prettybubblesintheair

[prettybubblesintheair]

[prettybubblesintheair]

Caught Feeling Masterlist

(A Hank Thompson x Reader Fic)

Tired of her quiet, predictable life, a woman takes a spontaneous detour into a gritty bar. What begins as a distraction becomes a night of rediscovery, as an encounter with a captivating bartender brings her face-to-face with her own fears—and desires.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

[prettybubblesintheair]

Hey! I saw you were accepting Feyd requests and I got so excited! Could you do something where Feyd and reader have been married for a little while, have been pretty stand-offish and just keeping up appearances. They get into a fight over something stupid, saying hurtful things because reader still believes Feyd is incapable of feelings. Turns out he’s really protective though and gets seriously injured saving her during an attack? Reader panics trying to help him and the feels super guilty, meanwhile Feyd is enjoying the attention.

Staining

Feyd-Rautha x reader

Notes/Warnings: It's slightly different, but I hope you like it anyway. Mentions of blood and death. Smut so 18+. I'm sure there's typos. I think that's it.

Words: 4100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

“You’re heartless”—that’s what you spit at him after watching him rip apart another family right before your eyes. 

He slaughtered a man for a petty crime, and then you had to watch what would become of the wife and children. 

He gave them options, of course. He presents all of them with a choice: to be servants for his House or to fight for survival in the slums of Giedi Prime. For the mother, it likely means you’ll have a new handmaid. For the boys, they will be trained so they can one day face off in the arena. Either way, it's no life.

As he announced the options for their future, you couldn’t look away from her: the woman whose husband lay at her feet, the blood drained from his body as she attempted to shield her two young sons behind her small frame. You watched her kind eyes go permanently wide out of shock. She needed to answer your husband’s question, give a response to his merciful offer, but she couldn’t. Nothing on her moved save for the grip she had on her boys, which only tightened the longer she stared at her dead lover. 

You knew what would happen to them. Your husband found her silence and inability to snap out of her trace irritating. She would make a poor handmaid if she could not listen. The boys, however, could still make fine warriors—guaranteed entertainment a few years down the line. 

So he separated them. Allowed the guards to pry them away from their mother’s fingers—who left her state of shock behind only when she felt them being ripped from her hands—before dragging them to cells with tears streaming down their round cheeks. 

Their mother collapsed to the floor by her dead husband. His blood soaked her skirts. You didn’t know how a man could do this to his own people for something as simple as the theft of some food, but he does, and often. Then he had her thrown out, back to the slums where she came from. 

She’ll never see her boys again. If you know your husband, he will likely one day force the two to face off with each other in the arena. After all, that’s where his uncle finds entertainment, and your husband will do anything to please the old man. 

Long after his guards have departed with the woman, you’re still staring at the body on the floor. The red around him is congealing. If you run your finger through it, the digit will return sticky and thickly coated. He’ll stain your skin. He’ll stain through your skin onto your insides. He’ll never come off. 

He’s like your husband, you think. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stained you, and impressively, he didn’t even have to touch you to achieve that. Simply being in his presence was enough to leave his mark, and you’re in his presence plenty, just not how you imagined you would be when you married him. You imagined being in his bed. You imagined kisses and loving caresses and sweet words—that kind of staining. But you were a naive girl when your parents dropped you off on this planet, and you quickly learned how to be a woman; a woman whose husband only uses her for formality’s sake. 

You don’t know why you have to be by his side for this, though, but he always ensures that you are. The two of you…a solidified front to the world, as if you agree with the choices he makes and the punishment he doles out to those who don’t deserve it.

So that’s why you say it. Because you’re tired of this, tired of being silent, hating the idea that your silence might lead him to think the two of you are on the same page; that you’re a team. 

“You’re heartless.”

His head whips to you. “Heartless…” His voice around the word is vile; thick and rich like the blood on the floor. With a few steps in your direction he is in your space and you clasp your hands in front of you, fingers squeezing tightly to keep yourself from running off. He stares down at you, a luminous blue that you found so stunningly gorgeous when you first met him now a pair of frozen icicles stabbing into your skull. “I’m heartless?”

Your swallow is rough. Dry and scratchy. 

“I’m not the one who steals from his neighbors. I’m not the one who risks leaving his wife alone for the rest of her life,” he says. “They know the laws. They know the consequences.”

“And the woman? She deserves to be alone, rotting away in poor living conditions because of his choice? Her children deserve to die for your entertainment?”

“You take issue with how I handle things?”

“Yes.”

Feyd’s back teeth clench. His jaw sets in a sharp line. “Another reason for you to hate me then,” he grits out.

You blink. Your lips part. Another reason? You don’t have multiple reasons, and there’s certainly nothing you’ve done to indicate that you do. You used to hate that he didn’t, and doesn’t, care about you, but you’ve never said a word about it. You’ve never bothered him about sleeping in separate rooms or asked him to give you anything of himself. This—his treatment of his people in situations like this one—isn’t another reason. It’s the reason. 

“You could deal with these matters differently,” you say.

His fingers form balls at his sides. His mouth opens. It closes. He shakes his head and walks past you but pauses before he is completely out of your peripherals. “This is how things are done here,” he says. “You’ve been my wife for five months now. You need to get used to it.”

—

You don’t get used to it. You don’t get used to it because he doesn’t demand you be by his side at his executions anymore. Not after that day. 

You’d never spoken up before that moment, and it cost you what little interaction you had with your husband, which you despise to say was precious. You may not love him, and at times hate him, but he is the only thing you have on this planet. Little as you spoke to one another before, you held onto it because no one else gives a damn about you. Not that he does either, but at least he would give you a word or two. His brother and the Baron don’t bother, leaving you to Feyd to decide what to do with and when to do it. 

However, you imagine they didn’t expect that he would never touch you, and based on the way they watch you and Feyd when you’re forced to join the Harkonnen’s for dinner, you imagine they’re now aware that whatever was between you—minute as it was—is gone. He doesn’t even call on you for formal events. He no longer cares about showing a unified front to the other Great Houses. But you do.

You know what reputation means to the Harkonnens, and regardless of how you feel about the history of Feyd’s choices, you’re not willing to present your life on Giedi Prime as a failure. The two of you are too young for whispers to spread among influential families of a tainted marriage, a crack in the system. You don’t need questions floating about in regards to a unification that will not result in an heir. The end of the Harkonnen line, they’ll say, as Rabban, much older than your husband, has yet to choose a wife. How unfortunate, they’ll slyly mutter around the rims of their champagne glasses. And you’re not ready for that. 

So, with the exception of executions, you attend the events your husband does not invite you to anymore. You make sure your face is seen, especially when most vital. At his meetings, at his fights in the arena, and at Harkonnen parties such as this one. 

People enjoy themselves here. Shockingly, a few strong drinks eases the tension between Houses, and Giedi Prime has the strongest drinks of them all. It’s a tactic. A genius one, if you’re honest. The Baron invites his guests and gets them in a good mood and strikes deals one cannot go back on. Brilliant. Something you might have thought of yourself if your husband let you share your thoughts; thoughts you have plenty of. But no one cares how you would rule this planet if you had a say in its future.

You watch the Houses mingle about. You watch them laugh and dance. You watch them watch your husband. You watch them watch you. You watch the wheels turn in their alcohol-addled brains. You roll your eyes at what he doesn’t see. 

Ungluing yourself from your designated spot, you step up the staircase that leads to the Harkonnen men, your husband and his brother flanking the throne the Baron sits upon. You don’t think to speak to any of them; you didn’t break away from your assigned location for words. Instead, for all to see, you reach up to cup Feyd’s cheek and turn his head toward you for the first kiss since the day of your wedding. A gentle brush of lips. A buzz more engulfing than any drink could offer.

He freezes, and when you pull back his lips are still parted. His eyes open slowly and he stares down at you in awed confusion. How he doesn’t understand why you’ve done what you’ve done is just short of bewildering, but it doesn’t seem to click. 

“You–”

“I’m going to retire for the night,” you tell him. You’ve been at this party long enough, and the guests have now seen what they needed to see. Not to mention, their tipsy state means they’ll soon forget any thoughts they have about you until morning. They’ll stop searching for your presence. 

You don’t wait for your husband’s nod of approval. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t care where you are at any given time anyway, so you descend the staircase and exit the grand room into the hall that leads to your bedroom.

The echo of footsteps follows and you’re bold enough to believe it could be Feyd before a blade is pressed against your throat from behind. For a moment, you think it still might be your husband—retaliation for the kiss that re-sparked a feeling you’ve been trying to ignore since you married him—but the voice in your ear is feminine. 

“He killed my husband, my Lady,” the voice says, and you instantly remember her. It’s been two months but nothing could make you forget the look in her eyes. “I want my sons.”

You swallow hard. The blade nicks your throat from the additional force. A droplet trickles down your neck. “I can’t return your sons to you,” you tell her, at the same time questioning how she infiltrated such a secure place. But you suppose with the number of guests, slipping in would not have been the most difficult of challenges. 

You wince at the deepening cut. Your heartbeat quickens, doing little to aid in stopping the blood seeping from your wound. “You’re the na-Baronness.”

“I have little power here.”

“I don’t care!” she shouts, her words bouncing off the walls. “I want my boys,” and you think now she’s crying. Her tone alters. Something catches in her throat. “What’s happened to them?”

You don't wish to tell her, but you’re in no position to deny her requests. “They’re alive and well,” you say, which isn’t a complete lie. The Baron prefers strong, well-fed fighters—the duels last longer that way. 

“I want them back!”

“As much as I would like to, I cannot give them back to you. It’s not my decision.”

“Then I’ll take you from him,” she spits. “The way he took mine.”

You must’ve put on a grander show than you expected with that kiss because she seems to fully believe that your death would matter to him. But you know he won’t blink an eye. He might even thank her. Reward her by reuniting her with her sons, though unlikely. 

“He won’t care,” you tell her. 

“I have seen him, my Lady. He will care,” she says, and you don’t know how she could possibly come to that conclusion or why. It’s not as if the people of Giedi Prime sense a kind capability from the Harkonnens. “He will–”

She chokes. The blade trembles then drops from your neck. You quickly glance down to find Feyd’s knife deep in her side. 

Many things are a mystery to you in that moment. Why he bothered to leave the party; why he came down this hall of all halls, especially when his room resides in another; and why he pierced her side rather than go for the neck, which would have instantly ended her. His mistake. An uncharacteristic mistake.

The woman whips around, freeing you, and you stumble out of reach. They’re a blur of battling bodies as you get your footing, but then it catches up with you—the pain. Your hand goes to your neck and you make a little noise at the sting of your fresh wound. Your mistake. 

Feyd looks away from her in search of you for a single second. Not even. A half-second. But the woman is smaller, quicker, and the distraction is enough. Her blade slides into his abdomen. He grunts. You gasp.

He regains his focus and, by her hair, he rips her head back to expose her throat and shoves the blade through her neck. Blood spurts across his chest as he removes the weapon, and she collapses to her knees before the rest of her body flops to the floor. 

Feyd takes a shaky step back, staring down at the blade in his torso. He drops his knife and his hand goes to the hilt of the other. 

“No, don’t!” you yell, but you’re too late. He jerks the blade out and it clatters on the ground. His palm does nothing to stop the flow of crimson. 

Rushing to him, you fall to the floor as he does. You press your hands on top of his to keep the pressure but it’s useless. “Don’t you know anything?” you mutter. “You should’ve kept the damn thing in.”

He chuckles. The bastard actually chuckles. Then his other hand raises and lands on top of yours. You think he’s trying to add more pressure, but his touch is gentle. His thumb runs over your knuckles. 

“It’s alright,” he says, and you’ve never heard his voice so devoid of depth and strength.

“No, it’s not,” you retort, irritated. 

“You still hate me?”

“Shut up!” you snap. “Help!” Yanking the black chiffon sleeve off your gown, it tears free and you ball the material to shove it against his wound. “Help!” 

Guards burst through the doors and run to you. You sigh with relief, but when you look down, your husband is paler than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Feyd…” 

You’re shoved out of the way in a second, flung to the side like a flicked-away ant, and then he’s taken from you. You watch them until he’s out of view. When you glance down at your hands, they’re stained with him. 

—

They bandaged your neck in mere minutes and you find it aggrivating that they couldn’t work as efficiently on him. You’ve been dead silent for hours now, expecting to hear screams of pain as they stitch him back together, but then you remember he’s a glutton for pain. He’s probably enjoying it, the sick bastard. But you’re not enjoying it—the waiting, the limbo. It’s torturous. 

You’ve never seen him hurt before. You’ve witnessed his skills in the arena, and not once in your seven months of marriage has someone gotten a decent slash on him. 

Guilt hits you hard as you recall that it’s your fault. That woman was skilled as well—you suppose she would be if she was raised to live where she did—but if you hadn’t made that noise, if you hadn’t distracted him, she would’ve been dead before she could do her damage. This wouldn’t have happened. 

Just then, a knock comes at your door. You speak for them to enter and a guard peeks into your room. “My Lady…” he says, and you pray you’re not about to be told your husband didn’t survive a single stab wound. “You can come with me.”

You don’t wait around for more. You hop to your feet and quickly follow through hall after hall until you’re at his room. 

“What will I see when I walk in there?” you ask. 

“He’s fine, my Lady,” he says, bowing his head to dismiss himself before returning to his post. 

Turning the knob, you edge the door open and step inside. The bed is in immediate view, but he’s not in it. He’s not in it and he should be. Not even the covers are pulled back. Maybe the guard misled you. If he were fine, surely he would be resting. 

You make your way in further. 

“You’re here.” 

Your head snaps to your right where he’s leaning against the lone table in his room, a lit orb on the wooden surface illuminating him from behind in a white glow. He’s less pale than he was; what little rosiness he once had returned to his skin. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “I was told to come.”

“Because I told them to bring you,” he says. 

Your heart pounds at the bareness of his torso, the thickness of his arms as they cross in front of his chest. It pounds in a different way, an off-kilter way, when you notice the dressings wrapped around his waist and the patch of blood that is seeping through three layers of it. 

He must see your distraction because he says, “It’s fine.” Your eyes flick back to his. A beat of silence passes between you. You’re unsure how to continue now that he’s seen the concern you have for him. “I suppose you’re disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” you repeat. “What for?”

“I’m alive.”

Your jaw drops ever so slightly. You recover as best you can before you say, “Feyd, I don’t want you to—I’ve never wanted you to–”

He holds up his hand, cutting you off. “I’m going to listen to you.”

Your brow pinches. Why did he silence you, then? “Listen to me about what?”

He takes a deep breath, an action that lifts his shoulders and has them falling heavily back down. His eyes penetrate you as they’ve always done, but the iciness is gone. “I don’t care if the people I hurt want to kill me,” he starts. “But she didn’t come to kill me; she came to hurt me by killing you. So I will listen to your thoughts when it comes to dealing with matters like that one.” He pauses, expecting a response, but you don’t quite know what to give him, so he continues. “Your voice will make fewer enemies.”

“You care about making enemies?” Since when would a Harkonnen ever care about such a thing? Especially when they are known for doing that thing so well.

“I care when they come after my wife,” he says. Pushing off the table, he leisurely steps toward you. You’re stuck to your spot. “The men of my House do not have a history of caring about their wives. They’ve never cared if their actions bring them harm, and yet, people have used our wives as pawns for revenge for centuries. Many have died to prove a point. I’m not going to let you be one of them.”

He stops only to not collide with your body. You have to look up to maintain eye contact, and when you do, his breath brushes over your lips. “Why didn’t you kill her when you could have? You stabbed her in the side. You avoided vital organs.”

“Because you wouldn’t have wanted me to kill her if I didn’t have to,” he says. “So I didn’t kill her…until I had to.”

You suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t know he was capable of such restraint. You didn’t know he had enough fragments of a heart to glue together to keep him from doing exactly as he pleases. 

His hand lands on your hip and his thumb begins to rub up and down over the curve of it. He hasn’t touched you…ever. In fact, he’s seemed over the months to deliberately avoid it. Like your skin would burn him even through the fabric of your gowns. Anytime it looked like he would try, he’d pull back before flesh grazed flesh. 

“You hadn’t kissed me since we married,” he says, so gentle in that low voice that it’s practically a whisper. It doesn’t make the heat of his breath any less intense against your skin. 

“People were watching too intensely,” you inform him. “They were thinking something was wrong between us, I could tell, and I didn’t want to give them that power over you.”

“So that was it, then?” he asks. “That’s the only reason you did it?”

“That’s–” you swallow, debating whether or not to say it, to give him more. 

“What?”

“That’s the reason I did it,” you decide to tell him, and his face shifts; his features alter in a manner you’ve never seen. He looks down to his feet. He nods and his touch disappears, and now you feel cold and you hate it. “But that’s not the only reason I wanted to do it.”

He freezes as he did before. For a moment, his chest stops rising and falling with expected breaths. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, he raises his head. 

You can’t stop staring, even though your brain is telling you to get ahold of yourself. His mouth is so plush. You’ve always known it. It’s always done something to you. And whatever that something is, it’s more potent now that he’s so close and you can see his lips glistening in the low light. 

“Will you do it again?” he asks.

Again? You didn’t imagine he wanted you to do it the first time, or the second. The first was an obligation. The second was not exactly mutually agreed upon. But as he stands in front of you, asking, you can’t bring yourself to say no. You don’t want to say no. So you say yes, and you inch up on your toes until your lips meet his. 

Immediately, he’s yanking your body flush against his. His hand goes into your hair, and he parts his lips so they can better lock with yours. He’s good at this, and you don’t want to think about why, can’t think about why without a knot of jealousy settling in your gut that only dissipates when those hands travel down your body to the back of your thighs. You’re in the air, your legs wrapped around his waist, your lips still sealed for one second more before your back hits the mattress and he’s on top of you with his leg shoving between yours, nudging your thighs open for him. 

You don’t know the exact moment it happens, but your skirts are up to your waist and he’s inside of you, moving in and out, kissing your neck and pulling gasps from your throat, and it feels right, good, like pieces falling together. A bit of you feels guilty for that. That you can know what he’s done to people and still want to feel the pleasure of every inch that he’s giving you. You’re selfish, maybe that’s it. Maybe you’ve always been and you didn’t know it. You can’t bring yourself to care as he makes those deep noises in your ear and stains your insides.

After you’re sated, you lay there for a while with him in your arms and his arms wrapped around your waist. His head rests on your chest. You think about the things you’ve done to each other in the course of an hour and it brings a blush to your cheeks. You think about how you can’t go back and that you don’t want to. You’ve wanted this from the beginning, despite what he’s done. You expected it when you married him only to be sorely disappointed at his lack, or what appeared as a lack, of interest. You’re definitely selfish, at least when it comes to him. But you refuse to be when it comes to other matters.

“I want something from you,” you say. He hums, content. “I want us to take in that woman's boys.”

[prettybubblesintheair]

Oh, Baby Universe: dad!Jake Seresin x female reader

You might not have been his girlfriend, but when you left town one night a month after sleeping together, it completely broke Jake’s heart. Now, a year later, you’ve returned and you’re not alone. You have a new little companion that just so happens to bear a startling resemblance to Jake.

Oh, Baby: Jake learns he’s a dad

In the Night: Jake has nightmares that you leave him again

His Girls: A domestic moment with dad!Jake

The Other Mother: your mother comes to town

Birthday Boy: It’s Jake’s B-Day and you have a special gift for him

It’s What You Make It: Jake’s mother makes an unexpected visit

And Honey, I’ll Make It All Okay: Jake’s Dad shows up.

Nothing Better than What We’ve Got:You’re finally ready to have a ring on your finger

I’ve Promised You Forever: Jake and his Honey are married

The Prequel:

Oh Honey: Part 1

What Once He Had: Part 2

Gone: Part 3

Related Fics (jump around in the timeline):

Everything and All of It: Reunion...stuff;)

A Little Love: cuteness during a family grocery trip

Daddy Knows Best: Eve says her first word

Oh Wow: Flashback to when Jake first sees you

Methods of Love and Trust: Jake lets his mother babysit for the first time. 

Jingle of The Bells: Eve is worried Jake won’t make it home for christmas

That’s Definitely a Name: Eve helps name her baby brother.

The Favorite: the Daggers meet Eve for the first time.

Drabbles:

Eve is upset when Jake has to leave

the rules of Disneyland

Eve learns about Baby #2

Eve’s got a new guy

First Night Home

AUs:

Your Way Back to Me: Oh, Baby AU. What if you didn’t return after Eve was born and it was decades later before you met Jake again? And how would he feel to find out his best student might be a bit closer to him than he initially believed? 

Now that I have you (Part 2 of Your Way Back to Me)

Because You Stayed: What if you never left?

Moodboards:

Jake x Honey

Jake x Honey with Eve

Jake x Honey Elopement

Oh, Baby Wedding

Eve’s First Birthday

Coach Jake & Jake x Honey in Texas

Oh, Baby Christmas

Baby Boy

Jake Seresin Masterlist Main Masterlist

[prettybubblesintheair]

His dedication in this 🖤

Austin Butler-Feyd Rautha Harkonnen

[prettybubblesintheair]

Defending His Lady

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Both Feyd and your son take issue with the people of Giedi Prime not accepting you as their Lady. Part of the His series

Notes/Warnings: Based on a request. It's a little bit different. Typos, probably.

Words: 1250

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Years ago, when you imagined your future, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t on this planet. It wasn’t with the husband and child you have. It wasn’t with the title you obtained from your marriage. You imagined light glowing through an open home, frilly gowns, a stuffy Lord, and a daughter who would be treated like a princess. It wasn’t necessarily what you wanted for your future, but it was what was likeliest to be. You’d be a foreign Lady on a new planet, yet respected just as much as their home-grown Lord.

You learned rather quickly that that’s not always how it works. And while you wouldn’t trade the life you have—not your husband, not your son—for anything the universe could offer, you can’t deny the difficulties that come with being the wife and mother of the Harkonnen line of Giedi Prime. 

The people wanted Feyd to marry one of their own, certainly not the concubine their na-Baron once took. They wanted purity. To them, you are tainted blood, and despite your status on this planet, many cannot resist treating you like a parasite. In the five years that have passed, you’ve taken the poor treatment and whispered words with as much grace as you can, knowing Feyd is always there to end the lives of those who step out of bounds, but it’s harder to ignore now that Fionn is no longer a baby.

Your son is growing. His ears catch more than you’d like. He notices how his father reacts to the harsh words directed at you and how he never sees the people who speak them ever again. He’s gathering the pieces that his mother is often disrespected, and that is the last thing you want.

—

“He sees it,” you tell your husband as you slip into your nightgown.

“He doesn’t see it,” Feyd says, pulling back the top layer of covers on the bed and settling under the sheets. When he reaches out his hand, you snuggle into his embrace. His arms are snug around you. His lips press a kiss to your hairline. “You worry too much.”

You hold in your huff of frustration. “I do not. He asked me as I put him to bed if bad people are hurting me and if that’s why Daddy keeps making them disappear.” Feyd pulls back to look down at you, his brow furrowed. You nod. “He sees it.”

Feyd exhales heavily through his nose. As a father, he’s been diligent, so very careful with how he leads his son; a surprisingly delicate guidance—something he didn’t have growing up. What started from Feyd’s fear of your son being too much like him died as the boy showed only love, but Feyd has continued his intricate training. He has trained so that even at the age of four, Fionn is vigilant, particular with his words, and practical in his choices. He trains so that outside factors are not as influential. He trains so the boy can think for himself. And it shouldn’t be a shock that he notices what happens in his own home. 

“It’s time he understands then,” Feyd says.

Your eyes go wide and you let out a light gasp. “Feyd, he’s four.”

“There’s no point in hiding what happens to them if he’s already curious. He’s as stubborn as you are,” he tells you. “And he’s old enough.”

—

“Mommy, where are we going?” Fionn asks, his little hand tugging on yours to get your attention. 

You take a deep breath, sucking in the dank air that leads to prisoner cells. You’re not sure how this is going to go, but you agreed and you need to let it play out. “Daddy wants to show you something.”

Fionn’s head turns to Feyd. “Is it a bad man, Daddy?”

Feyd pauses halfway down the hall and crouches in front of his son. You release Fionn’s hand so he can fully face his father. 

“Yes,” he says. “It’s a bad man.”

“He hurt Mommy?”

“Some of our guards heard him talking about your mother. He said rude things, called her names. He wished for harm to come to her.”

Fionn makes a soft noise of surprise. Name-calling—he considers that one of the worst of crimes, knowing what it got him when he insulted the little Lady of House Kenric. 

“But why?” he asks. 

“It doesn’t matter why,” Feyd says. “What matters is that we protect the ones we love, yes?”

“Yes,” Fionn agrees with a sharp nod.

Feyd looks up at you, silently commanding that you stay here. The last time you entered a cell to face the one who insulted you, more abuse was hurled at you until it tapped into a well of internal shame. It took you three days to shake that off, all the while your husband begging for you to return to your natural state of uncaring. 

You’ve always cared though, to some degree. It doesn’t matter that they like you so much as it matters that you’re not a stain on Feyd’s reputation. After all, he’s the Baron now, and one day, his son will be. If the people of Giedi Prime cannot forget where you come from, you worry they will never forgive Feyd, and worse, that they will never accept Fionn as their ruler. 

Feyd takes your boy’s hand once again and leads him the rest of the way. They stop at the correct cell and when a guard turns a key, they head inside. 

Inching your way down the hall, you halt just outside of it. Your finger goes to your lips to ensure the guard does not give you away, and with your back to the stone wall, you hear Fionn.

“He did it?”

The man is silent, likely knocked unconscious from Feyd’s earlier visit. You suppose he’ll be awake soon enough. 

“Yes,” Feyd tells him, his voice dropping an octave, “He did.”

“Did he apologize? He should apologize to Mommy.”

Feyd releases a sigh. His son is much more diplomatic than himself. But your husband can’t fairly be bothered. That’s the point of his parenting: to raise a better Baron than both he and his uncle have ever been. 

“Son, we do not let men like this apologize. We do not let them near your mother.”

“Oh.”

“So what do you think we do with them?”

Fionn hums, and it’s so much like his father that it’s as if he has stood on the sidelines of every death your husband has executed. The way Feyd hums as he plays with his victims. A fake hum of consideration, of contemplation. What should I do with them? How should they leave this world? Questions he pretends to ask as if he hasn’t planned their deaths out from the moment he was informed of the crime. And that’s the hum your son gives. He hums like a natural monster in the making. You wouldn’t be surprised if the boy is tapping his finger against his chin as he thinks. 

You feel an ounce of pride. There’s more to him than a kind heart, lovely as that heart is. He will be a fearsome Baron, but one that will show mercy when mercy is fit. However, here, now, mercy is not fit, and his father has made that clear.

“Would you like the first stab?” Feyd asks. “Top of thigh.”

The shing of metal scraping against Feyd’s sheath fills the space. A small blade. Good for Fionn’s hand.

“Which thigh, Daddy?”

Feyd chuckles. “You choose.”

[prettybubblesintheair]

I left that in the suite at the stalag. What you see is what I've got.

MASTERS OF THE AIR Part Nine

[prettybubblesintheair]

Jealous

Label Mature 18+

Summary When Hank shows too much affection to his cat you become jealous, until he turns all his attention on you.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 teasing•jealously•Hank on his knees •oral on fem• slight praising•dirty talk•clit play•cum eating•countertop sex•simultaneous orgasm• protection•aftercare 🔗 Master List

🏆 Inspired by Hank on his knees/w a kitty via @umika @aust-een More Hank 🧢 🔗 After Hours 🔗 Kiss it Better

Jealous

Hank is stretched out on the couch, Bud curled up on his chest, purring contentedly. He absentmindedly scratches behind the cat’s ears, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You’ve gathered all of your things after spending the night and are ready to head to work. When he doesn’t realize you’re about to leave, you stand near the doorway, arms crossed, watching him play with the cat. 

He’s so absorbed in his little moment with Bud that when he still hasn’t noticed you standing there, it stings a little.

“You’re seriously going to ignore me leaving for a cat?” you ask, tilting your head.

Hank glances up at you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You jealous of the cat?” he asks, his voice low and teasing as he runs his hand down Bud’s back, watching the cat arch as it purrs even louder.

You can’t help but feel a pang of longing inside as you watch his hands, the way his fingers curl slightly before scratching down the cat’s back in those long, soothing strokes and your thoughts slip out before you can stop them.

“Maybe I want some of that attention for myself,” you confess.

Hank raises an eye brow, his grin widening as he gently sets Bud aside.

He stands, closing the distance between you, his hands slipping around your waist as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear.

“Jealousy looks really good on you,” he whispers, his lips lowering against your neck trailing soft kisses.

“I didn’t realize I’d be competing with a cat,” you respond, your voice softer than intended as you try to keep the rising heat inside you at bay feeling his lips kissing along your neck.

Hank leans back slightly, eyes filled with mischief. “You’re way more fun to pet.” His teases his hands  sliding to your hips, pulling you firmly against him.

Your breath catches in your throat from his control as his lips return trailing enticingly down your neck.

“I don’t purr though,” you manage to say, your voice barely more than a whisper as you surrender completely to his touch. 

“Not yet,” he teases darkly as he leans back just enough to keep your gaze then he gets down on his knees in front of you, his hands on your hips guiding you closer.

His eyes never leaves yours as he he slides your panties down, his touch igniting a warmth that spreads quickly through your body as his hands slide up the backs of your legs his thumbs grazing over the sensitive skin of your thighs.

You let out a shaky breath, desperately trying to hold on to some form of control as you look down at him kneeling between your legs. His broad shoulders fill the space, his strong hands now gripping your hips, keeping you firmly in place.

In the back of your mind, you know you’re going to be late for work, and the thought barely takes hold before his mouth closes over your clit, making every rational thought disappear.

His tongue swirls and flicks over your clit with maddening precision before he licks a slow teasing stripe up the inside of your pussy.

You bite back a moan, your fingers tangling in his hair, as your knees weaken, barely able to stay grounded under his touch. 

I’m going to be so fucking late, you think for a fleeting second, but the thought vanishes as his thumb presses against your clit, stroking in firm deliberate circles.

Your breath catches in your throat as you softly gasp trying to withstand the onslaught of pleasure.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and focused. Seeing the distraction in your gaze he starts working harder, his tongue moving in languid, agonizing strokes as his thumb keeps a steady pressure on your clit. 

The sensations build inside you like a wave you can’t control, stronger with each passing moment until you moan loudly the sound slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

Your thoughts dissolve into nothingness as your core tenses, the pleasure consuming every part of you until you are overwhelmed at how good he feels.

He pushes his tongue deeper, his mouth moaning against you in as his thumb works faster, and you lose yourself completely. 

The warmth of his mouth, the firm, pressure of his thumb, and the thrust of his tongue push past any resistance you had left and you surrender entirely, your mind going completely blank.

As you come, a soft moan escapes your lips, the pleasure rolling through you in waves as your body trembles against his face. 

He savors every second of your release, his mouth, and hands still working you through it until there’s nothing left for a moment as the world reduces to nothing but him.

His eyes look up to your face, a satisfied grin on his lips as he enjoys every second of the way you fall apart for him, completely lost in the intimacy he's created.

As you begin to come down from the high his mouth leaves you as he slowly rises to his feet.

You look up at him, your breaths still uneven as his hand slides to the back of your neck, gently pulling you toward him, and he presses his mouth onto yours letting you taste yourself on his lips.

It’s intoxicating and overwhelming as he kisses you deep and unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours, until you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth.

“You taste so damn good,” he whispers against your lips, his voice low as he grins, the words sending another surge of heat through you. His hands move down your body as he kisses you again, this time with more urgency as his hips press against yours and you feel the unmistakable hardness of his cock.

You kiss him back with even more intensity, your body completely lost in your overwhelming desire for him. Your hands gripping his shoulders as each kiss becomes more demanding than the last until all that’s left is an all-consuming need to satisfy each other.

He walks you backward, his hands sliding up your back, until the sharp edge of the kitchen counter presses into you. The sudden contact breaks the kiss for a moment, both of you pausing as he looks down at you, his lips brushing yours as your breaths mingle.

“How’s that jealousy?” he asks, his voice low and teasing as his hands grip your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. 

“You said you don’t purr, either” he adds seductively, his lips trailing down your neck as his hands pull you to the edge of the counter. “But I can feel it… right here.” He whispers, his fingers tracing your wetness with delicate knowing strokes.

You moan in response, your legs tightening around his waist as the world outside falls away, his words and touch all that matters.

He keeps one hand firmly on your waist, his lips trailing slow heated kisses along your neck as his  other hand moves with purpose, digging through a nearby drawer until you feel him warmly exhale against your skin finding what he needs.

His hand comes up to your neck, gently guiding your lips to his, claiming them again deeply, as his other hand works to slide his condom on. 

His kiss grows even rougher, his breathing ragged, as both of his hands return to your neck. The anticipation between you building with every heartbeat, knowing he has a condom on, the need to have each fully consuming you both.

He pulls back from the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours, the intensity of his eyes locking onto you as his shoulders rise and fall with each shallow breath. 

“You ready for me?” he asks, his voice breathless as he awaits your answer.

His words send a flutter through you as a rush of heat spreads through your core, and it leaves you aching for him.

You can barely form the word as you look into his eyes feeling the intensity of the moment so overwhelming. 

“Yes… .” You finally nod in anticipation.

Your words are all he needs as his hands grip your hips, pulling you to the very edge of the counter. 

He presses his large tip against you and a low moan escapes your throat as his lips claim yours while you feel his hard demanding cock push into your entrance.

His hands firmly grip your waist as he begins each deep powerful thrust making you gasp. The rhythm is steady and fast, the intensity building as you find yourselves moving in perfect harmony. Your hands grip his shoulders and he responds by grabbing your thighs, his control slipping as his breathing becomes heavier, more erratic.

His sandy blonde hair falls slightly into his face, but you can see the dark, dilated pupils in his eyes, almost completely swallowing the blue, making his gaze look wild, possessive.

As he thrusts into you his cock twitches making you both gasp as his pace falters. 

His hips slow to a torturous pace, as he drags his cock almost completely out of you catching his breath.

 “Not yet” he says as he lets out a ragged breath. 

His grip tightens on your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you firmly in place. 

“I’m dragging out every minute of this until you come for me,” he whispers, his voice laced with an almost dangerous intensity, his jaw tight, muscles flexing as he pushes his cock all the way inside of you again.

You moan in pleasure as his lips brush your neck and he quickens his pace, each thrust more intense and deliberate than the last, his chest pressing into yours as he grips your thighs tightly until your both moaning, desperate to come.

His hand slides between your thighs to your clit, your breath hitching as his thumb moves in sync with his thrusts, the sensation so overwhelming, you can’t stop the moans escaping your lips. 

His other hand finds the small of your back, pulling you closer, holding you in place as he works your clit and thrust into you with relentless precision.

“You love how I’m fucking you?” he asks, his words perfectly timed with each thrust.

You weakly nod, unable to form words, barely holding on as he watches your reaction.

“Show me,” he whispers, his voice low and commanding, and he leans in his lips lightly brushing against yours as you gasp, the moans slipping from your lips uncontrollably as you begin to orgasm.

Just as you come, he captures your mouth in a deeply passionate kiss, swallowing every sound of your pleasure as his thumb works harder on your clit. His kiss is so powerful, it drives you to the edge of sanity.

The sensation crashes over you in waves, and all you can do is melt into him, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as you lose yourself entirely.

He slows his pace, guiding you through the aftermath, his hands caressing your thighs and waist as you tremble, your body softening.

The emotions swirling inside you are so strong, you try to calm yourself, but your heart continues to pound.

Your breath shaky as you rest your head on his chest, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you both savor the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“I—I have to go to work,” you finally whisper, the reality of the outside world creeping in as you sit up on the counter.

He smiles, staring into your eyes. “I know,” he says softly, but instead of letting you go, he pulls you back to him, his fingers threading through your hair as he brings you in for one last kiss. It’s slow, lingering, filled with unspoken desire that makes your heart ache.

The kiss says everything and neither of you want the moment to end.

You break away, reluctantly pulling back. His eyes remain locked on yours for just a second longer, filled with the same hesitation you feel. “I really need to go,” you say, though every part of you protests leaving him.

“I know,” he whispers again, this time with a hint of reluctance. He slowly pulls out of you and you feel the sudden emptiness, both physically and emotionally.

He steps back, his eyes trailing over you one last time as you get down from the counter. You quickly pull on your panties, and grab your purse, glancing over your shoulder as he buttons his pants. His expression soft, but his gaze intense.

“I’ll call you” he says with the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“I'll be waiting” you respond but you pause at the door, your hand on the knob knowing the truth of what’s happening.

You quickly leave his apartment without looking back your heart racing with a whirlwind  of emotions. 

You hail a taxi and sit in the back seat, your mind still lost in the moment you just left.

Once at work, you settle in half an hour late and completely zone out. The world around you fading away as your mind drifts back to Hank—his voice, his, his touch, the way he satisfies you until you’re craving him all over again.  

Your core throbs at just the thought, heat pooling deep inside you as you bite your lip, trying to pull yourself back to the task at hand.

But it’s impossible to ignore the lingering sensation, theres an ache that he leaves behind.

Hank wasn’t supposed to mean anything—just a one-night stand, a fleeting moment of indulgence. But he is so skilled, so perfectly attuned to your body, that now he’s all you can think about.

You slowly refocus on work only to find yourself absentmindedly tracing your lips, remembering the way he claims them, and you realize, that no matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to focus on anything else.

You bite your lip as the frustration sinks in knowing nothing will be enough until you have him again.

🧢 End ?🧢

🔗 Master List

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[prettybubblesintheair]

The Battle of the five Armies countdown - day 21 of 30

Bonus: 

[prettybubblesintheair]

john, listen up, i'm a wreck, i'm a mess

[prettybubblesintheair]

Is that Bucky? That's not good. — Sebastian Stan in THUNDERBOLTS* [2025]

[prettybubblesintheair]

To add on to my last ask about the celebrating the holiday for the sake of Feyds new wife:

LIKE SHE MAKES FEYD A FLOWER CROWN AND HE WEARS IT

Like from the “friendship bracelet” dialogue from bobs burgers

Wife: :)I made you a flower crown!:)

Feyd: *thinly veiled annoyance and disapproval*

Wife: :( you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to :(

Feyd: No, I’m gonna wear it. Forever. Back off.

Anniversary

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Giedi Prime is different than your home planet. They don’t celebrate the things you used to. So, you show your husband one of your traditions to mark the first year of your marriage. 

Notes/Warnings: none, i think. It's just a cute fluffy thing.

Words: 1050

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You once would’ve bet everything you had that you would never fall in love with him; from every coin to your family’s name, to every extravagant gown you owned, to every jewel that adorned your neck. When you walked down the aisle, you saw something vile waiting for you at the other end, not the husband you would come to have. You saw a snake to match the name of Harkonnen, and the prospect of a future together made your stomach turn. Until you became his wife. 

What you expected in the form of threatening words and a knife to the throat on your wedding night didn’t come. He left you alone when you told him that was what you wanted. In fact, he left you alone in every aspect of your relationship until you were ready to come to him. 

That moment came three months later. For those three months, he made sure you were comfortable, as happy as you could be, well-taken care of, and he didn’t once force his presence upon you. From that, you opened yourself to him and, in a quick decision one night, dressed yourself up, went to his room, and let him take you. 

You’ve been inseparable ever since, unwilling to leave his side and vice versa, even when he’s needed elsewhere. He takes you with him to his meetings, his executions, Arrakis. You’re his wife, in all senses of the title. And as more time has passed, you’ve adjusted to being a Harkonnen wife; everything it means, down to the things you gain and the losses you face. 

The most difficult of losses have been the traditions you grew up with. You don’t see your family anymore—as enemies of Giedi Prime, they aren’t exactly welcome on the planet—and so the values your House believes and partakes in have disappeared from your life. Holidays celebrated on your home planet do not exist on Giedi Prime. Religion is not the same. Your people bow to a Goddess. Harkonnens bow to Harkonnens. Your people bask in the changes of the seasons. Giedi Prime doesn’t experience those same seasons due to the lack of rotation around their sun. Celebrations do not exist for anything other than war victories and birthdays. But most painful are the anniversaries that go entirely unacknowledged. 

At home, anniversaries are one of the grandest events. Another year of love, of shared life. Each year, you watched your parents grow giddy as their anniversary neared, and you witnessed the people of your planet rejoice for them as if it were their own milestone of marriage. 

Giedi Prime—the Harkonnens—do not care for that. Something to do with wives not lasting very long in their House. History states you’re one of few who has made it to a year of marriage with a Harkonnen, as most women, unless pregnant with an heir, have offended their spouse in some manner and so have received that dreaded knife to the throat. 

You’re lucky there, you suppose, but it doesn’t make you miss the things you can no longer have any less. And Feyd has noticed.

“Tell me what is wrong,” he says to you as he sits beside you on your bed. 

You hesitate, fearing laughter and jokes about how ridiculous your upbringing was—it wouldn’t be the first time—but when you explain further, he’s much more receptive than you imagined.

“A celebration of love?” he asks. His brow raises, but he doesn’t scoff. 

“Yes,” you say. “Back home, couples do not have to stay together. If they are unhappy, they separate–” His head jerks and he makes a displeased face. “Staying together, continuing to be in love with each year that goes by, is considered an achievement. Something worthy of praise and pride.”

“And you want this…praise?” He doesn’t understand. Praise is harder earned in his world. Praise comes when pain is inflicted. “How do you receive praise for love?”

“People have parties–”

“We cannot have a party for this.”

You take his hand in your lap. “No, I know,” you say. “But there’s also gifts.”

He shakes his head. “No one will–”

“Between us,” you stop him. “We give each other a present as a symbol of the strength of our love.”

He thinks on your words for a few moments, slightly staring off into space, until he says, “Like what?”

“Well…” Taking your hand back, you reach into your nightstand drawer and pull out a small box. “Something like this.” You peel back the lid of the box to reveal a black band with a ring of silver running through the middle. “I had this made.”

“A ring?”

As you nod, you set the small box down between you. “It’s a wedding ring. I know you don’t exchange those on your wedding day here, but back home, when you say vows, each person puts their ring on the other’s finger. This one right here,” you say, tapping the correct finger on your hand. “It’s a kind of ownership that you show to the world. You’re telling everyone that you’re taken by someone who loves you.”

Feyd swallows, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours and the ring. “People know you belong to someone else if you wear this on your planet?”

“Yes. And seeing as you belong to me, I thought…” you pause, realizing he might hate the idea. What if it bothers him? What if the light weight throws off his knife skills? What if it gets in the way of his armor? You didn’t think about these problems until now when he’s blankly staring at the damn thing. 

Feyd plucks the ring from the box and puts it up to the light. “They all look like this?”

“They’re all different,” you tell him. “If you don’t want to wear it–”

He slips it onto the correct finger. “I’m never taking it off.”

“Wh–” Your eyes blow wide. “Really?”

“Never,” he says, still staring at the onyx circle around his finger. “Even my enemies will know I’m taken.” You sigh. A chuckle of relief leaves your throat, and he turns his gaze to you. “I’ll make one for you.”

“Oh! But you don’t have to just because I did.”

He features twist in disapproval. “You belong to me as much as I belong to you, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you will wear one as well. Silver,” he says. His hand raises to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. The ring is cold against your skin. “With black diamonds.”

“You want to match?”

“Yes.”

[prettybubblesintheair]

Woah

[prettybubblesintheair]

[prettybubblesintheair]

Aaaaahhh

[prettybubblesintheair]

Good Morning Austin Girls!

Theme 709: Hank (caught stealing first look + a little extra)

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[prettybubblesintheair]

Austin Butler as Major Gale 'Buck' Cleven MASTERS OF THE AIR 1.08