconscious rekindled my anger. Lashing out as soon as a gloved hand touched my shoulder, a hard punch to his gut sent him hurtling across the room.

The loud blast of a shotgun blew away the next two men, before father sat back on his knees. The debris on his skin and the bloody wound on his right shoulder revealed that he’d bore the brunt of the explosion, but even that didn’t stop him from fighting.

“Get your mother and go,” he winced while reloading the shotgun.

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“There’s no time to argue!” hissed my father, before giving me with a stern glance. “He’s here.”

Slumping back in dread, those two words made my stomach drop a thousand miles down. It was always a possibility, but it’s the chance we had to take for freedom. We could only hope that the organisation wouldn’t grow so desperate as to bother waking him.

The Soldier.

Watching another man storm the front door, the harsh blow of fathers’ shotgun sprayed the wall with his blood. Hurriedly reaching for my mother, she winced in pain as I pulled her to stand. The thin splinter of wood sticking from her thigh made things worse.

“Come on,” I encouraged. “We have to go.”

Slinging her arm around my neck, we quickly hobbled to the end of the staircase in hopes of making it up before the next wave could assemble. We still don’t know how many of them there are outside, but it’s only a matter of time before they swarm the house.

“You first,” I said with nudge of her back.

Ducking down as a series of bullets suddenly shattered the living room windows to litter the walls, the sound of stern voices clashed in the air as men bellowed to one another. Keeping right behind mother, we were only halfway up when a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind.

Struggling in their hold, my head reared back to slam into his face with a sickening crack, but the weight of our uneven bodies sent us tumbling backwards. Crashing down the stairs in a mass of heaped flesh, we landed at the bottom with a hard thud.

“Get her!”

Grabbing the gun from the man beneath me, a rapid fire killed all three of his companions who’d worked their way into the house. Taking a steady breath, my second of reprieve quickly turned to panic at the sited glimpse of father’s limp body lying in the kitchen.

“No,” I chanted while rushing to fall at his side. “Wake up.”

Tapping his cheek, the frantic series of slaps did nothing to stir any kind of movement. He’s riddled with bullets and lying in a pool of blood. Clutching fathers bloodied shirt, my body trembled as the sharp sting of death began to tear me apart.

“Don’t move!” ordered a man as he crept toward the kitchen. “Put your hands on your head!”

The warm blood that coated my hands and knees, now felt repulsive and maddening. Raising my hands behind my head, the man inched closer with one slow step at a time. The end of his rifle is aimed directly at my face, but all I can think about is her.

Mother.

The thought that she must have made it upstairs, and the thought that she’s still up there; suffering alone. Mother doesn’t know that her partner is now lying dead on the floor. She doesn’t know that the two of us are all we have left in the world.

“Stay right wh –.”

The ignorant man wasn’t able to finish when I knocked the gun from his hand. Kicking his legs out from underneath him, he landed hard on his back before I punched him in the throat. Spluttering blood into his masked helmet, the next man dared to breach the front door.

A colonel.

Standing in the middle of the doorway, the two of us stared at one another for what seemed like eternity. Lifting the gas mask shielding his face, the older man reached for the radio on his chest before issuing his orders.

“This is Verger One,” he roughly spoke. “You’re clear to engage the Asset.”

Standing from the floor with a frown, the man eerily retreated back outside. The stench of blood and gunpowder permeated now permeated the house; splattering the walls and soaking the floorboards. It’s the site of a massacre.

“Isabel,” I muttered in remembrance.

Taking a hurried step into the living room, my feet planted at the disturbing emergence of a black shadowed figure in the front door. The site of the soldier made my stomach drop with that same dread as before, while my brain swelled with years of painful memories.

A crippling childhood that morphed into a deranged adolescent. My existence had been a process that took years of meticulous moulding to create. The soldier had played as much of a part in my upbringing as all the rest of them; ever-present throughout the years.

Our spontaneous yet routine training sessions would endure for weeks at a time. The doctors and instructors would push me to the brink of collapse in search of any improvement, only for him to disappear in the end; confined to his cage until the next we met.

He’d been a nightmare in my life; constantly reoccurring.

That black mask hiding the lower half of his face left only those dark grey eyes exposed; a pair as hollow as the deepest pit on earth. Those same ones that once watched me with disappointment and intrigue, now flickered from me to the staircase.

“You won’t touch her,” I warned with a light shake of my head. “We’re not going back.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Even after all those years spent listening to him, his voice still sends shiver down my spine. It’s one of the many things the organisation appreciates about the soldier, and one which I’ve grown to loath; is his uncanny ability to enforce control over any one and any situation.

“I’ll kill you,” I said while taking the kitchen knife in the drying rack. “I’ll kill all of them.”

Storming forward with not another moment to spare, the soldier didn’t move in fear of my violent attack. Swinging the knife toward him in every direction possible, the soldier managed to block the same blows he’d taught me with a few of his own.

Relentless.

Those hard hits of his stung and throbbed, but the adrenaline in my veins suppressed any and all pain. The fear of losing another parent weighted greater than any amount of hurt. Slashing at his arm with a kick to his side, a metal punch to my face made me stumble and fall.

Landing on my side with a wince, the knife clambered as it was knocked out of my hand. A speckle of stars peppered my vision as blood dripped from my nose. Wiping away the crimson trail, the taste of iron still lingered in my mouth.

Frantically crawling along the floor to reach for the knife, my fingers latched onto the handle just as he grabbed my ankles. Dragging me back across the debrief covered floor, he dropped my legs with a heavy thud before crouching down to flip me over.

The tip of the blade reared straight toward his face when he snatched my wrist; the silver metal of his fingers squeezing with a low mechanical wire. Even now he displays absolutely no emotion, but we both know he’s been holding back.

He could have killed me by now.

Wrapping my legs around his waist, my last ounce of strength managed to roll us over. Straddling his waist with the knife still poised above his masked face, all my might bore down in the hopes that he would simply give out.

The way the plates of his metal arm shifted and hummed made me believe he’s struggling to keep me at bay. After years of training and forced submission, all of his torment might have been worth enduring, if it meant be able to kill him.

It would set us free.

The pointed tip crept steadily toward those cold grey eyes, speckled with a minuet fleck of ocean blue; perhaps the last remnant of his humanity. As ruthless and savage as he can be, the soldier is still just a man; reborn by the will of the very same organisation.

Hydra.

Pushing harder, my fingers turned white with how hard they gripped the knife. The battle seemed as if it were going to last forever, until it drew to an end with a sharp prick. The anger that had kept me going suddenly died, as a burning sting now emanated in my upper thigh.

Leaning back to trail the length of his right arm, his flesh hand at the end still clutched the handle of the needle he’d so cleverly injected. The numbness seeped into my bloodstream with a strange and tingling sensation, before the knife clambered from my grasp.

Slumping off from his waist to land on my back with a heavy thud, a tight lump in the back of my throat made it hard to swallow. The strange tingling had now worked its way into my every fibre, turning me awfully weak before paralysing me all together.

Watching the soldier stand up, he looked down at me before briefly glancing over his shoulder at the staircase. The thought of him going anywhere near my mother frantically fanned the need to protect her, but no amount of anything could force me to move or even speak.

I’m entirely helpless.

Laying stiff on the floor, my restricted airway caused me to wheeze ever so slightly, but not so hard that it might cause me to pass out. They want me alert, but subdued. Standing over me, the soldier eyed me before kneeling at my side; his strong arms sliding under my legs and back.

Picking me up from the floor, the weight of my body sunk heavier than a bag of cement as he limply carried me outside. The soldiers uniform smelt heavily of metal and gunpowder, while the warmth of his body emitted equally as hot as my own.

“Is it done?” asked the colonel on approach.

“Yes,” he rumbled in response.

Stepping closer, the colonel glanced over me from head to toe; making sure the soldier stood true to his word. Reaching over, he gave a firm pinch of my cheek for good measure. Although the sensation couldn’t be felt, the humiliation still stung.

“Load her in the truck,” he ordered with a nod. “Make sure she’s secure for transport.”

Carrying me past the rest of the men in uniform, who all stared with their weapons in hand, my eyes could only focus on the stars floating in the night sky. The specks of light glimmered like the precious stones in my hair pin; the one now secretly concealed in my clothes.

Metal hinges creaked as the back door of a truck opened wide; the back of it smelling like diesel fuel and rubber. Laying me down, the soldier made quick work in securing my wrists and ankles with the metal restraints that’d been shackled to the floor.

Watching in the distance behind him, a few of the men had started to move toward the house. Every inch of me is screaming at them to stay away, but only a strangled whimper came out. Choking down my fear and fury with a grunt, tears brimmed my eyes before one slipped free.

The wet drop trailed down my flushed cheek before dripping onto the metal floor. There’s nothing I can do but lie here and watch those men advance; either to kill or capture my mother. There’d been so many paths untaken, and only one man who truly stood in the way.

After all they’d sacrificed, it was me who’d failed them.

Tightening the strap around my waist with a taut pull for good measure, the soldier stared at me for a moment longer. The look in those grey eyes told me he had something he wanted to say; perhaps that I should have known better than to flee.

“The colonel doesn’t want her delayed,” interjected a man as he neared the vehicle. “We have strict orders to leave immediately.”

The soldier paused for a moment, before stepping back to grab the doors of the truck. Closing them with a creak, his face was the last to be seen before being plunged into complete darkness; the only sound being my weak breaths.

This could be the end.