#//i always feel so boring when I do these RIP lol

[neuvistar]

AN ANGEL’S GIFT.

— featuring ┊sunday x fem!reader

— warnings / content warnings ┊all consensual! not proofread, cunnilingus, he plays w ur tits lol (t!tplay), established relationship, use of nicknames, mentions of breeding wooopeee (not rlly tbh its jus him yapping abt angel babies) a lil rushed but it’s okay! pt 2 will be out when i’m not lazy :3 | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

— a/n ┊this might b a bit messy sincd it’s VERY late n i’m half asleep but i’ll correct things tmr! sunday has been on my mind 24/7 all day all night all morning it’s actually insanity.. sunday <33 tbh giys this doesn’t rlly have a specific theme.. it’s jus sunday eating u out n yapping abt giving u angel babies… instead of leaving n doing boring work business LMAO (the pt 2 will have more guys trust i’m jus a tad bit lazy..)

“m—more sunday..”

the two of you spent a cherished night together in the hours before his impending departure to meet and discuss matters with the members of the IPC, catching news of them arriving to penacony a few days prior. in all honesty, you wanted this to last as long as it can.. you missed sunday’s touched, and he missed yours. as sunday caressed and kissed your body, your soft squirms and moans filled him with a pleasant sensation of affection for you. the halovian savored the moment as much as he could, cherishing every last bit of intimacy and closeness between the two of you. “you’ve always impressed me, my angel. it brings me pure joy hearing all sorts of sounds leaving your pretty lips.” soft moans that escaped your lips and the gentle caress of your fingers through his hair stirred up a pleasant sensation within him. even the sight of you wrapped up in his arms, his lips kissing your sensitive skin as your body writhes in pleasure, it made him feel the immense satisfaction and fondness between you two. even that, your presence itself brought sunday immense joy, and he made sure to relish every single moment together with you.

"please... don't stop..." your voice cracked slightly, betraying your own need. a chuckle rumbled from your husband’s throat as he leaned in closer. sunday grabbed hold of the hem of your shirt. with one powerful yank, it ripped clean off your body, revealing your lacy bra underneath. you gasped in surprise, your breasts jiggling slightly as they were exposed to his hungry gaze.. he could feel his cock throbbed even harder, practically leaping out of his pants at the sight of your firm breasts.

"so beautiful, my girl.” trailing his tongue along your collarbone, stopping just short of your neck. sunday’s hands moved downwards, roughly palming your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra.. aeons, they were soft and supple just like be remembered, heavy with anticipation. “it would be such a wonderful sight see these pretty things leak with milk don’t you think, sweetheart?” with a chuckle of desire, he ripped the bra apart as well, freeing your breasts from their restrictive confines. “think about it, my angel,” he pinched your nipples, earning another sharp gasp from you. “imagine.. your belly round and full with my heirs, your breasts heavy with their milk.”

his hot breath fanning over your sensitive nipples caught you by surprise, his talented tongue traced slow, teasing circles around your nipple, closing his lips around it as he sucked greedily. sunday’s tongue flicked and swirled around the sensitive tip, tasting your flesh.. breathing in your aroma, that same aroma that drove him to the edge. “talk to me, baby. what do you say? do you like the idea of that.. hm?” his hands roamed downward, lifting your skirt and pushing your panties aside in one swift motion, exposing your pussy to his hungry gaze.

“hng.. i mean, i’m not against the idea.. it’s just that..” you lost your composure completely when sunday went even lower down to your region, his tongue darted in and out of your folds unexpectedly. “ah.. hey! aren’t you supposed to be meeting with the IPC—“

“shush baby, work can wait.” sunday could feel your arousal building up, your body arched slightly as he continued his brutal attack on your sensitive cunt. his large hands and held your legs wide open, giving him full access to his feast as the wings that protruded from each side of his head tickled your skin. his tongue probed deeper, finding your core and teasing it with quick flicks. you were so vulnerable under him, and it turned him on even more. "i’ll make sure to take good care of you, but remember who's in charge here.. just enjoy my tongue. you should be grateful i’m here giving you attention you wanted for days rather than talking with them.”

your husband’s tongue flickered against your cunt once more, causing you to arch your back slightly. sunday was relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure, determined to make you feel good. "you’re so fucking small, angel.. it’s driving me insane." sunday’s voice was muffled by your flesh, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through your body every time his tongue explored every inch of her. "so innocent, yet so brave... fascinating." feeling your warmth envelop his face was like heaven to him, he wanted nothing more than to show you just how much he loved moments like these. the halovian reached up and grabbed your hips, guiding your movements against his face. goodness.. it was like he wanted you to suffocate him. “a place filled with life and chaos... much like your body." he licked and sucked at your folds, the rough muscle of his wetness swirling around your clit , his nostrils breathing in the scent of your arousal.

“to feel my tongue fucking and sucking this perfect little cunt.. this is truly an angel’s gift is it not, my wife?”

[roosterr]

Heyyy! I’m not sure if you’re taking requests rn.. BUT if you areee, can I just please get a john price with the prompt “why are you avoiding me?” (Bc I’m a slut for angst) with a large fry on the side? IF NOT I TOTALLY COOL

outside it starts to pour

note: two posts in one month? who am i? i hope this is angsty enough lol, i re-wrote it 3 times bc i wasnt happy with it, its a love hate relationship 🥲 but anyway pls enjoy anon!!!

pairing: john price x gn!reader

wc: 1.5k

summary: in your dreams, you're more than just someone who warms john's bed

warnings: fwb, implied smut but no actual smut, angst, miscommunication (i cant help myself), hurt/no comfort, no happy ending

ao3

"why're you avoidin' me?"

the question echoes in your ears, drowning out the war drum of your heartbeat despite the heavy silence that settles between you.

john has a hand around your arm, gentle and barely there but still anchoring you in place like a vice with just his light touch. the back of your mind screams for you to rip yourself free, get as far away from the familiar timbre of his voice and the near-stifling comfort of his smoky scent as you can before he can get you in his web again. but just like always, he's got you right where he wants you.

how many times have you been pulled behind the door he was halfway out of? and how many times have you been ushered back out again with your hair and heart a mess, just to pretend like nothing happened? always one foot in your little secret and one in his reputation, never fully with you; that's how the captain operated, and you feel like a fool for ever believing otherwise.

a squeeze to your arm brings you back to the present, suddenly all too aware of his fingers against your skin and his eyes boring into your own with an intensity that has your heart fluttering – against your mind's better judgement.

"i'm not." your response is a mutter, your gaze dropping from his to the hardwood ahead of you. it's unconvincing, even to you, but he had no right to question you like this.

"you are." he shoots back, gruffly and without a second of hesitation. from the corner of your vision you see his brow furrow, casting shadow over those eyes that always captivate you so mercilessly.

a sigh escapes his chest at your lack of response, his eyes darting from one end of the hallway to the other before giving your arm a miniscule tug, nodding his head back towards his office.

that's how it always starts. the thought makes your heart clenches painfully. "stop. i don't want to–"

"no." he interrupts firmly, with a shake of his head so resolute it almost has you believing that was never his intention to begin with. your eyes gravitate towards his again, and there's a spark of something, under the surface, when his thumb strokes your skin, dipping just below the hem of your sleeve. "talk to me, what's wrong?"

the urge to give in is tempting, to fall into his arms like you always do, just how he wants, how he expects you to. this time, however, you're determined to avoid his trap.

"it's nothing," you avert your gaze again, sighing in the same moment you take his wrist and slowly pull his touch from your arm, "just leave it."

john tuts. "it's not nothin', though, is it?" he asks, sidestepping into your line of sight again and ignoring the pointed look you give him. "talk to me."

if he cared for you the same way you do for him, his persistence would be endearing, but you know better. you're a good soldier who just so happens to be a good fuck too; that's all you are to him, and that's all you'll ever be.

"i told you. drop it." you shake your head, face creasing into a frown as you turn on your heel. if you have to endure any more of his deceiving sympathy, you know you'll only end up caving to his desires. you're not that strong, and that's why you need to keep as much distance as possible between you.

"you're somewhere else, lieutenant." he calls after you, stopping you in your tracks before you can get too far. you don't bother to turn around, but he continues anyway. "if you can't get your head back in the game, i can't risk havin' you out in the field."

your indignant laugh bounces off the walls.

"it's just that easy for you, isn't it?" there's a lump in your throat as you force the last two words over it, one you hope neither of you will acknowledge.

"and what's that supposed to mean?" he scoffs, the sound of his boots taking a few damning steps closer to where you stand, still with your back to him.

"i don't know why i'm offended, you always do this." you mutter, bringing your hand up to smooth over the crease of your brow, the tremble there barely noticeable but telling of your fragile state.

he doesn't respond this time, waiting for you to elaborate with what you're sure is a glare directed at the back of your head.

"you find something to take, and take, and take from," you spin around to face him again, which proves to be a mistake because the second you meet his concerned eyes, you can feel the sting of tears in your own. "and as soon as it's not useful to you anymore, you chuck it away like yesterday's leftovers."

the silence that follows your outburst is so tense it weighs you down. you can't will yourself to move, to tear your gaze away from him even when your vision blurs. it takes a moment for you to realise just how ragged your breathing has become, feeling the hard rise and fall of your chest over your racing heart as you come down from your anger.

"that… that's not what this is." john utters, his face morphing into something you coin as pity, and it makes your heart squeeze all over again.

"don't. i told you to fucking leave it…" your voice is weaker than before, and you curse yourself for showing this amount of weakness in front of him, because now you know he knows that it was never just sex to you. he never meant that little to you.

by some miracle you manage to blink away the tears before they can fall and embarrass you further. you wait for him to say something, in a painful sense of awkwardness that's never been there before, but all he does is stare at you.

"i can't do this anymore." you whisper, the words muffled through the blood rushing in your ears. you fix him with another scathing look before turning to leave for the second time tonight.

"wait." he calls your name as you walk away, quickly moving to catch up with you, but you have no desire to listen to him, not anymore. he gives you no time to react when he rushes to stand in your path, grasping both your shoulders to stop you when you try to sidestep him. "for fucks sake, just hold on."

there's a conflicted look in his gaze that seems to pull his expression down with it. if you had anything left to give you might've felt bad for being the cause, but it's been months of this game of cat and mouse, and you're drained.

"it was a mutual arrangement," he urges, his eyes search yours, something you can't discern muddying the deep blue as they dart across your face.

you give a watery scoff, rolling your eyes in an attempt to rid yourself of the ache his touch brings you. "there was no arrangement. you're not an idiot, john, you knew how i felt about you."

"what?" he has the audacity to sound confused, and you have to resist the urge to scoff again. "how you felt about me? what're you saying?"

"i think it's pretty obvious by now." you mutter, folding your arms over you chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. he hasn't taken his eyes off you once, your skin prickling under his intense stare. "i'm an idiot for thinking this would go any other way."

there's another heavy pause, john opens his mouth and closes it again like he was fighting with himself on what to say. the way your throat has constricted makes it hard to breath without sobbing, your breath coming out laboured and uneven.

"do you regret it?" he finally asks, his fingertips pressing into your flesh almost imperceptibly, leaving your skin tingling even though your shirt.

it was self-destruction, giving in to him every time even though it felt like a thorn in your heart. to allow yourself to live in the fantasy that he loved you while you were in his arms, just to have that warm feeling shattered when he told you to get dressed.

"yes."

you regret falling for someone who would never love you back.

"it's over. let me go, captain." you whisper, a plea for him to release you from whatever spell he's got you under, even if you don't really mean it.

his hands drop from your shoulders, letting one curl into a fist at his side and bringing the other up to scratch his beard in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. you know it's for the better, but the knowledge couldn't stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. you brush past him, feeling his gaze burning into you as you lean away to avoid touching him.

he doesn't stop you when you walk away this time.

[jojissalsa]

Perfect body, Pretty face

Warnings: dom!Leon x fem/sub!reader, power dynamics (boss/assistant), daddy kink, mentions of nudes/sex work, taking pictures during sex, facial, condescension, slight praise, mentions of age gap (reader is in mid 20s), clothes ripping (tights), reader is bratty at some point.

hello again :3 i wanna post what i can while i have the time, so i can kinda build this page up. hope u guys enjoy this one even if i feel like i made a few mistakes and lmk where i can improve! constructive criticism, reposts and requests are always welcome :D (minors don’t interact, touch grass.)

WC: 3.3k (proofread)

When Leon first came to the D.S.O, he expected bigger missions and harder work. Not boring ass reports and paperwork. The missions were definitely longer, which meant piles atop piles of paperwork that would take longer than it should. When the D.S.O realized Leon needed more time on his reports compared to the rookies or standard agents, they gave him a hand. You, his new assistant. And god, were you helpful. You were more than a sight for sore eyes, you were distracting at first, but even more so as he got to know you. You even remembered his favorite coffee order, and what he liked most for lunch. To him, you were just doing a good job. But in reality, you just wanted to get in his pants more than anything.

Your last boss was such a douchebag, the typical mansplaining and ungratefulness. But Leon? He was such a sweetheart, and so understanding. He didn’t get annoyed when you made a tiny mistake, a couple minutes late or working slower at the end of your shift. You knew damn well your attraction to him was bad for you and this job, but Eve still ate that apple didn’t she? You were the same, always attracted to forbidden fruit. But when it was Leon, who cares about forbidden? It just adds to the flavor. Obviously being an assistant didn’t make the most money, but at least you got a pretty face to work with. And there’s no shame in a side hustle, right? That’s what you thought when you made a Twitter account when you first became an assistant, well, intern at first. The job was so damn stressful and your shitty boss didn’t help. It was harmless fun at first, posting a few lewd pictures of your cleavage or in cute two-piece bathing suits you got. And then it got even lewder, posting pictures of your bare tits, dim lighting from your computer, things like that until you said fuck it and showed all the goods. Complaining about your shitty boss became part of your brand, as well as the faceless part of your nudes. You never showed your face, only your hair if it was a full body picture, not because you were ashamed of what you were doing. Not in the slightest, actually. You were just worried about word spreading around the office, especially since you were getting fairly popular. No face, no case, right? Plus, it’s not like anyone had x-ray vision to see if you had the same tits. It’s not like it hurt business either, you had a perfect body. You weren’t the skinniest person in the world, average like most people’s bodies. But to you, it was perfect. It suited you and flaunting it made you happy.

Your brand definitely shifted when you changed bosses, less complaining about how much your job sucked to more complaining about how badly you needed your boss to look at you differently. Pictures of you up-skirt under your desk whenever he wasn't looking or left to grab you both coffee or lunch, captions that always mentioned him.

"is it bad that my boss gets me this wet?"

"wish my boss would crawl under my desk and take care of this ;p"

And they would only get more and more risky. Posts of your increasingly skimpy outfits and a courtesy picture of you out of them captioned "you guys think my boss will like? lol". A video of you cumming in the bathroom at work, another where you cheekily slipped your fingers in your cunt, rubbing your slick over your clit before giggling as you turn the recording off.

Leon really didn’t mean to find something of yours this personal, he was just a guy looking for porn where he knew he could find it. He may be old but the man still needs to get off. And he was a man of taste, he liked the amateur stuff, and he knew Twitter had it. When he stumbled across your account, he thought it was perfect. At first he didn't know it was you, but by your most recent posts, it was obvious. You never name dropped him, or even said what he looked like, only saying he was fine and looked like a dilf, which was definitely an ego boost when he figured out it was you. It was easy, really. He was bored at night, couldn’t sleep like usual, and hoped that jacking off would clear his head a bit. It didn’t clear his head in the slightest when he saw your most recent video. It was of you working overtime, fingering yourself on his desk. Biting your lip to stay quiet but failing miserably as your fingers keep rubbing against that spongy spot in your walls, palm slapping against your clit. The best part? You said his name while you came. Maybe not his full name, but the way you let it out subconsciously, saying "Mr. Kennedy" in the most pornographic way possible, realizing you did and then giggling when you felt no remorse. Only an "oh shit" and a cutesy laugh as you abruptly ended the video. He was gonna say something tomorrow. He had to.

The second you walk in the door with that polite smile you always have, cute pink blouse and short pencil skirt, he waves you over to his desk. "Y/n, come here for a sec." His stern tone makes you blush and immediately walk over after setting down your bag. "Yes, sir? Is there something you need from me?" You expect him to say he needs a file or some kind of paper, but he shocks you when he turns his monitor around to show your twitter page. "You know anything about this?" You don't show it on your face, but the way you clench your jaw makes it obvious. You've got a good poker face, he'll give you that. "No sir, am I supposed to?" You get a bit of an attitude, mainly because he just totally called you out. "I don't know, you tell me." He scrolled very little down to your last post, the video. You gulp, knowing damn well you said his name. "Is that you saying my name?" His tone is still stern, but it feels more teasing now, considering his cocky smirk. He has you in a corner. "Don't you think it's a little sleazy to be prying into my personal hobbies?" Your attitude gets more prominent, crossing your arms and giving him a sharp glare. You were more prideful than anything, his smugness starting to piss you off because of how turned on you were getting. "Don't you think it's a bit slutty to finger fuck yourself on my desk?" When he shot back at you with that you froze, face going completely red. Not only was he right, you had no room to talk about his habits, but the way he said it was so fucking hot it lit a fire in you, shockwaves shooting straight to your clit.

You felt uncomfortable under his gaze, your lips parted as you felt your pulse throbbing between your thighs, knowing your panties were soaked. "You gonna say something or just come over here already? Stop wasting my time, I have work to do." It was instant when he said that, hips swaying as you walked to him, holding your hands in front of you as you looked down at the ground. "What's got you all shy? You certainly weren't shy last night." His teasing was really getting to you, making your lips squeeze as you shift your thighs again, your chest feeling so heavy with every breath you took. "Didn't I tell you not to waste my time? Sit on my desk and spread your legs." Your breath hitches at his demanding words, hopping up on his desk and spreading your legs. You thank god that it was a little chilly today, making you wear sheer black tights. Not that you'd be wearing them long, you just hope the wet spot on your panties wasn’t noticeable. "Jesus, soaked through your fucking tights? You're that excited?" His teasing made you go wide eyed, whimpering at his smug gaze piercing through you. "Yes sir.." You finally manage to speak, even if it sounds breathless and needy. Your eyes stay steady on him, taking in every feature you can. You lick your lips from the sight of his hard cock pressed against his tight slacks, not daring to close your legs in the slightest even if you were desperate for friction. "See something you like?" You watch him palm over his hard on, just watching something that sinful makes you moan softly. "I thought you said not to waste your time? What are you waiting for?" You throw any bit of shyness out the window, brattiness taking its place instead. After all, he meddled into something private, why make it easy for him? That’s no fun~

His brows furrowed as he gives you an annoyed look, groaning in frustration as he shoots up from his office chair and grabs your waist, pulling you from his desk and flipping you to bend over. He certainly doesn't waste any time now, pulling your skirt up and ripping a massive hole in your tights, making you gasp and squirm, turning your head to try and see the damage. "Don't complain, no point in denying you like it. Why else are your panties fucking drenched?" You throw him a frustrated glare before grumbling something about those being expensive under your breath. "Sorry, what was that?" You gasp as his hand slams down harshly on your ass cheek, whining at his gentle kneading on the now stinging red spot. "You're trying so hard to be bratty, when you're usually such a sweet girl. Always coming here early, bringing me coffee, remembering my favorite lunch. You don't do that because you like this job, hell, a slut like you doesn’t care about working hard. You do it because you want my attention." His hand keeps kneading the fat of your ass, making you back up into his palm for more. That doesn't stop your attitude though. "Oh boo hoo, as if you didn't love every second of it. How'd you even find my page? The nursing home gives you internet after 10?" Your bitchy tone doesn't go unnoticed by him, and neither does your smug smirk that is clearly challenging him, if anything it lights the same fire inside him, dick twitching under his slacks. He shoots you a glare that says "you really wanna do this?", as if you care about that silly warning. What's the worst he could do? "Y'know they shouldn't give a pervy old man like you access to stuff like that, it rots your brain~" You get cut off by another slap on your ass, harder than the last one, he doesn't even bother to soothe the sting with his hand. "Pervy old man? Then what are you? Some slut thinking of her boss's cock all day. How high and mighty." Another slap, and you're already unraveling by the second, the tingling sensation from his spanks sending shock after shock to your clit.

"You go on and on about me on that damn site for thousands to see, so why not take what you want? You're getting nowhere by being an ungrateful brat." He's really starting to make sense with how desperate you are to be touched, for that release you so desperately need. And with how hard his spanking is getting, it's making your head dizzy. He presses his hard-on against your ass, making you whine and grind against him. That's not enough for him though, he needs you to say it, the same way you said his name last night. "C'mon pretty girl, get what you want and ask for it, I know you can." He grinds against your ass, finally snapping through the sane part of your brain. "Fuck! Fine, please, please give it to me, I can't wait anymore, please Mr. Kennedy.." You beg in a gravelly voice, nails digging into his desk as the neediness in you builds. "Need what? You can say it." He slaps your ass again, a little gentler now that you're finally getting there, sliding his hand down to press his thumb on the gusset on your panties, hissing at how wet it felt. "Your cock, Leon, please, I need your cock so bad.." You whimper in broken fragments from your voice breaking, sighing in relief as he finally pulls down your panties, feeling your slick connect to them in strings and the cool air contrasting how hot you feel. As you heard the sound of metal clinking and a zipper pulled down you wished he flipped you over, because you really wanted to see his cock, turning your head in a desperate attempt to steal a quick glance. "Don't worry baby, you'll get a good look later." You don't care enough to question him, you care more about his tip pressed against your folds, threatening to stretch you open.

The coil of anticipation that's released when he finally slides inside you is the most euphoric feeling, growling as he fills you completely, balls nestled right against your clit. "Fuck, barely had to do anything and it slipped in so easy. Like you were made to take this cock, huh, sweetheart?" He goes slow at first, letting you adjust to his thick size, agonizing in how slow he drags his cock along your walls. All you can mutter is 'yes' like a mantra to keep you in reality, but every stroke is sending you further into that cloudy part of your brain where all you can think about is how you can feel everything. His hands on your hips to keep you in place, the way his cock kisses right against your cervix then pulls all the way out just to make you drunk off the feeling, his low and heavy grunts dangerously close to your ear, and it's all getting you even more impatient and needy. "Leon, please, go faster, need it faster." You speak through broken sobs and high pitched whines, looking back at him with a pleading pout. You can't say no to this cute face, can you? His nails dig into your hips, finally fucking you faster, and so much harder, you can feel the air in your lungs get choked out with every harsh thrust. "Just can't help yourself, can you? So fucking impatient." He can hear you getting louder, and between you and the sound of skin slapping against wet skin, he can at least silence one. "So loud, the whole fucking office can probably hear you." He puts his hand over your mouth and pulls your head up, body arching backwards as your head meets his shoulder. You can barely make out his smug grin as he looks down at you, glossy eyes with blown out pupils, your cheeks flushed a deep red.

"You look so pretty like this, looking up at me without a thought in that pretty little head. Just needed Daddy to fuck you stupid, huh?" He gets a wicked chuckle at your wide eyes, the way you clench tighter and move your hips to meet his rhythm. You curse yourself mentally for tweeting about that godforsaken daddy kink you have, or any of your kinks because now he knows every little thing that makes you tick. How frustrating. "Ohhh, didn't think I would look that far? You have no idea, spent hours looking at your stuff, even during missions I couldn't help but think about this sweet pussy wrapped around my cock." Your expression goes blank at his words, completely cockdrunk. You know you shouldn't do any of this, you can only imagine how much trouble you’d be in if someone walked in right now. But who could blame you? You couldn't name a single person who would throw away an opportunity like this. Who needs responsibility when you could have the simple yet intense pleasure that Leon Kennedy brings?

"Almost went crazy when I heard my name in that dirty fucking mouth, never been that hard in my life. Gonna make sure that mouth is full of my name every chance I get." You scream and whimper, the sound rumbling against his hand as you get closer and closer, toes curling into your heels. The sight is so damn beautiful to him, and he just has to see what you look like when you cum in person. When you cum on his cock, not some silly toy that could never satisfy you the way he can. His free hand takes its time sliding up your blouse to palm your tits over your bra, his fingers raking over the soft skin of your stomach before stilling at your bunched up skirt around your waist, right above your clit. "You wanna cum, don't you, baby? You're gonna be good and ask nicely, yeah? Go ahead, tell Daddy you wanna cum." He moves his hand away from your mouth but keeps your head up, gripping your face instead, watching as you greedily suck in air between mindless moans. "Please Daddy, please, please, please let me cum, need to cum so fucking bad-" Your pathetic babbling cuts off when his fingers put pressure on your clit, rubbing fast circles that make your brows frown as your walls clench, the knot in your stomach slowly coming undone. "There you go, such a good girl, asking me so nicely. Cum for me, sweet girl, cum on my cock for me." And you do, harder than you have in a while, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you see white spots, those sweet, broken sobs leaving your lips involuntarily, moaning his name as he slows down.

Before you know it, you're on your knees in front of him, finally getting a full, up close and personal view of his fat cock. He's thick, pre-cum pearling at his tip as he uses your slick to finish himself off, fisting his cock feverishly. "Told you you'd get a better look, now open up sweetheart. Gonna cover that pretty face in my cum, maybe even take a picture for those depraved little boys that get off on you." He’s one to talk.. His grunts and soft whimpers between his words make you bite back an eager grin, lolling your tongue out and getting blessed with the salty taste on his tip. You keep your lips pursed on his cock, looking up at him with doe eyes that make his cock kick in his hand, your own hands resting on his thighs. He pulls some hair away from your face with his free hand and keeps it there as he finally coats your cheeks and tongue with pools of cum, chuckling through breathless moans as he slaps his cock on your tongue. He grabs his phone as his free hand leaves your hair to press his thumb on your tongue, keeping your mouth open. He groans with a smug smirk as you look up into the camera, a clear, empty head as drool dribbles down your chin and onto his fingers holding your chin. "You'll get this picture tonight when I drive you home, 'kay?" He helps you back to your feet, cleaning off your face with his handkerchief and pulling your skirt down, fixing your wrinkled blouse. “Now go finish those reports for me, try not to work too slow, don’t wanna work overtime, do you?” He softly strokes your back, coaxing you closer to your desk. "Yes, Mr. Kennedy.." You breathe out, still wobbly on your feet as you walk to your desk, feeling the sting on your ass as you sit down, shivering at the tingle. Worth it.

[the-moon-files]

Linked Universe / GN!Reader - Random Headcanons abt the Chain :)

Part 1 (ur here!) / Part 2 / Part 3

Sun: Gender Neutral! Reader (you/they/them), Guide Reader

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: First, Sky, Four, Legend

Comets & Meteors: Content: None Known & Triggers: None Known.

U have a lot of Nicknames: Guide, Hero's Guide, Prince, Princey, Star, (more to be added?).

☆

First (Manga!Link):

Has "too good" of posture lol

It makes his back stiff and by the time he's in his bedroll he's confused about why it feels better, silly silly man

Just in general tenses his muscles too often, so whenever u offer to massage him, he nearly crumbles on the spot

(the others know exactly how amazing ur massages are, and are fully staring at him in jealousy lol)

Gets little rips and tears in his clothing all the time somehow??

Even tho he wont have a scratch acc on him after hours of battle???

mans could be flying around Skyloft with only clouds touching him and come back pouting telling you he ripped his scarf again :'(

Likes to be slightly in front of you most of the time, especially in new places/other Links' Hyrules

It just makes him feel better knowing he's both protecting you, and that you're watching his back

(Most Links feel at their best/most confident when your voice can be heard just over their shoulder, not that they don't love seeing ur face now too)

Sky (Skyward Sword Link):

Is slowly making everyone he knows a collection of wooden figurines

He usually carves when he's bored or stressed

so needless to say this mission of the Shadow (slow going, stressful at times like Twi getting hurt)

Has made him give u an army of little wooden figures (everyone else gets a small collection bc ur the first he gives one to)

Did i say give? Excuse me, i meant:

sneaks them as a little surprise into your belongings or clothing or other personal effects

This started bc after a week or two of him giving you wooden things you tried to reroute him to other ppl,

so Sky just made it his mission to see how many he can sneak instead onto you on any given day lmao

(Also he may or may not have daydreamed abt being able to carve u things and actually physically give them to you on his adventure before, so he's taking advantage of being able to now)

Has luscious hair at all times, little to no effort, Wars is so pissed abt it lol

Mf responded when asked what products he used (by poor Wars too) with, "wym?? With water??? And soap????"

Never ties his boot laces

You will all be gearing up for battle and go to stalk and stealth kill monsters and right before u get up on them u always have to look over at Sky's shoes and whisper at him to tie them

Is the most likely to plant face first into the ground or trip and fall on his ass from shoes untying

He just didnt need to with being in the clouds on his Loftwing all the time back on Skyloft and so he never rlly adapted to that even on the surface lol

He's also just miserable at doing a decent knot so you've taken to teaching him repeatedly how to tie them-

why didnt the knight academy help with this at all actually??

(Wind makes fun of him be hes a sailor and knows like 10+ knots)

Four (Four Swords/Minish Cap Link):

Loses his tools constantly

Well not really "lose" so much as "slightly misplace"

It drives him crazy, the Minish used to help him with it back in his Hyrule so he got out of the habit of putting things back where they belong

You've gotten to the point where you'll glance over wherever he's working so the next time he comes up to u complaining abt a lost hammer or smth u immediately just "should be over by the fire"

And ur right, 99.9% of the time its so funny

Bc Four's all like "wtf ive moved around so much since then i took all the other tools with me- MF. U WERE RIGHT."

Is rlly good at like color matching, comes in handy for new outfits

Also has aches and pains like in his hands and arms mostly

Bc of all the forge work, and absolutely treasures any massages u offer him

Likes to wear matching jewelry with you! Like earrings or piercings or necklaces etc

Also has good taste in jewelry and what looks good on everyone + you

Legend (Link to the Past, Link's Awakening etc):

Unfortunately the type of person to just shove things in his bag willy nilly

Its the horder tendencies, he just has a lot of stuffs so he gave up trying to organize it

Actually really good at styling hair, Legend would absolutely lie abt it if u asked but he can spend as much time on his hair as Warrior

Likes to experiment with new clothes, like skirts or bright colors, esp if they match some of his clothes already

U ran by some makeup one time in another Hyrule and he knew how to use it rlly well??

Lies abt random skills he has, or like thinks skills he already has can translate well,

like he's rode a horse before wym he can't drive Wild's motorcycle??

Or fly a Loftwing???

Well now its a challenge

Tbh most competitive over stupid things randomly out of all the Links besides Wild, Wind, Wars, and occasionally Hyrule + Sky + Time

Got challenged to try and go shield surfing with u once and thought that horse-riding skill would transfer and it did in fact Not.

Actually kinda scared the other Links watching u two spin out and crash ngl, what with doing an accidental backflip? Midair??

but u both were okay somehow???

Also weirdly lucky, u stg he's got some sort of ring or blessing for that

☆

IT ACCIDENTALLY POSTED I FUCKING HATE TUMBLR ITS DONE THIS TO ME MULTIPLE TIMES NOW 😭😭

All the Links WOULD HAVE been here if it werent for fucking tumblr

Ill post more parts soon if anyone is interested

Peace out,

🌙

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; vi

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 11k LOL SORRY

summary:  "Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike."

warnings:  blood and gore, graphic descriptions of violence (reader and others), allusions to noncon/incest/pedophilia (Feyd Rautha and the Baron), referenced past abuse, blood kink, predator/prey kink, allusions to dubcon, knife kink, rough unprotected PiV, slapping, flashback to Feyd-Rautha warning maybe i should say, drinking and making dubious decisions... pls lmk if i left any out.

notes: hi to my friends here who are reading this series! thanks for the patience I know its been a little bit since i last updated but in return, this chapter is the longest yet with almost 11k words... i promise itll be worth it!! things are moving along!! new chapter on AO3 is also coming soon :) as always please feel invited to leave feedback, its how i get motivated! love u all i hope you enjoy!

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My Dearest Niece,

I received your letter with great joy, though I regret to inform you that I will not be able to attend the Space Trade Referendum or the arraignment as planned. It is with love that I must share the news that I am set to give birth around that time, and I am unable to travel in my condition.

Please know that my absence does not diminish my support for you in any way.  Though I cannot be there in person, I will be thinking of you and sending you all of my love and support from afar. Should things become dire, please remember that you are always welcome at House Ginaz. Our doors are open to you, and we will do whatever we can to assist you in any way possible.

Take care, my dear niece, and know that you are never alone.

With all my love and best wishes,

Lady Ginaz

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The planets look tiny and unimportant from so vastly far away. 

You've decided, in the last few days, that you are not particularly keen on space travel; The ship that transports you and the members of House Atreides is incredibly massive and freezing cold, and the empty void of space that sits just to the right of your bed has been a present reminder of your mortality. 

You stare silently out the expansive window that covers one whole wall of your chambers; out into the deep dark, your breath nearly fogging the plexiglass from your proximity. Your lip, chewed raw, has cracked down the middle and bleeds gently as you sigh, one hand toying with the sleeve of the dress you wear. 

It is now only three days until the summit Referendum is drawn - four days, then, until your fate is charged against the rest of the Landsraad - when you could lose your planet and your name, your right to marry Paul, your claim to the Noble class. 

"I want you to be prepared," Duke Leto had said last night at dinner, "Baron Harkonnen will be in attendance, and it is likely that either of his nephews will be with him." 

Your eyes bore holes into the window before you, showcasing the wide expanse of space that stretches deeper than you could fathom. The thought of seeing Feyd-Rautha festers in your mind; a dangerous, hungry beast that cannot be quelled but with the taste of flesh and blood. 

It is with a twist of your gut that you realize you want him to be there. 

Ever fiber of your being screams with the desire to see him, to scream, to rip the skin off of his face. More fearfully, though: deep down inside you feel a longing, quiet and unsure, that sings in your heart. There were those days when Feyd would come to you late at night, muscles weary, and he would lay with you; nothing more than his head on your chest, his breaths labored, as he fought back the gruesome memories of his uncle's vile ways. He never particularly opened up about his experience completely - but in those moments, where you'd tenderly stroke his head and listen to his uneven breathing, he'd whisper evil truths to you; truths that prove even the worst person you know can be hurt by another. 

You'd shared moments of tenderness with Feyd-Rautha, even though it is now completely unimaginable - warped and disintegrated by the cruelty of your stay, the horror of their culture. Fingers, dipping into a bowl of black paint to be smeared over his taught torso; Lips, smeared with the same color and pressed on his palms, where he'd clutch blades in the arena.

Small gifts; the bright red wax currants from your homeworld, smuggled when the Baron was none the wiser; a new dress in your wardrobe the day after he'd ripped one apart. Feyd's hands, surprisingly soft when he was placated - pressing against your waist, or smoothing over your cheeks. The same hands that hit your skin and the same lips that said horrible things to you; the teeth that broke skin, the blades that cut yours. 

There was once a semblance of care between you, however skewed and twisted it was; Now, all that remains is hatred. 

A knock at your door makes your brow furrow; the view from the plexiglass window, thick and slightly warped, reflects your surprised expression. You are not set to land on Kaitain for another few hours. 

"Yes?" You call, voice sharp; you are unable to shake the anger that has grown in you the last few minutes reminiscing upon your relationship with Feyd-Rautha. 

"My lady," Your handmaid calls - it is not Hestia, but a sweet maid who is younger and less inclined to speak freely. "Lord Paul wishes to speak with you." 

You find yourself relieved that it is him who wishes to speak with you, not sure you have the energy to face anyone else now. You send her a small faux smile, hoping to ease her anxiety - wherever it may stem from - and nod, "Let him in, please." 

A few moments before he walks in, steps quiet against the floor as you stare out into the vast darkness. It's been over a day since you've seen Paul - consciously, at least - and he looks quite different away from the winds of Caladan. His eyes are dark, framed by those long lashes, face more serious than usual; a feat you never thought possible. Much like yourself, he is dressed quite formally - curls tamed away from his face, dark dress uniform that has the brass sigil of Atreides on the collar. 

You wetten your lips as he arrives next to you; you taste the tang of your own blood, familiar and warm, as you greet him. "Hello, Paul." You say, turning to nod at him. 

You haven't spoken alone since the few nights ago in the garden; during meals and meetings upon your travels to Kaitain you've exchanged pleasantries and discussed options for trade routes and embargoes, but nothing more. It's a good thing you're seeing him now, you remind yourself - to become acquainted with being seen publicly by his side. You'll land in a few hours and stand together upon arrival; a flicker of anxiety flares within you. 

I don't know why you pretend to know anything about me. 

He says your name, and it gives you that odd feeling in your stomach at his timbre. His eyes don't hold yours for long after greeting you; silently, he resigns himself to watch out over the ocean of space with you. Perhaps it's the sense of foreboding that lingers over your head, or the desperation that crawls through your veins when it hits you; while unlikely, there is still a possibility that you could lose your engagement to Paul in a few days, and by extension, lose the only grasp at power you might have. 

His breathing is low and slow; you match your own breaths subconsciously, unaware of the comfort you find in his presence. "Will you sit in with your father for the drawings?" You ask, unsure why he's chosen to visit you before it is time to land and chosen to remain mute; but you are curious to know what he is thinking. It will be more beneficial to be on each other's good side going into the next few days, and it's better to start with tortuous slow talk as to avoid the arguments that are bound to sprout up. 

"Yes," He affirms, "But not for the trial; only House representatives may sit on the bench." 

You hum, your hands clasping in front of you, smoothing over the rich texture of your dress. You're not sure if it's a relief or another anxiety that Paul will not be sitting front row at your arraignment.

The starlight reflects in his eyes as he stares at you, as if unsure what to do. A violent rush of emotion floods through you - you realize in this moment just how much you've come to rely on him; not in the way you had with Feyd-Rautha, where you'd had to rely on him out of necessity, but because he understands what you are feeling, if not just a tiny bit. 

It's been a lonely many years, and to finally trust someone - with your life, your future - uncertainty blooms in your gut untastefully, but you are finally beginning to let yourself ignore it. You're learning to let things happen as they come; resistance holds more pain than fortune in some cases. It's much easier to ignore your troubles when Paul's standing beside you, watching the stars silently. 

"I used to get nauseous during space travel." He says quietly; introspectively. The corner of your lip quirks; you haven't felt too good yourself since setting off on the ship. You debate even responding, but curiosity piques you as you turn to regard him.

"Have you traveled off-planet much?" You ask. You've only ever been to Sabberon, Giedi Prime, and Caladan; Though once, when you were just barely fifteen, you convinced your father to take you to one of the smaller moons under the jurisdiction of your House, but fell ill and had to stay home. 

He shrugs with one shoulder in that peculiar way he does, shaking his head. "Not particularly, but I've gone with my father to High Councils and meetings on Kaitain." 

You nod, considering. "Is it really just one big city?" You ask, willing to play a pleasant game of small talk. His eyes are locked on a particularly bright star in the distance. Paul's response is thoughtful, his expression distant as he recalls, "It's mostly Corrinth City," he muses, choosing his words carefully. "There's certainly more variety than just buildings, but the parks and vegetation they have lack authenticity."

A wistful smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you remember the natural beauty of your home planet, impressed by Paul's fascination with different cultures and planets. "Fresh air." You mutter. He watches you as you turn back to the glass, toying with the necklace in your hands. "Giedi Prime is similar," you confide, a touch of bitterness seeping into your words. "Not a single part of nature there that wasn't synthesized."

It's quiet for a heavy moment in which you're thrust into black and white memories of thick air, an oppressive sun, unwelcoming glares and hisses. 

There's a brief pause as he considers his next words, a thoughtful furrow appearing between his brows, "I can't imagine what it must have been like," he admits, his tone gentle. "But I admire your resilience."

It's not a particularly enticing subject; the thought of Feyd-Rautha has you seeing red, and the prospect of it happening in a setting like you're about to be in is sickening to you. You are tired of people repeatedly telling you that you're resilient or strong after being forced to survive such tragedies; there is nothing irrepressible about it when enduring is the only choice. You sigh, "Maybe one day people will stop telling me how strong I am." 

He turns to look at you in your peripheral. "And what would you have them tell you instead?" He questions. 

You find yourself interested in the small glint that reflects within his green stare; attention fully on you, you've never particularly noticed what Hestia had once said to be true: There is a side to Paul which enjoys a small bit of humor, however odd it may be. And perhaps you are starting to recognize a similar side within you.

A pang of longing washes over you suddenly; a selfish wish. To enjoy your youth while you still have it grasped within your hands, to relish in the attention of the handsome boy who stands before you - no matter who he is - and to bask in the wealth and prosperity of the house you're marrying in to. When you were eighteen, before leaving Sabberon, you would have felt overjoyed to have such a connection with your future husband. Even in the eclipse of your anxiety of the days to come, a resentment grows within you - towards everything, perhaps, that threw you into the midst of crimes you did not commit, to have to answer the call for your family after those who cast it killed them. 

"I don't know, maybe something shallow and complementary for once? That they like my hair, or the dress that I'm wearing." Your voice is tired - less sardonic than usual, though, and you find a kind of warmth within it. You shrug, "What do people usually tell noble ladies like me?" 

Paul stares at you, and for a moment you flounder under the scrutiny: have you just embarrassed yourself, for acting so childish? But then, who is to say you shouldn't act childish, when your young adulthood has been so tainted and tarnished? 

His small grin eases your worries quickly and even stirs something deep within you; you've never seen his expression so relaxed, so pleased except in dreams; The thought sends your stomach flipping. "Well, I do like your hair." He says simply, shrugging.

You send him a flat glare, ignoring the heat in your face at the blunt compliment. This is certainly untread ground. At your expression, Paul shrugs, pointedly staring at your knife that lies untouched by your resting area. "To be fair, if someone tried to compliment your appearance I believe you'd carve their tongue out."

You scoff, "Just because you think I'm some monster-" 

He doesn't let you go off on another tangent this time; he dares interrupt you instead, tilting his head as if to prove a point. "-And as for your dress," he added, his tone teasing as he takes the time to take in your appearance, "I like the color. But I'd say it pales in comparison to the woman wearing it."

 You roll your eyes at the cliché, the way his grin looks innocent and boyish in the starlight, and you shake your head. Concealing your heated cheeks with a glare, you huff, "I should cut out your tongue for that. That was painful." 

"I'm simply following your orders, my lady." He defends, hiding a small laugh. His own amused smile looks completely foreign and quite beautiful upon his features, you can't look away. "Shallow and complimentary." 

"I didn't mean it like that." You mutter, crossing your arms. He turns towards you; the viridian of his uniform is striking against the matte architecture around you. "You seem not to know what you want." He shakes his head. 

This is, for some reason, sobering. 

You clear your throat, smile dying down as your thoughts spiral, concern growing the closer you close in on Kaitain.  

You hadn't acted much like a noble lady, especially when you'd arrived; though Duncan does not hold it over you, the look on everyone's faces after they'd seen the claw marks you'd left him is fully ingrained into your memory. You'd lashed out, been cold and distant, unwelcoming. Even as Paul tries to navigate through the thick haze of both of your dreams, you've been difficult - but you've come to understand that his introspective nature, which you initially perceived as snootiness, is just introversion and a sharp mind.  

"I may not act like it all the time," you say smally, unsure who you're admitting it to - him, or you - "but I am very grateful for your help. Your house has shown more kindness than I deserve. And I'm sorry for the times that I seem less than so." 

Like in the garden the other day, you almost add; hesitating, you let the words hang above your head. It's a hard thing, to trust him with your future. Despite the uncertainty that looms over you both, there's a quiet reassurance in his presence - even as he takes a step back from the window and looks towards the hall. 

He doesn't say anything, but the corners of his lips uptick in a gentle smile. 

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The weather is warm and sunny when Paul steps out of the space port.

The House Atreides is received by members of the Imperial House; Paul's father pulls one of the men into a tight embrace for a moment as he watches, a smile growing on his father's face. Each one of them wears a mask, even you; Paul stares on at the people before him with his chin up, just as he was taught in his youth. 

You stand next to him, his father on his right and his mother on the other side. The sun burns brightly today - it's about midday, and though he is exhausted from travel, Paul's gaze is immediately drawn to the grandeur of the cityscape; the bustling city that reflects in your hairpiece as you tilt your head in his peripheral.

There are towering spires of gleaming metal - gold, too - and glass that stretches towards the heavens, reflecting the fountains below them. The fountains adorn the main plaza where a convoy waits to shuttle the house to the lodgings -  cascading waters create a soothing symphony amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. 

The entire walk, you stand beside him, your back straight as ever; your eyes are wide with awe at the vibrant energy of the city. Banners and posters line the boulevards, boasting of the Trade referendum; convoys with tinted shields carry other Noble Houses to and fro under the watchful gaze of the large conference building that towers above the other theaters and galleries. 

Paul never cared too much for a large city, preferring the sparce Cala City with its docks and canals. 

The ride to the accommodations is filled with views, too: grand theaters and lush parks, each more impressive than the last - a gentle breeze, barely a cloud in the sky above all the skyscrapers, statues of previous Corrino Emperors watching down the boulevards with golden stares.

His parents murmur gently in front of him - you, however, stare out the window solemnly, your eyes stuck on the large building in the distance: The Imperial Opal Palace.

There is a worry between your brows that does not subside the entire trip towards the accommodations; to save your dignity, Paul pretends to not see it. 

He is likewise stuck with a sense of apprehension for the days ahead, but doesn't dare voice his thoughts out loud. He's spoken with his father already about his concerns - The political landscape of the Landsraad is fraught with tension now more than ever; every decision made during the referendum will have far-reaching consequences. Not to mention, the very present chance that, after the arraignment, you may be stripped of your House's land and wealth - most of which was absorbed by the Harkonnens but some of which still remains on Sabberon.

Blinking away drooping eyelids, Paul rests his chin in his palm. Sleeping has become quite a chore as of late, and he's found that more often than not, each slumber leaves him less rested than before.

It's only thirty minutes until you're being received again at the gates of their lodgings; A plethora of people in uniform who bow to the members of House Atreides and their staff before shaking hands, pressing small kisses to you and his mother's knuckles. You look stricken with panic; though your face is completely schooled and placated, he can see in the tenseness of your neck and the way your eyes flicker sharply that you've found that feeling again - to run. He almost feels it, too. 

Glancing sideways at you while staff directs everyone to their quarters, Paul feels his hand brush against yours; a fleeting accident, but the look you send him before entering your own quarters is less than chilly - he turns forward, leaving you without a word when a maid gestures him down a different hallway. 

The days on Kaitain are long and filled with conferences, galas, and 'town halls' in which Paul takes diligent note of every single person, who they are, and what their stance is on the upcoming voting; His father insists on debriefing each evening and then again in the morning. There is little time for rest and even less time for speaking with the others. 

Paul cannot help but miss the routine of life on Caladan; perhaps he's grown keen to the architecture that has held up his entire life - intricate windows and hexagonal wooden floorboards that creak every third left foot - but the streets and buildings of Corrinth City are much less pleasant and too gaudy for his taste. 

The sun is more inviting on this planet; he decides the intermittent gloom that creeps into Castle Caladan might have put an even worse damper on the anticipatory moods of him and his House members. 

During supper the second evening, his mother mentions the court building she'd accompanied you to with Thufir earlier in the day. You'd gone to provide your genetic data for the upcoming trial and arraignment, as well as sign the correct paperwork as final heir to your house. Paul has to suppress a look of exhaustion when you make a face at the thought of the courthouse. 

"Was it bad?" His father asks you, a glint of amusement in his eye. You, as you often do, miss the jesting in his voice. "It was perfectly pleasant, I suppose, despite why we were there. I didn't quite like the golden dome, though." 

They love their gold here, Paul thinks. Your eyes flicker to him after a split second and he blinks, somewhat startled by the sudden attention.  

It's over as quick as it came, and dinner sullies on. 

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You don't see much of Paul or Duke Leto in these days leading up to the Referendum; Attending the meetings and councils for the Great Council are forbidden for you. Deemed a person of interest, you are not allowed a seat at this conference; instead you stay back and try to ignore the impending doom growing in your gut. 

The few days between your arrival and the actual Referendum are littered with pointless social gatherings; you observe as Paul attends every single meeting, gala, dinner, and everything in-between with a grace you never actually thought imaginable. He's up bright and early each morning, mumbling deeply at the breakfast table and rubbing the sleep from his eyes while reviewing subjects with his father. Besides the short visit to the court building to provide genetic data, there is nothing for you to do besides wait for the others to return and relay information to you, waiting to hear your thoughts.

There is a play you attend at the opera house that one of the Emperor's daughters is also in attendance to; this is a big buzz for the other Nobles, who you have grown to detest even more through the last few days. Lady Jessica keeps her stay with you when she can but attends several of her own more mysterious meetings off-campus; some that leave you wondering and doubting, spending hours of your day staring at the wall, trying to recover the full knowledge behind the Shortening of the Way.

Hestia was unable to come with you, and though you enjoy the company of your maid, she is quite jumpy around you, and stares with fear at the knife that sleeps beside you on your pillow. Despite being around many, you still feel alone - more than you have in a while. Perhaps that is why you fall asleep so early the night before the Referendum.

Perhaps that is why you dream what you dream. 

Your feet slap bare against the cold floor of the halls; your breath comes, but it is ragged. 

If Giedi Prime's atmosphere was capable of it, you'd imagine a harsh ice storm slamming against the echoing walls, berating and mocking your racing heart. Plumes of clouded breaths betraying you as you pant, holding a shaky hand to your lips as you turn your neck. 

A distant shout; His voice rolls, feet sliding down the same hallway upon which you crouch; Your heart thunders in your chest, fear striking you as the dull heat in your stomach grows lower, aching in your core. 

You should not feel excited for what is to come - but something dark in you dares Feyd-Rautha to come near you, to try and best you in combat; you, unlike the others he fights, are not drugged. 

Despite your fear you're as sound as ever tonight, because it is your nameday. And you know what the Harkonnen grooms gift to their betrothed on their first nameday spent together - it is strapped to your waistband, sheathed and perfectly pristine. 

After tonight, that blade will weep with blood.  

A deep chuckle through the walls; you slide as quietly as possible from shadow to shadow, the billowy dress skirt you don providing no ease. Perhaps another day, you'd find this entire thing a complete waste of time - if Feyd-Rautha felt the need to exercise his control over you, he need not look further than, say, your living quarters, which were small and attached to his; the slaves they gave to serve you, with their tongues cut off; the complete regulation over anyone you come into contact with; the times you go to the arena and train or fight. 

Every part of your life, he can control - except one. 

One part of you, nestled deep down from the last few years on Sabberon with your mother holds onto the power of sex; a power of yours that Feyd-Rautha yields to quicker than anybody else. 

It is not exactly true, either, to say that he takes things of that nature from you unwillingly; though he'd probably enjoy to anyways. Because the worst part of it all is that deep down - in the evenings, when the shadows glint over his brow bone, in the mornings, when you agree to paint him before he goes to the arena, when that smooth chuckle echoes in your chamber, when you take down yet another competitor in the arena and you meet his hungry eyes, or even when his hand wraps around your throat - you like it. You love that deep arousal, the simmering fear that bubbles into hunger.

You've begun to crave the darkness that spills out of him, relish in the feeling of him on your body far after he's gone. 

Feyd-Rautha's appetite cannot be satiated; he is hungry for you, for warm skin against his, constantly. He has his Harpies, and you are thankful for that; without them you fear you'd have to kill him in his sleep. 

Tonight is different, though - because you have just celebrated the first steps in a long-seated tradition of House Harkonnen and are now hiding in the depths of the stronghold, hiding away and hoping your betrothed cannot find you. 

The walls creak, hallways groan; something disgustingly personified about some of the areas of Barony's Castle that sets your skin on edge. Fingers shakily skim over the leather hilt of your new blade - curved, silver and foreign, it is engraved with an odd language that you do not wish to read. 

Suddenly, a chilling laugh echoes through the empty halls; back flying rigid, shivers wash over your spine. Freezing in your tracks, your eyes scan the darkness for any sign of movement, knowing he is much closer than you'd wished. 

You've made it - from what you can tell - a long time running from Feyd; he grows impatient with every breath, every step - though you are not on your way towards either of your quarters, you wish you had been. There is a dull ache that has sprouted in your anticipation that you know Feyd-Rautha will be eager to satisfy your arousal after the ritual; though you are unsure if either of you will be in a state good enough for it. 

You hear a whisper around a corner and shrink back further into the shadows of the room you've slid into. Across your vision lies a grand table, its legs a thick dark wood with a glossy finish in the moonlight. 

And then, like a specter, his shadow slides up against the backlit hall - casting a tall frame over the glint on the table. You resist a gasp, your eyes pealing over the twin knives that hang dauntingly in his grasp. "Come out, little pet," he taunts, his voice a sinister whisper. "There's no use hiding. I can smell your fear."

He might be bluffing, but you're not sure; there is a part of you that has fear quaking through your bones and nearly sets your teeth to chatter - but a larger part of you is ravenous, hungry for a chance to get your hands on him. 

You press yourself against the cold stone wall, heart pounding in your chest as you make a quick plan; you're not foolish enough to believe you are any match for Feyd-Rautha in your current state of panic - But still, you refuse to give in to despair; You might be able to outwit him for just a bit longer. 

He draws closer, entering the room. The footsteps echo ominously in the silence and send a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a silent prayer to the void, you dart down a narrow corridor, footsteps quick and light as you seek refuge in the darkness. But Feyd-Rautha is relentless in his pursuit, his laughter echoing through the halls as he gives chase.

"You can run, little mouse," he calls, his voice filled with cruel amusement. "I'll still find you."

Desperate, you press yourself into the shadows, not daring to breath as you wait for him to pass; then, with a surge of courage, you spring from your hiding place, drawing your knife from its place at your hip.

For a brief moment, your blades clash; he, with a small light of shock in his dark eyes, and you with fury and anger. You're too weary from running for over an hour - he, on the other hand, had adopted a leisurely stroll through the castle he's known for years longer than yourself; barely winded, he attains the upper hand in moments. 

You get several cuts in; he, per tradition, does not have a shield on and takes the pain with a glinting smirk.

You relish in the crimson that beads at the seam of each strike.

But you are too little, too late; in a sudden blur of motion, he is upon you, his frame crashing into yours with a force that sends you sprawling to the cold stone floor.

The impact is harsh; you squint your eyes to ward off the dizzy spell that accompanies the ache in your skull. For a moment, you lay there, stunned by the impact and mind reeling as you struggle to catch your breath. Feyd-Rautha follows you to the floor swiftly- you feel his weight pressing down on you like a jolt of electricity.

It's a sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced before; a heady mix of fear and desire, arousal and revulsion, all swirling together in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that makes you scream out, exhausted and petrified. Feyd-Rautha's hands roam over your form, one blade still in his fist; lifting the tip of it, he traces the curve of your jawline gently. You gasp at the cold metal, the sweet sharpness slicing gently down your cheekbone. When the blood pebbles, his tongue is there to lap it up; a shaky sigh you admit into his ear lets him grunt and from there, he's all but forgotten the purpose of the hunt itself. 

You, foolishly, drop your blade in a last-ditch hope he will too; instead he leans just so, dragging the curved knife over your neck and down between your breasts, where he begins seamlessly slicing your dress down the middle. You squirm under his thighs; not for discomfort - no, that would be too sane - but in desire, your body alight with a primal hunger you cannot deny. 

Your mind rebels against the intrusion, screaming out; you should push him away, fight back against the overwhelming tide of desire threatening to consume you - but why shouldn't you? He will be your husband one day - there is nothing wrong about satisfying your desires with him. Perhaps it will distract him from his task.

You yield easily; into his lips, a whisper against sharpened black teeth and a hungry growl. Your body melts against his touch in a dizzying haze of surrender and desire - "Have you ever tried spice, my pet?" You think he asks. You shake your head, body trembling as the knife lowers across your waistline, nicking against the pair of underwear you don. Your hips buck with desire in response. 

He hums, tongue sliding from your bleeding cheek to your chest; teeth marking you as he chooses to do every night; over the cacophony of yellows, blues, purples, blacks and browns. He tsks into your throat as he throws the blade to the ground; having cut open your dress you are nearly bare for him, spread out and eager on the stone floor. "When we go to Arrakis we will have it." He promises; an odd thing to remark but you can barely focus as he presses his length, hard and eager, to your heat.  

Your eyes close, trying to visualize where your knife's gone, and where his are; because at some point, he will have to finish the job, and you will be prepared. A harsh twist of your budding nipple has your back arching, pain and pleasure flaring within you. 

"Are you listening to me?" He growls. You yelp in pain, hand slapping him hard across the face. His eyes roll back as he inhales sharply; a twitch as he roll his hips against you. "I'd listen better if your cock were inside me." You dare say, fed up with waiting; you glare impatiently as he stares with pupils so wide they swallow your next words. A hand on your throat, pressing you into the ground with a snarl. 

"When I am inside you, you tend to forget your own name." He grunts into your ear, hand fumbling with his own belt; with anticipation you move against him, hand snaking down to pull his length from his slacks. 

"You caught me," You breathe into his ear, risking a reminder of the game you'd been set to play and how deliciously it'd been forgotten. "Claim your prize, na-Baron." 

He does. 

Unfortunately for you, you are not as lucky as you'd hoped after Feyd enters you. Indeed, minutes later when you are at the very apex of your own pleasure and he is just about to find his, he must come to his own senses; and that is very unfortunate for you. 

Your legs tightening around his hips, back arched and bare chest pressed against the rough texture of his tunic, you barely feel his hand slip from your throat and upwards, to your left above your head. If you'd opened your eyes, you'd have seen the sadistic smirk upon his face when he thumbed the virgin blade, as your breaths of satisfaction fogged it up. 

You feel it very presently when it happens. 

You've hit your high; spasming, gasping, fingernails drawing blood in streaks across Feyd-Rautha's scarred back, yet you feel the blade as it pierces through your skin. 

You freeze for a moment and your eyes widen; he's watching you, eyes fanatic and excited as he plunges the blade just between your ribs; just so, shallow enough to avoid serious injury but still enough to stake claim. You scream louder than you ever have before. He moans along with your curdled, cracking voice as he slows his thrusts, your legs spasming and arms pushing him away in shock and pain. 

His spend leaks from you as you gasp, hands shaking as blood seeps from your torso, hatred coursing through your very veins. How dare he defile you, take your own virgin blade and stain it with your own crimson; you're luckier than most Harkonnen brides, perhaps if only for the fact that you knew of this ritual before it began, but you are filled with a newfound hate for your betrothed. 

It doesn't make it any less real when the wound heals but the scar does not; the feeling of Feyd-Rautha's tongue lapping your blood never quite subsiding even years later.  

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The day of the referendum finds Paul in an extremely dreary mood.

He is plagued by a horrific dream - one he knows is more of a memory - and cannot bring himself to eat breakfast, stuck avoiding your stare all morning as the members of House Atreides break fast together.

There is no time to speak with you about what you dreamt, but the fear that has clawed in the back of his mind - what is being set up for us? - is starting to wage a serious war within him.

The minutes tick by in droves as Paul's mind whirs; calculating constantly- your eyes, flashing to his every time he thinks about you, as if you know. You couldn't possibly know, though? 

His mother stares at him intently, too; a gaze that he'd usually just find mildly concerning but has since grown with every day pushing towards the outcome of this trip. 

His father discusses the plans drawn from the previous day with you and you're perceptive; insightful as you double-check Gurney and Thufir agree with your opinion on fruits exports at the end of summer harvest, should the redrawn routes go less in the House's favor. At one point, to Paul's surprise, you even coax a short laugh out of Gurney and the Duke. 

But Paul is too consumed to tune in himself. 

Chewing on his lip, he sticks a slice of melon between his teeth and chews half-heartedly, struck by another bout of confusion concerning the entangled dreams. 

At first, he had considered the possibility that it was some manipulation by the Bene Gesserit. Something that was cast by the Reverend Mother and carried out by his mother - a subtle ploy to influence your relationship, to harden the bond that was indeed barely there at all. This can't be, though; Paul has grown up his entire life preparing to marry a complete stranger, as is requested by almost every noble person in the known universe - why, then, wouldn't they trust him to carry through with it, even if he had once believed you to be a spy? There is no dire need to ensure the marriage would happen - both of you have admitted your reluctance, but not once have you nor him declared to refuse the union.

But this last dream was a memory, he's sure; and he wasn't in it, which implies many things he wish not unpack presently. Not to mention that even his mother, with all her training and abilities, has never found a semblance of this kind of connection, through conscious or subconscious, with him. 

A stroke of concern clouds his mind at this; might this be a manifestation of his Mentat abilities - some latent aspect of his training that allowed him to perceive the world in ways others couldn't? To see into your mind and, in turn, project his into yours?

Paul's eyes accidentally find yours again; he casts his gaze to his plate, recalling unpleasantly the blood-curdling scream you'd let out as that same knife you still carry was plunged into your ribs. A sense of unease stirs deep within his core.

Resolutely, there are other matters to attend to that are more time-sensitive. He and his father are informed that their transport has arrived, and so with tight nods and farewells, they leave for the final addendum. 

Paul will have to ask Thufir about these concerns after the convention; But for now, Paul tucks the question away in the recesses of his mind, awaiting the opportunity to seek answers.

The chamber hums with anticipation as Paul sits attentively beside his father - looking over the crowd, he notes representatives from each of the Great Houses Major and Minor of the Landsraad, along with delegates from the Spacing Guild and stakeholders of the Imperium fill nearly every seat in the grand hall, their voices a low murmur punctuated by occasional bursts of conversation.

He can only imagine how it will feel for you tomorrow; each face staring down at you as you perch on a stool, subjected to answering for the family that never answered you. He bites his lip, recalling the trunk he'd requested be brought with them on the trip to Kaitain; perhaps you could use a distraction tonight from what's to come - or would that just make you more skittish, more ready to bite any hand near you? 

He hopes you aren't agitated by what he'll offer this evening - don't you deserve to enjoy at least one part of this whole trip, even if the worst may come in the morning? Paul suppresses a groan, wondering when any of that ever started to really matter to him. 

The lights are too bright and it makes his eyes squint; drawing, somewhat unintentionally, to an unpleasant splattering of black and paled, sickly skin just several rows away.

His spine straightens, stomach curdling. 

"House Harkonnen." He whispers; his father hears it, though, and his eyes trail over to the grotesquely gigantic man who takes up two seats - the machine suspending him as he reposes with several others around him. Memories, faint and not his, flash in his mind and disgust trickles through his veins.

Paul flares in fury; His father sighs, "Paul, you mustn't start anything." 

As if he was going to walk up and slit Baron Harkonnen's throat in the middle of the Referendum?

He grits his teeth, "I won't." He says calmly, eyes stinging from the stare he casts. 

A deep-seated rage simmers within him even as the meeting begins; fueled by a sense of injustice and a fiercely warm burning in his chest when he thinks of you- left to fight alone for years. The Harkonnens represent everything he despises: cruelty, deceit, and a complete disregard for the well-being of others - his House's deepest enemy, the vilest of beings. 

Paul maintains his composure and pays attention to the council, but an extremely violent hatred gnaws at him relentlessly. Is one of those heads glinting in the fluorescents Feyd-Rautha? Will you have to stare into his eyes as the charges are read to you tomorrow? 

His fingers twitch, but he does not dare disrupt the meeting. Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike.

Things do not get better after this. 

One by one, the representatives from each House cast their votes, their voices ringing out in the vast hall. Paul watches on with a sinking feeling as House after House sides with the proposed changes; Not necessarily a sealed fate for the economy of House Atreides, but certainly putting it at risk should the Baron decide to leverage his holdings.

After a recess, the final votes are tallied; Imperial Mentats, their eyes flashing, approve of the calculations. The presiding official steps forward - Paul, too lost in his thoughts of your dream last night, had missed the man's name - and addresses the gathered delegates.

"Esteemed members of the Landsraad, members of the Imperium," he begins, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The new spacing trade routes have been decided."

Paul's mind whirls with possibilities as the herald of change continues, "The routes are set to transform, with a large expansion through the Epsilon Opiuchi system and the Campas system," the herald announces, "along with direct routes through the Core Worlds of the Imperium." 

As the implications of the announcement sink in, Paul feels a bizarre wash of calm; If nothing changes within the proprieties of the surrounding systems, the new routes present opportunities for expansion and growth. On the other hand, they also represented a shift in the balance of power within the Imperium; the Spacing Guild is in the Harkonnen's palm and the risk of the Baron leveraging this against the rest of the Landsraad is concerning.

Paul pushes through his mental calculations to admit that despite the changes, there are still open routes they could take without relying solely on Spacing Guild transportation if the market becomes saturated. With a quick turn to his father, he makes eye contact with Gurney. "What do we do now?" Paul asks, voice barely a whisper. His father's jaw is tight.

"We adapt." He responds. 

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You're in the beginning stages of panic when the request comes. 

Having bathed and taken a good thirty minutes to stare at the wall, letting your insides eat you alive in apprehension of tomorrow, you're startled when your handmaid comes and informs you the Lord Paul Atreides has requested your presence in his chambers.

Your brows furrow; it's much too late for that, but you are certain you'll go crazy if you spend the evening on your own. 

You barely blink, hair still drying as you slip on a night gown, following the woman down the hall. Your anxiety is gnawing on you from the inside; and how does Paul seem to find you in every moment, with any weakness you may find? Several times before he's taken the grace to check in on you, be it out of duty or order by his parents or simply his good will and empathy, you are caught off-guard each time and still keenly unsure how to react.

Supper this evening was an affair dampened by the recounting of the official Referendum outcome; an event which boasted very little confidence in your small group considering the possibility of Harkonnen route monopoly. You’d barely touched your food and Paul looked more trouble than he normally does (another feat, considering the constant analysis he seems to impose upon his mind at any moment). In fact, you do wish to speak more about it- and freely, if you dare say so, without the hawk ears of the Sisterhood nor the political influence of the others to weigh in. You'd like to hear what Paul really thinks about it. 

When you do enter Paul's room, you stare, bewildered, at the sight before you. 

It's certainly not what you expect. 

The table, positioned just near the lit hearth, is gaudy and full of at least five wine bottles - two fine crystal glasses rest, untouched, next to them. 

Paul sits, his expression somber, as he uncorks one of the bottles; with a pop, the rich aroma of the wine fills the air and you tilt your head, walking cautiously further. 

This is certainly not what you'd expected.

 "Celebrating with a few bottles of wine, are we?" you remark, tone laced with bitterness. 

Paul looks up, meeting your gaze with resignation. "There's little else to do but drink." he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of irony. This is not necessarily true - this planet is full of parks, theaters, galleries, clubs, even. Paul seems uninterested in this tonight, though, and you barely got yourself over to his own chambers without disassociating for less than thirty seconds - there's not a chance the two of you will be venturing out into the Kaitain air tonight. You've got quite a big day ahead of you tomorrow. 

You take the seat opposite him, body heavy with worry. "I suppose." you concede, fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you watch him pick up the bottle. "Your hard work's all but finished."

He doesn't respond to the jab and it makes you feel even worse.  

"You told me once that you've never tried wine." He states simply, as if you weren't teetering on the edge of the worst day of your life, "I thought you'd like to taste." He says, tilting the bottle into your glass; the liquid flows viscously, a deep maroon color that reminds you of blood. You suppress the warmth that blows through your chest at this, surprised he remembers those off-handed few sentences you exchanged so many moons ago.

"They taste mostly the same to me, but I prefer red." His eyes don't leave the crystal, watching as it stains with the dark color. 

You're so shocked - bewildered - and exhausted that you can only grin; a true, unimbued smile, because you do not want to think about what will happen tomorrow, and perhaps Paul can see that. 

Looking at the glass, you bite your lip: you should have just stayed in your quarters and gone to sleep; But you don't necessarily want to be alone, either.

You wait until he's filled his own glass and then clink the rim of yours to his; watching as he lifts the liquid to his lips. His eyes flicker, lifting a brow when he sees you hesitating. "It's not poison." He mutters dryly. You sigh, taking a sip yourself as you avert your eyes. 

It's bitter, but not in an unpleasant way - your gums tingle slightly, the smell of oak and a deep hint of pitted fruits. Cherries, plums, dark licorice... It almost tingles on your tongue. Spicy, deep.

You're pleasantly surprised as you swallow, making a noise of content. It feels warm all the way down and leaves a peculiar taste on your tongue after. 

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Paul's lips are stained a reddish color by the end of the third glass.

Things seemed to slip from your grasp by the tasting of the second bottle - a Zincal, from the Southern Continent of Caladan. It was much more robust, and though Paul doesn't know much about wine he has studied his homeplanet's culture enough to impress any guest who visits - and talks you through each tasting as if he were a professor. It almost makes you want to laugh - the first sign that you are not completely your sane self. 

The second sign is the low simmering heat that begins to grow the second that Paul leans back in his seat and stretches his shoulders back; the uniform from earlier discarded he is still in his under-tunic, a white number that was more unbuttoned than when you'd arrived earlier in the night.

His chest and exposed throat, gleaming and flushed from the heat of the room and the tannins of the wine, glisten gently. Your heart pounds hard in your throat; is this what being intoxicated feels like? 

You're sure your lips are just as purple-stained as Paul's, but your mind is too fuzzy to consider this at all. You feel warm, surely the fire in the hearth is too high - your cheeks are on fire and your mind is more at ease and foggy than you've even felt in your dreams. 

There's that distinct feeling again that you'd had days ago on board the ship before landing at Kaitain; like yourself, but more careless, free. Content, despite the doom that rumbles in the near distance. 

On the fourth tasting - a bubbly white wine that is crisper than snow and delicate as lace - you feel yourself loosen, opening to Paul and letting words flow freer than you'd ever found before; he listens with gentle, large eyes as you sprawl on the floor, having taken the liberty to get more comfortable in his chambers. 

"I met the Harkonnens when I was young." You explain, leaning back to stare at Paul through your lashes. "My mother was instructed to have me mate with Feyd-Rautha when I came of age, so we saw each other twice before I was sent there. Once at ten, then at fourteen."

There is a noise of disgust from the bedpost.

Paul lays, un-chivalrously sprawled on his bed; head upside-down, his dark curls hanging in tendrils towards the floor. His features, handsome and sharp, look most foreign upside-down, even as you sit on the rug, toying with the strings that have come loose with time.

His eyes are heavy with the effects of the wine, the room smells like cinnamon and cherries. You stifle a laugh at his noise and even more so at the look upon his face at your choice of words. Your hands move over your face but you don't really know if you have control over them, a feeling of lost control sending nothing but amusement to your muddled brain. 

"It was a Bene Gesserit match?" He asks blurrily, but you know he knows the answer. You laugh - had you been slightly less inebriated, you'd never dare let out such a girlish thing, especially in his presence, but you can't help it. 

You swipe hair away from your eyes. "Of course, it was." You sigh, leaning back to support yourself on your palms, head tilted sideways; His brows are incredibly full and move oddly, as if he's trying to make you laugh again. "As is ours."

It's a disquieting thought - one that sends you reeling through your drunk mind, trying to recall the Kwisatz Haderach and all you've learned about it. He seems to be lost in thought, too- his brows have settled low upon his lids in a calculating look, his hands laying neatly folded over his chest.

His face is red; perhaps from the hearth, or the wine, or from laying with the blood rushing to his head - it occurs to you with a bitter jealousy that he looks pretty even like this. 

"It's late." You observe, watching the clock as it chimes; Paul hums in agreement, lazily tilting his glass until the remnants drop onto his tongue. You watch on with a fuzzy, aimless interest.

You should return to your bed- you'll be up in the morning early to be escorted to court.

A pang of fear and resistance courses through you. 

You don't want this evening to end - or, you don't want the morning to begin. Plus, leaving Paul's quarters would require fighting to walk all the way back without rousing anybody else and settling in to bed on your own. And you quite like the blissful ignorance the wine has given you; an excuse to just be you for a night, not the disgraced and fallen noble woman, not the betrothed-twice and likely never again. 

You sigh. "I don't enjoy sleeping like I used to." You hum, finishing your own glass and reaching for the half-empty bottle beside you. Your voice is syrupy and sweeter than usual, and it floats warmly in the room. 

Paul watches your motions with slight amusement, eyes widening microscopically when you try to gnaw off the cork with your teeth. You suppose you’ll be embarrassed by this in the morning.

"I can't imagine why that could be." He muses, voice barely more than a murmur. You like his voice, you realize; it's quiet, deep, but contemplative. 

You shrug, finally plying off the cork, blinking in surprise when your vision shifts with the movement. The vertigo reminds you of the feelings you find in those more pleasant dreams, the ones with Paul; the ticklish feeling of lips fluttering around your throat, a playful nip of teeth against your breast, the tight grip of hands upon your hips, pinning them down - that must be the reason for the words to fall from your lips so carelessly. "Some of my dreams I don't mind." Your words almost echo in the chamber, the fire crackling and spitting in the silence that follows. 

This captures his attention, his eyes snapping to your frame quick; you ignore the gaze, focusing intently on pouring yourself another helping of the wine. This one, the fifth bottle, is more sweet - dessert wine, Paul had explained. 

He doesn't respond to your words, but his lips part in a soft exhalation of breath. 

You offer the bottle to him and numbly he nods, as if still reeling from your admission; you try to ignore the heat in your cheeks at such a profession, the weight of the words occurring to you only after you've said them.

Perhaps due to your state, you finally let yourself consider the thought that's been actively repressed for days: If he's been dreaming similar things as you, does that mean he dreams of... all of it? How does he feel about that?

Your eyes flicker to his hands, how deftly they move as he cracks a few knuckles - the vein that trickles down his arm, the creamy smooth skin that glows against the fire light. Does he see you similarly when he observes you in waking hours? Does he, in turn, dream about your sighs, about how it may feel to run his fingers through your hair as you lie on that white sheet in the middle of nowhere, to touch your heat and feel your desire? 

You’re unsure what flares hot in your stomach at the concept; you can’t find it in you to care.

I don’t mind some of my dreams either.

The voice is low, no more than a distant rumble of thunder in your mind, a decisive declaration; with a fuzzy stare you register that his lips don’t even move. 

Your blink is syrupy as you watch him with intrigue, staring under lidded lashes. 

You can't be bothered to move more than a crawl; your head pounds, but there is a warmth within you that spreads like wildfire in the summer when you move. 

He watches you with a stare that sends a shiver of intrigue over you- a predator frozen, watching prey creep forward. It is not what you expect; you expect wide eyes or maybe a blush - his cheeks are already pink, though, and there is something dark and hungry below his hazy, inebriated stare.

"You got me drunk," You say suddenly, blinking down at him. He stares back at you, lips parting - lips that are plush, pink, stained with the red from the very wine he'd brought all the way from Caladan

"Did I?” he asks, skeptical as he watches you upside down. You nod but it feels sloppy. Truthfully, you've never been safe enough to be drunk before, but you feel more safe than you’ve been in a long time here, on this strange planet, with this strange boy. 

He shakes his head, "I told you to slow down," He furrows his eyebrows like he always does, but it looks very peculiar from where you sit before him, "-you're the one who took it as a challenge instead of a warning." 

You blink, eyelashes slow and syrupy; shaking your head, you shrug. He’s right, he did encourage you to slow down, and you did take it as a challenge. You can't help it. 

His lips are glossy - bitten and swollen, "I had to try them all," You say breathlessly, face hot, "-who knows if I'll be able to afford it after this week." At your words, he scoffs gently; you can smell the wine on his breath as it hits your cheeks.

"My wealth will be yours in just a few weeks. As will my name." He argues, eyes cast onto yours. After all this time, you're still hit with the surrealness of it all when it's said out loud. 

You wonder, briefly, how odd you must look from his perspective; perched back on your shins, one hand in your lap and the other holding the bottle you'd intended to give to him.

"If you want wine for every meal, you can have it." He promises; you imagine he'd intended for it to come out teasing, but it comes out deeper. "Whatever you want." He adds. 

It tugs your heart in a way that makes your hair stand on end; you know what you'd do if your legs weren't cemented to the ground, if your lips weren't gravitating towards his own. You'd probably run, against your better judgement.

Or, perhaps that would be the better judgement. 

Whatever you want. 

"I don't know what I want." You admit, your lips parting as you stare at his beautiful, angled jaw; it clenches under your scrutiny before he whispers softly, "That's okay." 

There is a magnetism that pulls you to him like a moth seeking a warm flame. 

Your hand finds itself on his skin before you can think about it. Soft, slightly ingrained with the beginnings of stubble; over his jaw your thumb strokes, feeling the sharp edges that lie below the soft, porcelain skin. To your surprise, he lets you touch him, as if both of you are pulled by some strong force towards the other and cannot stop.

"Is it?" You ask, a whisper under the flickering light of the hearth. “You made it seem like a flaw.” you muse, watching in intent fixation as those very lips move under your finger’s manipulation.

His lips part when your thumb runs over the bottom one, tugging it down curiously. 

“It’s not a flaw,” he mutters in a gentle motion against your thumb; a sensation that is as foreign as it is exciting. The breath that leaves him hits your own lips. When did you lean closer? When did he? 

His eyes are sparkling from this angle and they focus on your lips. You almost voice your doubt, but there is something that is pulling you to him- you are tired of talking, and his face is so incredibly inviting in the firelight.

When your lips press to his, you have to angle your face; the plush bottom lip against your top one feels odd, foreign.

It’s chaste, short as you pull your head away slightly. Heat chases you as you back away, blinking away your surprise; he doesn’t let you get too far though, as his cold fingers slide around your neck to stop you from pulling away. 

Your stomach flutters as he tugs you back against him with fervor; as if this moment was one of forbidden lovers embracing for the very last time. 

Your hands cup his jaw and his hair tickles the goosebumps that run over the exposed flesh of your chest.

There’s nothing in the room but a heavy syrupy scent- did you knock over the dessert wine? Your lips slide against Paul’s and you’re surrounded by his smell, the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair.His lips are soft as he lets out a sigh in your mouth, tongue prodding your lip gently. Your sharp inhale keens your chest forward, coaxing your lips apart as he presses forward into you. 

Everything slides off-kilter. Time starts to melt and warp with every slight movement you make, a low pounding in your head as you tilt your head to taste more of Paul. 

The clock in the corner ticks, but the metronome is skewed and it starts to beat with your heart. 

Pulling away for a moment, you let yourself gather a breath; His fingers are cold but you presently notice how warm the rest of him is- cheeks, jaw, shoulders, everything. 

He’s moved upright on his mattress now; sitting up, he towers over where you perch on your knees, staring up at him with glossy eyes. A starved transgressant begging for salvation from the solemn preacher before you. 

A hand soothes over your hair. Between his knees, your hands settle on his thighs; a heat rolls over in you and a yearning ignites. Paul stares down at you, eyes darkened and glossed over with the sheen of alcohol as he leans down, hand cupping your jaw. 

What are we doing? 

You think it gently, bewildered and surprised; but Paul stops just as his lips brush yours again. He gives you a look that sets unease- had you said that out loud? 

It’s over as quick as it happens- Paul’s mouth has found purchase over your own and has taken the liberty of pushing against the plushness of your bottom lip. 

Something flutters in your stomach; A need for more. His tongue slides against the seam of your lips with a drag of heat and you open for him, pressing further as your hands slide up and over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under your palms. 

But even amidst the dizzying rush of sensations, you feel when Paul breaks the kiss, his warm breath lingering against your lips. The room is at a standstill, but you feel as if you're spinning. 

“You should probably go to bed,” his words are barely audible over the pounding of your heart, the beating in your head. They flutter like the wings of an insect over your lips. 

For a brief moment, clarity pierces through the haze of desire, and a flush of embarrassment washes over you; The arraignment tomorrow, the dreams, the Bene Gesserit, House Harkonnen - all of it hits you in a dizzy spell and you break away from Paul's grasp suddenly, eyes wide. 

Trying to regain your composure you nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his low-lidded, slow gaze. You find your footing as you rise from the floor and to your chagrin, Paul follows; ever chivalrous. 

"I should." You say quietly, righting your hair and dress awkwardly. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late." You grasp for anywhere to hold on to, lest you fall into the chasm that has opened below you. He shakes his head, "It was me who kept you up." He mumbles; laced with sleep and something else. 

He fumbles to open the chamber door, but you're grateful he attempted it before your shaking fingers did. The walk back across the hall to your quarters is shorter than you remember, thankfully; only a few hiccups from you and a few heavy breaths from him before you're standing in front of the large door, a settling of doom clouding around you like a bad thunderhead. 

His hand, having never dared touch you so boldly before tonight, cups your arm gently. Staring at it, your eyes skip over the blurry figure before you; you swear, there's something of a halo lighting up his curls. "It'll be over quick, and we can go home." He says. There's no need to elaborate what he's speaking of; he always knows what you're thinking. 

Perhaps you're too tired to conceal your worries, or you've just finally found yourself capable of admitting it to him. "I'm scared." You mumble. 

His eyes are on your lips - he doesn't kiss you again, but you wonder faintly if he wants to. You'd like him to, you realize. It's a disquieting thought, borne from weeks of tense conversation, long glances, and arguments. How odd to miss the lips of a near stranger. 

He nods shortly, "I know." He says, and it does nothing to quell the raging sea of despair that has resided from its previous numbness. Wine and handsome men can only do so much, you suppose. "I'm going to be there tomorrow." He says, voice low and quiet, still bleeding together from the crimson wine you'd poured. "You may not see me, but I'll be there." 

You can only nod, knowing that tears will come soon; you will be caught dead before Paul sees you cry. You bid him good-night and then lie on your mattress, tears leaking emotionlessly through the cracks in your lashes. 

You are enveloped in fear, worry, hate; numb to whatever just happened in Paul’s chambers and even more numb to what is to come in the morning.

You're not sure how, but you sleep through the night without a single dream. 

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follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

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[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Omg Hiiii! I hope you’re doing great💞 I would just like to request a Drabble of more prince lucio and bodyguard mc😭maybe that scene of their first kiss in the garden? Sksksksk I loved it so much

The Arcana Drabbles: Prince!Lucio and Bodyguard!MC, pt 2

It's been a hot minute since I wrote a kissing scene so uh - bear with me, lol

-----

You've been to plenty of balls before, but always as the bodyguard standing by the wall nearest your golden prince. There was much less to keep track of when your priority was ensuring that he stayed safe (how difficult that was was another matter). Now, though, you're in formal clothes instead of your usual armor, and right in the middle of things with your arm wound through the happy prince's. The wall is starting to look more appealing -

"You having a good time?"

You turn back to your prince, uncertainty wavering behind his excited silver eyes. You can feel his queen mother's gaze boring holes into the side of both of your heads as a bead of sweat slowly trickles down his temple. "Uh ... yeah."

His expression falters a little more. "We could - uh - you don't have to stay, if you don't want to, or! We could sneak into the gardens ... if you want."

"The gardens sound nice," you mumble. His voice cracks in relief as he starts hustling you towards the balcony without an ounce of subtlety.

"Gre-at! That's great. Awesome. Let's go!"

You've seen him nervous and on edge before, but this is a whole new level. Instead of calming down once you two are alone in the moonlight, he seems to only get more agitated. You pause under an archway in the back corner of the rose bushes.

"Are you well, my prince?"

"I'm fine - you know you don't have to call me that, right? I can be Lucio. Just Lucio. If you want."

"I know, Lucio." You smile at him, watching the way he kneads his gloves between his sweaty palms. He must really be worked up about something. "I'm merely double checking."

He lets out a frustrated growl, the seams on his gloves at risk of being ripped. "You don't have to double check, if I say it's okay, it's okay! Don't you get tired of all ... this?"

He gestures feverishly between the two of you before swinging his arms wider to the garden and the distant sounds of the party. You glance back at the palace, the open doors and windows spilling light and music and chatter out into the night. "Tired how?"

He stomps his foot irritably and starts pacing back and forth. "The-the titles, and the protocol, and the damn distance. I don't know what you want because you can't tell me, and I can't tell you what I want because I'm in charge of you!"

You can feel something stirring deep in your chest as he buries his head in his hands with a groan. The hours of sitting by his bed late at night, watching his chest rise and fall as he sleeps under your guard, the constant close proximity you've controlled yourself through, the efforts of the queen to get to know you and show you her distant approval. You'd tried to control the butterflies appearing in your chest through it all, but now you're standing with him all alone in the cool evening air and there's a veritable horde of them being unleashed.

"Do you," you pause, not wanting to misread and overstep your role. "Do you want me to speak to you as Lucio, and not as my prince?"

"YES," he exclaims, before clearing his throat and collecting himself. He swallows and comes to a halt in front of you. "Talk to me like I'm just Lucio. Pretend I'm not the prince for a minute, what am I to you?"

"I don't know if I should say -" Is it really okay to tell him you love him? You've witnessed firsthand how complicated the court can get.

"I'll say then, if you want. But only if you can hear me as Lucio, not the prince. Okay?" He searches your face, wide-eyed and borderline frantic.

"Okay."

"I love you."

He pauses like he's surprised that that's the first thing that came out. You'd smile at his characteristic chaos, but your ears are singing with the confession. He drops his gloves and takes both your hands in his.

"I love you. Not as the prince, just me. I love you, and I want you to kiss me." He gulps, shaky and out of breath like he's sprinted here the whole way from the throne room. "If you want to. Only if you want to."

You nod, slowly, completely caught off-guard for once. "I want to."

"Thank fummhh -"

The words you know the queen would whack him for get cut off by the sudden press of his lips against your mouth. He doesn't give you much space to breathe, tugging at your clothes in a frantic effort to get closer, reaching one bare hand up to cup your face and pull you deeper. It takes a moment to respond, but he melts with a groan as soon as you do. He sags in your hold, putting your years of training to carry him into good use, taking in noisy gulps of air between needy open-mouthed kisses. One arm hooks around your neck and the other around your waist as he blindly tugs you deeper into the bushes.

"You don't know how long I've wanted this," he whispers hot against your cheek. "Let's leave the prince thing out of this from now on."

[bellswlw]

thinking about reader giving ellie a haircut and fucking up the front lol.

"You almost done?" she asked, her head tilted toward the ground as she sat as still as she could in the kitchen of your place.

"You know, I would be if you stopped moving." and as you said it, you were met with the 'snip' that the craft scissors made against Ellie's damp hair.

You weren't amazing at giving haircuts, but you cut your own, and often Ellie's when she asked. Plus, it wasn't like it's as big a deal as going outside and getting ripped apart by infected.

Just then Ellie had let her leg fall still, her foot meeting the ground with a soft thud mid bounce. She hated when people touched her hair, even you. She never really cared for it at all, never really understood why people had made such a fuss about it before the outbreak either.

Who cares if it was short or long or dyed this color or that, or if you liked to wear it this way or that. None of it really mattered to her. It would grow back eventually.

Hers had always been kept pretty short because that's just how she liked it. She never really got bored of it, but it bothered her when it grew just long enough past her shoulders that it would snag on her backpack or get stuck in her armpit.

And she couldn't cut it by herself for shit. She had tried a few times, but it never really came out right. And so, as much as she hated the feeling of her hair in someone else's hands and having to sit perfectly still for nearly 15 minutes, she did it. Because she enjoyed seeing the look on your face after you were finished, swiping the towel from around her neck and revealing a small mirror to you. A small "Ta-da!" always making the mirror shake before she grabbed it.

But this time... this time, you had gotten a little sloppy. Not by a lot, but just enough to clip the smallest amount more than you normally did.

Ellie's bangs had always bothered her when they got too long. They would fall right in front of her eyes, so much so that not even trying to blow them to the side worked.

You gasped, and the second the air entered your lungs you wanted to spit them back out and stall Ellie from jumping back from your touch.

"What? What?" she said, looking up at you with a small aline chunk of her hair missing.

"Oh shit." you said under your breath, and as much as you tried to fight the smile that crept into your face, you broke, letting out a laugh that only made Ellie more nervous.

"Don't laugh. What? What'd you do? Fuck, is it bad? Did you fuck up my bangs?" and she reached from underneath the towel, trying to eye and finger the piece of hair in front of her face.

"No no, don't." and you grabbed onto her wrist before she could touch her hair.

"I can fix it." you said now, and your fingers were combing through it, the other hand clasped against your mouth trying to hold back more laughter.

"This isn't funny. How bad is it? I- you know what, give me the mirror."

"Ellie…”

"No. Give it. I wanna see."

And reluctantly, you handed it over, watching her eyes widen as she took in the sight.

She blinks up at you, her eyes cutting into you so deeply that all you can do is laugh. It looked ridiculous. "I'm sorry." you say as your giggles topple you forward, hanging onto the counter for support.

"No. Never again. Shit- what the FUCK. I didn't even move!" and she's shaking her head at you, the bangs following her movements as they slowly sway side to side lazily.

"I- I'm sorry, okay? Here, let me fix it." and you wipe the tears that had pooled in your eyes suddenly before you stand before Ellie and try to fix her stupid little bangs.

[multifandombitxh]

Midnight Massacre

Pairing: Ghost x Reader (tried to keep it gender neutral)

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort

Warnings: Depictions of violence/blood/death/k*lling, g*ns, knives, bullets, strong language, mentions of s*icide and PTSD

A/N: And I'd fuckin do it again. I'm playing MW2 and I swear to GOD this man has me in a whole chokehold. Lovin' it. I will not apologize. Enjoy lol

It had taken a few minutes for your heart rate to return to normal, the nightmare leaving you in a cold sweat and pumped full of adrenaline. The dreams were never the same, so you never knew what to expect when they reared their ugly heads. One night it could be slow torture from a faceless enemy, the next it could be fire, horrifying screams, and death.

No matter the context, the scenes haunted your sleep on random occasions and left you feeling weak and helpless by the time you woke up. Tonight's dream, however, was especially traumatizing, and it did a number on your perception of reality.

Once you were fully aware of your surroundings again and realized you were awake, you shook the images away and covered your eyes with your palms. Sweat dropped down your spine, leaving a cold trail. You all but ripped your t-shirt off, searched for a replacement in the dark, and settled on a tank top.

With shaking hands you left your designated sleeping area for the night, slipping on your black cargo pants and boots. Leaving behind all thoughts of blood, gore, and the sounds of your friends perishing, you made your way down the dark, dusty hallway.

You'd only joined 141 recently, but it had been long enough now that you weren't exactly considered new blood anymore. One of the more interesting men in the unit had caught your eye from day one, despite the fact that he had little interest in getting to know you on a personal level. In group conversations he rarely engaged you, but one on one was a different story. There had been plenty of nights where the others had gone to bed while the two of you played a little game to see who would cave and take first watch.

It was usually you.

Ghost had a fucking novel of shitty jokes; some crude, some cheesy, some straight up cruel. Every now and then he'd crack one that would have you accepting defeat and taking the first watch of the night. Granted, he always took the second one if you took the first, and vice versa. None of the others dared to complain about this strange ritual, since it left them each with a later watch.

Tonight, Ghost had caved in first, finding your story about summer camp as a teenager unbelievably boring. It did offend you in a way, but at the same time, you knew it would get him to give in quickly. A man can only hear so much about how to make a friendship bracelet in vivid detail, or how to do a proper French braid.

Because of this, it allowed you to get some sleep first, but that obviously didn't work out. You'd all found shelter in a warehouse that wasn't far from your destination, and had to stay the night since the plan had to take place during the day to work. As you traveled down the hall, using the wall to guide you in the darkness, you finally stumbled upon the main area of the warehouse.

A circle of chairs sat in the middle of the room where you'd all gathered earlier that night, where you claimed your victory over Ghost. He was still there in the dim yellow lighting, arms crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes trained forward. Most of his own gear was absent, the only thing covering his torso a thick black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You shuffled into the room, kicking the concrete floor to make your presence known.

"Your watch hasn't started yet," Ghost stated without turning to look at you.

"I'm aware," You replied, leaning against the hallway entrance.

He looked over his shoulder at you, black makeup smudged around his eyes as if he'd just been rubbing at them. "Come to relieve me early, then? Sweet of you."

"Sure," You said, throwing up your hands in defeat. "You caught me, boss."

"Don't get all soft on me now, Sledge," Ghost said, blowing air out of his nose.

The use of your call sign made you visibly cringe; you didn't even choose the damn thing. After running out of amo and breaking your only knife during a firefight, you made do with your surroundings and found a sledge hammer. Needless to say, the unit was shocked at the amount of damage you managed to inflict with the thing. Thus, your call sign was born, and from that moment forward, you were affectionately known as Sledge.

You hated it.

There was nothing worse than a daily reminder of the carnage you witnessed at your own hand.

Shaking off the memory, you made your way over to a table with weapons and amo scattered all about. Rolling your eyes, you carefully examined the guns to make sure they still had their safety on, and made sure every knife was sheathed. After organizing the mess a bit, you snagged a hunting knife and a pistol, tucking them away and looking for the proper ammunition.

"I know you're not actually here to take your watch," Ghost said, his voice dangerously close to your ear. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothing," You shrugged, "Concrete floors are hard on my shoulders. Makes it hard to sleep."

"Sure, sure," Ghost hummed, "Wanna tell me the real reason you're up, Sledge?"

"Quit calling me that, you know I hate it. And no, I'm not telling you."

"Shame. Was hoping you'd tell me Johnny's talkin' in his sleep again."

You threw him a half-hearted smile over your shoulder, now fully aware of just how close he truly was. "Maybe you should go check on him, then. He might be."

His eyes locked with yours and you felt your insides shrink. It was easy to feel small under his gaze, considering he was a brick house of a human being and looked like he ate bullets and nails for breakfast. The mask certainly didn't help, that was for sure. Feeling uneasy with the eye contact, you returned your attention to the table of weapons.

"Y/N, look at me," Ghost whispered.

Hearing him say your name was enough to make you shiver, his accent making it roll off of his tongue like silk. It was nice that he listened to your request to stop calling you by the nickname you despised, considering you'd normally be taunted for expressing your distain for it. Even still, you did your best to ignore him.

"Do you remember which amo we use for these?" You asked, hoping to change the subject and gesturing to your empty gun. "Can't remember to save my life."

"Don't try this with me. Won't work and you know it."

"I always get them mixed up."

"Y/N, look at me, that's an order."

With some reluctance, you turned on your heel, leaned back against the table, and looked up at your lieutenant. His arms were still crossed over his chest, and you couldn't help eyeing the tattoo you hadn't seen before on his forearm. How long had that been there? Realizing you still weren't looking at him, Ghost placed his index finger under your chin and raised your head to meet his gaze.

"If something's going on with you, I need to know," He explained, "If you're not okay, that's something we have to take into account."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," You muttered, shaking your head. "Is anyone in this unit actually okay? I mean, really. I'm pretty sure everyone gets nightmares every now and then, Ghost. I'm fine."

"So it's nightmares, then," He said with a nod, "Could'a just said that."

"Didn't feel relevant."

"Come sit down."

Groaning like a teenager about to be grounded, you followed him over to the circle of chairs, sitting down beside him and crossing your arms. He leaned forward on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. You waited patiently to get the scolding of the century about 'paying attention to your mental health' and 'you know what happens when a soldier starts displaying signs of PTSD'.

But it never came.

Instead, an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. The only sound you could make out was the faintest rain drops that began splattering the old windows of the warehouse.

"Go on, tell us about it," Ghost said after a few moments.

"The nightmare?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're joking, right?"

He didn't respond.

With a deep breath, you turned your head to the side, focusing on the many different objects that dotted the floor before you began.

"It's always different," You sighed, "I'm used to them by now, I can shake them off just fine usually. But this one... I don't know. I woke up, but I was still dreaming. Everyone was here, just talking like normal. These soldiers came out of the shadows and stood behind everyone. One for each of you. They all had guns, and one by one, they just..."

Tears welled in your eyes at the images that flitted through your head, forcing you to shake them away. You rubbed the back of your neck anxiously, taking a small breath and willing away the pain. A large hand closed over your knee, startling you.

When you looked up at Ghost, he had turned fully in his seat to face you. His arm was outstretched as his gloved hand sat carefully on your knee. The gesture made you shift in your seat, and you unintentionally found yourself facing him as well. Something in your subconscious knew he was safe, despite your efforts to avoid this whole encounter.

"Tell me what they did," Ghost said, his tone soft like you'd never heard it before. "Go on."

"Do I really have to say it?" You asked in a weak voice.

"Trust me."

You drew in another shaky breath before continuing, "They executed everyone."

"Sounds pretty serious," Ghost said with a nod, "Then what?"

"I was trying to stop them, but I couldn't move," You recalled as you fought back tears again. "It was like I was stuck in quicksand. I was just... Frozen. All I could do was watch."

"What would you have done?" He asked, "If you could've moved, what would you do?"

Anger bubbled in the pit of your stomach, overtaking the sadness. You balled your fists and dug your nails in hard. "I would've killed them myself. I don't care how long it would take, I'd do it. I wanted to, I'd make them suffer."

"I know you would," Ghost said with a small laugh, "I've seen you take big groups out for less."

"But I didn't," You said, lowering your head.

Ghost stood from his chair to move in front of you, crouching down on the floor in the space between your legs. He had to crane his neck to look up at you, and when you avoided his gaze again, he gently took your chin in his hand and held you in place. With no other choice but to stare into his eyes, you gave in, your shoulders slumping.

"It wasn't real," He said slowly, "If it was, none of those soldiers would have made it out in one piece. But it wasn't real, and it didn't happen."

"That doesn't really make me feel any better," You said with a small, broken laugh.

"How can I make it better?" He asked, his voice just above a whisper. "Anything, just tell me."

"Why do you care so much?" You asked in return, puzzled by his question. It wasn't like him to act like this, and you wondered to yourself if this was some kind of prank. "It was just a dream."

Ghost released your chin and let his hand slide down to your arm, slowly trailing downward until he reached the palms of your hands. When his fingers began lacing between yours, heat flooded your body and you tensed. Sensing this, Ghost loosened his grip and used the pad of his thumb to stroke your knuckles.

"Like it or not, I do care about you," He explained, and you could swear he was smiling beneath his mask. "Nightmares are serious business. I've seen soldiers off themselves over nightmares more times than I can count. I don't want that to happen to you."

"I wouldn't do that," You scoffed, "I don't think I'm capable of that sort of thing, anyway."

"Keep it that way," Ghost said, his tone firm. "You even start thinkin' like that, you come straight to me. That's an order."

"You sure like dishing out orders," You joked, allowing yourself a small smile. "When are you gonna quit telling me what to do, huh?"

"When you start listening," He shot back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Definitely a smile under there, you were sure of it now. "Head back to bed, yeah? I'll take your watch."

"You don't have to do that, seriously-"

"I'm not asking, I'm telling," He cut you off, standing from his spot in front of you and pulling you up with him. "You've had more than enough excitement for one night."

Before you could further protest, Ghost did the unthinkable, pulling you in close by your wrist so you were flush against his chest. Your breath caught in your throat as he looked you over, his eyes trailing over your face, down your nose, and landing on your lips. A different hand snaked around your middle and you froze, his palm pressed flat against the center of your back. When it began sliding downward, you thought you were going to pass out.

For the first time that night, you were just fine with maintaining eye contact, waiting for him to do something, anything. His hand traveled lower and lower until it reached the hem of your pants, one of his fingers lacing through a belt loop.

"Make me a promise, yeah?" He asked in a deep, gruff voice.

You swallowed hard. "Depends on what it is."

Ghost leaned in close until he reached the shell of your ear, his hot breath barely grazing your skin through his mask. Your head was running marathons as you tried to comprehend what was happening, but for whatever reason, you didn't want it to stop. Using what little bravery you had, you dared to reach up and lay your hand over the left side of his chest. Even with the thick fabric in the way, it was easy to make out every detail of the muscle there. He tensed under your touch and held his own breath for a moment.

Ghost released your hand and raised it to his own face. You were sure what he was doing until you felt warm, chapped lips ghosting over the skin of your ear.

He pulled his mask up.

"Promise me you'll keep this between us, love," He murmured, his tone close to that of a purr. When he spoke, his lips made contact with your ear, and goosebumps raised on your skin.

"What if I don't?" You dared to ask, feeling bold.

He fell silent, humming once as the hand on your lower back abandoned its position. For a moment you thought you'd gone too far, and when he removed your knife from it's place on your hip, you took in a sharp breath. It clattered to the floor beside you, the protective case around the blade muffling the sound slightly. Next he took your still empty gun, placing it in his own holster and making a point to shove it in roughly.

"Guess I'll have to make it an order, then."

[thunderroseses]

Uh, I might have gotten to hyper focussed on The dark Side of the Moon lol

Anyways enjoy, this is the longest fanfic I’ve written! Very fun :D

The Dark side of the moon had always been something to be hidden like he was a disgrace among men, never worth the slightest whisper of his name beside the venomous words of Luna when he even bothered being awake during Luna's few break from watching over Earth, when their body became to tired after slaving away to make sure their orbit was intact and Earth's tilt was just right, he wasn't worth having a name of his very own or even an identity beside Luna's dark side always destined to face away from their planet until the very end.

He would never get to shear the joy that sparks in their core as Luna watches Earth's inhabitants go about they're day life, he'd never get to feel the love they so willingly give back to their moon for watching over them all those years, thanking the Moon full heartily for stabilizing their seas and for keeping them safe as they dance under the moon filled sky, many Earthlings have loved Luna for billions of years and well continue loving him for billions more, while Earth and him never get the same respect, Earth can keep Luna (for the most part anyways) in the dark of the Earthlings true statistic nature, it's him who has to hear Earth's soft whimpers long after Luna has fallen asleep, all while not being able to do a dame thing about it. 

He can only slowly orbit as he listen to their planet weep and cry in pain after so many years of abuse, Earth's illusion of grander and endless self-worth being stripped away as soon as the others rest, when there's  no one left to judge him for his tears as they could never understand the sharp, piercing pain Earth feels on a never ending basis, his body becoming numb to the pain as the wars continue on and as his very own materials being use to rip apart his surface pice by pice by the selfish men thinking of their own wellbeing instead of the Earthling they so mercilessly killed.

no other planet could have been begin to understand how it feels, not even Mars who had a Earthling base be set up on his surface, as it's only one compared to billions, none of them knew how it felt to be nothing more then a secret side of someone else, forced to watch as other's live the life you always wanted, to be loved and cherish by few but with their love being stronger then hundreds others, being able to feel their planets arms around you rest on their chest, his soft voice singing lolling you into deep sleep, with no care in the world other then the vibrating as they speak to you quietly.

Instead he was delegated to being a bystanders in his own body, forced to listen as Earth kisses Luna's face and whispers how much he loves his 'only' moon, being completely unaware of another just waiting to be heard, as he scream for anyone to notice him just for once, is that really so hard to ask for? He just wants to be hear, just wants to be loved much like Luna is, as said moon begin to make friends outside of Earth, he wishes for nothing more then to be able to experience the same life as Luna has, as he gets to talk with the other moons and joke around with the rocky planet as they play card games or as  his surface burns, hot at their planet teasing Luna about his 'small' crush on Titan, he wishes more the anything then to experience the same things! To go through the small yet meaningful moments of being alive, of being able to live instead of being trapped in a body he could barely even consider his own, he wishes to be something more then a  shadow in someone else's life forever delegated to be hidden away, never to be seen by anyone.

———————————————————————

It was any other night as he drifted slowly around Earth, looking up at shining stars littering the sky around them, it was probably the only benefits of being awake, instead of trapped away in Luna's mind, he would really watch them for hours on end, never getting bored of the same old sight, it was truly beautiful after seeing nothingness for so many orbits, until Luna decided to give up control for once, and he was grateful for it even if it was just for his other side's benefit, he didn't care, as long as he got to see the stars again, just as he began to get comfortable a voice broke the silences.

"Luna? Are you still up?" Their planet asked as he looked up at them, rubbing gently at his eyes. He could feel their body grow tense as he felt Earth's eye stay focused on them, never looking away even for a second.

 "I know you're awake Luna, there's no point in pretending you're not." Earth continues letting out a small huff of air as his natural satellite remains silent.

 His throat grew tight as panic set in, their planet had never noticed him move during the night before, why now?! Was the change in tides that noticeable as he went off their usual path? "Ugh! Luna, come on! Why are you ignoring me?!" The worry begin to turn into frustrated as the moon refused to answer him, his voice growing louder as he spoke, he could feel the Earth moving closer to them, his core ached with worry, Earth was never meant to find out about him, Luna made sure of that and would be furious if his secret got out, he needed to wake Luna up and fast! But before he could a warm hand grab harshly onto his arm, unintentionally burning him  after so many years of no celestial contact.

"please Luna just talk to me! It's fine if you're upset! But we both promise to tell each other our issues instead of bottling them up!" He could hear the desperation in their planet's voice as the moon remained quiet, only after touching 'Luna' could Earth feel the moon's body begin to shake as fear developed his core, he didn't know what to do! What could he do? Luna wasn't waking up and their planet wouldn't let them escape now. 

"..."

Silence filled the air as neither spoke, Earth's grip only grew tighter as worry over took any anger he might have had, a quite "Luna?" Escaped his lips, barely audible in the cold night sky, there was no other sound around them beside the soft snores of Mars near by, "are you okay?" He finished, his planet's voice was soft and loving, like nothing he had ever done heard before, at lest not directed at him, his body only shock more as emotion started to swell in his stomach bagging to be free but instead coming out as small tears dripping down his face, unsure how to act after so long of being relegated into the shadows. "OMG, LUNA!" Earth shouted barely being able to catch the small moon before his knees gave out completely, slowly lowering both of them to the floor as Earth hugged the celestial being as it cries rippled through it's body holding tightly onto his planet's hoodie as his tears wet the soft fabric "shh it's okay, everything is going to be okay" Earth now whispered gently in his ear tucking their silver hair behind it as he did, the planet's other hand rubbing the small circles onto his back, trying desperately to calm the small moon now holding onto him for dear life.

"I-I-I'm not L-Luna!" The small moon cried out digging his face deeper into the planet's hoodie as he did, he could feel Earth's hands stop it's rubbing motion and his breathing growing thin against his ear as he pulled away. He could only let out another loud cry as he feared for what's to come, why did he have to say anything? He could have just stayed quiet and let the Earth sing him to sleep just like he heard their planet do too Luna all those times before!

"Uhhh, w-what?" He could hear the confusion in Earth's voice as he spoke. Feeling the tears wetting his hoodie as the small Moon cried harder into his chest, their fingers griping harshly onto the fabric still refusing to let go, Earth cleared his throat with a cough before he tried speaking again "what do you mean? Bring his other hand originally in his hair down to wrap the small moon into a warm hug, he could help but lean into it no matter how overstimulated it was for him.

"I- (hic)" the small moon began before a small hiccup interrupted him "I...I-I'm n-no-not Lu-na" his voice was rough after so many years of not speaking to anyone but Luna, making his  vocal cords striated and hard to use. "I-I'm h-h-is d-da-ark s-side" even after he finish Earth didn't push him away like he had feared, didn't yell and scream at him like Luna made him believe after so many years to listening to Luna's mind making up every possible out come of Earth finding out about him. Instead the habitual planet arm tighten around him, letting him cry into his chest as he resumed rubbing small circles into his back.

But Earth didn't let the silence continue for long before as countless questions began to pop up in his mind "If you're Luna's dark side how come I never heard of you before" their planet asked trying to keep his voice a levelled and quiet as possible as to not scare the small moon again, "how come this is the first time I've meet you?"

"Be-because L-lu-Luna didn't want you too, neither of us did..." he answered, his voice thick as he spoke, turning his head slightly to breath in the cold space 'air' filling his lungs with the fresh air, his brain relax as he stoped suffocating himself with Earth's hoodie.

Earth's brows lowered as he looked down on the small satellite in his lap, listening to their soft breath as they start to calm down, "Why didn't you want to meet me?" He asked, letting the small moon take their time to answer as he continued to rub his back gently.

"Luna didn't want you to hate us for being wired, because we sheared a body, he didn't want me to scare you from randomly showing up one day ..." his mouth felt dry as he spoke, his voice wavering as he finished, he could feel Earth's warm hands move gently to underneath his chin as he lifted his head to look straight into the moon's eyes.

"Oh, Moonlight, I could never hate you, either of you!" Earth said his eyes were soft and loving just like his voice, making the smaller's core melt like sweet honey in hot tea, as their planet's hands move again to cup either side of the moon's face wiping away any remaining tears off his cheeks, "And how could I ever be scared of such a cute face!" Earth's caring voice made him want to cry all over again as relief floods to his core, as all the guilt and hatred he had being lifted off his shoulders, shoving his face into Earth hoodie, before small tears escaped his closed eyes as HIS planet returned to rub his back gently as the shock of the moon's sudden movement wore off, instead Earth quietly hummed to his satellite, a smile etched into his face, as he looked up at the stars above them, his mind wondering as he thought about his moons, "do you have a name? Earth asked before he was able to stop himself "like Luna" he continued his core aches at the moon freezing in his arms.

A quiet "No." was his only answer as the moon fingers traced down the planet's hoodie, enjoying the soft fabric against his skin and the short distraction from the sinking feeling settling in his stomach, he never like thinking about his lack of a name.

"Would you like one?" Earth asked his voice filled with sorrow, as he tried to comfort the small moon in his arms.

"Y-y-you'd do that for me!" His eyes sparkled in the sun's light looking up at the planet, his hands gripping onto hoodie.

"Of course! but now to find the perfect name…" Earth Earth said, his face became neutral as he lend back making the moon prop himself up on his arms, as Earth let his head fall back in deep thought, letting out a small hum as he mind wonder over all the name his Earthlings have called his little moons from the billions of years they've roamed his surface, but none stuck out as he mouthed each one, until he remembered the perfect choice, the Ancient Greek equivalent of Luna's own name, meaning Light, brightness and gleam and while the small moon doesn't shine in the Earthling sky like Luna dose, he eyes sure as hell do, almost bright then the stars around them.

 "I got it! The small moon's face lit up as Earth spoke hanging on every word that comes out of him mouth, "you shall be called Selene! A name only for the most worthy of Moon!" Earth boated dramatically his head up into the air, crossing one arm around his chest and another resting onto Selene's shoulder almost like he was crowning the moon with a highly esteemed title (and it was in Selene's mind at lest) only stoping his dramatic performance as a poorly muffled laugh filed the air from the small moon, a smile evident in his face, Selene looked away after meeting the planet’s gazes, slightly embarrassed by Earth seeing them laugh so openly, his core never felt so full…

Earth couldn’t help the small smile from reaching own face, he never knew just how much of himself was missing before he met Selene, any upset he felt at the two moons for hiding Selene for so long, were almost forgiven the moment he saw the small moon’s face light up with joy as he laughed at Earth’s performance, probably the first time in a very long time (Earth’s core ached at the thought but that was a issue for another Lunar Orbit) instead he kept quiet enjoying the moon’s presence before his impulse kicked in, leaning down to press a soft kiss onto Selene’s forehead making the moon freeze in place, as Earth wrapped his arms around the moon, pulling him close as Selene melted into his chest as the world wind of a day began to eat away at his remaining energy, slowly getting lolled to sleep as he felt Earth chest softly rise and fall, the planet running his fingers throw Selene’s hair, said moon let his eyes close, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

[reiwanwan]

How peaky men fart ‼️

So….today we will be discussing the different ways that I personally think these peaky men fart, maybe I will make this a series like “Unhinged peaky blinder headcanons” And if you have your own unhinged headcanons that you want do feel free to ask! my request are very much open

Tommy 🤍

- most people are convinced this man doesn’t fart, but it’s a natural human function so of course even tommy shelby needs to let one out

- Dead serious expression and completely unfazed

- His farts have no sound and they dont even stink so no one even knows if he farted

- He also has pretty privilege and he knows that so he uses it to his full advantage

- Because of that he has the ability to fart loudly and no one would even bother to think it was him because pretty people dont fart

- In the scenario where if he let one out silently and it did stink he would probably just light a cigarette afterwards to cover up the smell

Arthur 🧡

- Loud and unapologetic

- Disrespectful.

- Absolutely no consideration for the people around him

- He would let it rip and laugh and say that it was the “sound of victory”

- He farts the loudest and is very proud of the volume of it

- He wont fart around ladies though

-Buuut if you were a guy, I’m sorry but you are going to be his victim

-He is kind enough though to let you know if he’s going to fart

John 🩵

- Now this one does NOT let you know when he is going to fart

- Always blames it on someone else

- Has the WETTEST farts and you’re always having to ask him to check his boxers because you are so sure he shit himself

- He does the classic “pull my finger” joke with his kids

- If you were laying down next to this man i’m sorry but you are getting dutch ovened and you will suffocate

- After he lets you out he apologises and says “must be the cabbages you made earlier”

Alfie 🤎

- Another loud farter here, second to arthur

- Also lets you know when he’s going to fart

- You guys could be walking together and he will stop you, “Hold on treacle…” and then proceed to rip ass.

- Will continue holding your hand as he farts

-If you seem embarrassed he will turn it into a whole monologue when he’s done and when you guys continue walking

- Gives long-winded explanations about how it is “A normal human bodily function”

- “you see love…holding it in wouldn’t be healthy because you see right…it’s a sign of a proper, working digestive system, its how god meant it to be”

Michael 💙

- Oh boy please don’t ever call him out he will get defensive and his ego will be CRUSHED

- Really feels like farting is emasculating and will insist on holding it in till he gets home to let it out

- Polly can always tell when he needs to fart for some reason and will tell her stubborn son that he is allowed to fart

- But in the case where he desperately needs to fart, he will excuse himself and go outside

- And boy does he let that one go wild because he’s pretty sure that fart cured all his stomach problems

- His farts doesn’t smell too idk why I just feel like he wouldn’t have stinky farts

Finn 💛

- Everyone pushes the blame onto him if they fart

- Especially arthur

-John would blame it on finn if he was sitting next to girl that he fancied. “Ughhh finn you nasty bastard…letting one out next to a lass?”

-Tommy would fart and then blame it on finn if someone smelt his own silent fart and everyone around will he quick to believe him

-Poor Finn

-If he farts he will be very embarrassed

-but understands its normal so he would try not to make a big deal out of it and man it out lol

-If people do start laughing at him though, he will join and laugh along just to save face even if it did actually hurt his feelings just a wee bit

That is all lovely human beings please do let me know what you guys think of this. The reason for writing this purely because I was super bored and my imagination goes wild and also because I thought that it would be completely hilarious lmao xx

[gallierhouse]

asking for opinions about armand on a friday night is crazy because ive been terrorizing the people in my life about him for a month and now?? im being asked to talk about him?? anyway so i couldnt get thru s1 back in 2022 bc it felt like a kind of rehash of hannibal (character dynamics wise) in a different setting and kind of bored me. i really liked louis in the pilot and honestly would just watch a historical drama about a black pimp and his gens de couleur family in 1930s nola and that was cruelly ripped away from me and ill never forgive lestat. BUT THEN s2 arrived and i gave it another go and armand just rose out of this show as a character ive truly never seen before?? his identity-lessness, his role as a bad stage director, that eager black hole growing around 500 years of life, its so fascinating. the Moment for me with him is obviously the donor painting seeing the whitewashed beautiful pleading garish (when compared with the real man) painting just shifted something in my soul. and THEN getting hit with the arun/maitre stuff and them the entirity of ep5 directly after? ive literally memorized the loumand argument from listening to it so many times Television of All Time fr. i love failmarriages that rot and decay and are inescapable and loumands whole thing felt so good and fresh and so so tasty. those bitches do not like each other. they dont even like each other and yet theyve stayed together for 77 yrs in a relationship built on abuse, spite, and 24/7 power exchange bdsm and thats CRAZY ! plus ive never seen toxic yaoi executed so well with two nonwhite, darkskinned characters and as a south asian that lowkey made me happy lol. anyway i love armand so much he sucks so bad but i do feel deeply seen and deeply compelled by his little gremlin ass

I miss Louis’ New Orleans era too. I get why Lestat fell in love with him, though, if I saw this beautiful creature pull a knife on his own brother in the middle of the street I’d stop at nothing to pursue him. It’s alluring. I think that’s the part of Louis Lestat has always loved and loathed most, his fierce independence and survivor’s instinct and capacity for violence. I say loathed because Lestat’s always torn between wanting Louis like that and wanting Louis to be his little housewife. He’s stupid like that.

I thought his stage direction was nice. Were his plays “good”? No. But were his notes well thought out? Yes. His notes for the trial were good. So it’s the playwright’s fault the scripts were bad, actually.

Re: his identity, I really think he’s doing fine. Not everyone needs a laundry list of hobbies and characteristics to “have an identity.” It’s true that Armand molds himself into whatever shape that’s required of him and sometimes he makes erroneous assumptions about it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an identity. I think Armand doesn’t perceive himself as having an identity, and it’s obvious that he structures his life around whatever role he’s occupying, and that it’s all very fragmented and difficult for him to see the continuity in it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an identity. His priorities and thought process are fairly obvious to the viewer, so that’s his identity. You can see the structure of his mind. That’s him. Right there. We don’t have to wait for the “real” Armand, he’s already here.

I don’t remember when I started loving him, but it was before the painting. Maybe the hunt, or when he starts participating in the interview. The painting did change something for me, though, and so did the bench scene. But I liked him from the start of season two, really, from the moment I found out he’d essentially been stalking Louis the whole time in Paris. I like him most when he’s got a little bit of edge, but then again, I love him when he lies. I actually have a shirt with their argument printed on it. It’s so fucking funny.

Well, I think there was love, at least before Armand strangled it to death. I don’t know if Louis ever loved Armand again, not after the trial, but I think Armand loved Louis, although not in a way that would really be comprehensible as love to anyone else. Maybe only the way you love something you own. But I think he at least enjoyed the performance of it. Besides, all the best relationships are 24/7 BDSM built on abuse and spite. You don’t agree? I think it’s very romantic.

Yeah, it’s the first time I’ve seen something like that too. And it was the greatest thing ever and I’m really glad we got a South Asian lead, even if I’m unsatisfied with AMC’s promotional strategy. One million seasons of Armand and one million posters of his face splashed across all major cities around the world, please. He’s perfect! More people should see him. More people should be subjected to him.

[effieotto]

Do you have any Haymitch headcanons?

I don’t know if they are good, but that’s my Haymitch Headcanons…

• Twelve was a conservative District, because they were the farthest District from the Capitol, so they preserved some of the traditions from the old days, like religion. So Haymitch was a very christian boy (at least as much as he could be in that dystopian world), cause his mother used to pray every night with him and his brother. (Effie once asked him to teach her how to pray, because she enjoyed how calm he felt when he was doing it)

•After a year of just drinking himself to oblivion in Twelve and not having to go back to Capitol for mentoring, Haymitch got bored and decided to do something to pass time, apart from keeping his geese. So he decided to help the few people who were living there. He helped Sae with her new restaurant; he joined the crew who were rebuilding the District; he went hunting with Katniss sometimes and stayed with Peeta at the bracketed when he was understaffed and needed some help.

•He doesn’t hate all the people from Capitol. Just like Katniss learnt how to warm up to her prep team, Haymitch didn’t generalized his hatred as well. He directed his rage only for the ones he knew deserved, like Sponsors and Game markers. Actually he found them silly and funny, and made jokes with Chaff about how they looked like domestic animals.

•He is the godfather of at least one of Hazel’s, children, because they were childhood friends, but he wasn’t present in their lives, cause he didn’t want to be close of children who could be ripped.

•he and Effie had the tradition to share a bottle of whiskey in silence every year after losing their tributes, and he found sadly amusing how she always joined him, even though he knew she hated whisky

•He wasn’t a jerk! Haymitch behaved like his mother taught him to, so he was educated with the people he thought deserved it -not mannerism, but simple little things like saying thank you and sorry. However, he could be a total asshole when he wanted, and he did it often to push people he didn’t want to interact away, like most of the Capitols and his tributes

•Haymitch and Katniss’s mother had a good relationship because her father saved his baby brother when he had chickenpox once, so when Katniss was reaped he wanted to return the favor

•after their tributes dies, he, Chaff, Seeder and Effie would take some days off and do something fun to forget the tragedy of that all. So they would play poker or pool, drink and have a fell broke laughs

•Haymitch learnt how to play guitar when he was a teenager, and after the war he was the one to play the Christmas songs for Katniss and Peeta

•He likes to have control during sex to avoid flashbacks from his appointments with Capitols

•He is a great dancer, and he rock the District and the Capitol dances. However he hates to do it in front of people cause he doesn’t like the attention

•he couldn’t look at Mrs Undersee in the eyes, because she looked too much like Maysilee

•He adopt a wild cat after the war cause he enjoyed feeling him purring in his belly when he was sleeping

•He asked Peeta’s help to plaint some flowers in his yard after the war for his mother and his girlfriend, cause they both had flowers names and he wanted to do something nice, like Katniss did for Primrose.

a have some more but i think it was already too much, so that’s it lol

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey! Loved your stories ten and one and the second part :)

Could I get an imagine or one shot when reader is married to Daemon but he’s not interested in her and thinks she’s boring until one night he sees her un flea bottom with friends in a tavern just having fun and gets to know her and maybe some smut?

It's The Ale

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Having no legitimate daughters, your father decided to claim you as his own for no other reason than to marry you off to the Prince. And so for the sake of your family that he threatened to destroy if you act up, you forced yourself to be a complacent wife. Your husband was sure shocked when he realized you were anything but.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Mentions of drunkards, mentions of violence, fem!reader, wife!reader, annoyed at daemon's bs!reader, forced marriage, old ye strip club vibes lol, typos, etc.

A/N: OLRIGHT I SAID I WOULD WRITE THIS AFTER FINISHING THE FINAL CHAPTER OF WANT YOU DEAD cos i have school stuff, but i'm feeling generous so yall better leave replies and reblogs or i will abandon you 👿🤡 AHHAHHAHAH jk i love you all So it has been brought to my attention that I used gypsy, not knowing it was racial slur and for that I would like to apologize. I did a quick google search on it, and honestly didn't get what it meant but used it anyway, clown shit for real, anyway, we are not about degrading cultures so I removed it from the fic.

I saw him the moment he walked in, and I knew, by all the gods, he saw me just the same.

Prince Daemon looked more like one of the haughty lords that came here to be entertained but would eventually get their hand cut off after mistaking the establishment to be a brothel.

My repulse for him veered sharply into a begrudged possessiveness when I saw one of my younger sisters sway her hips at him to catch his attention. Daemon was too preoccupied by the bareness of my belly to even take notice.

I grab Sinti's arm before she could make her way to him, "he's mine."

She turns over, eyes narrowed, "I saw him first."

"You mistake me, he is-"

"Why do you always feel entitled to get the good looking ones?" she snaps, ripping her arm away from me, "aren't you married?"

"Exactly," I quip, "that man is my husband."

Sinti's face contorts. She crosses her arms, "you invited your prince husband here?"

I shake my head, beginning to walk off, "I did no such thing."

"But-" she stutters, then calling out, "you said he was repulsive!?"

Daemon watches as I sit on the vacated stool on his table. His eyes dart down to scarf wrapped around my breasts and leans in on the table.

"Husband," I mutter, leaning in close to him.

His lips part when he gets a better view of my supple flesh.

Falling for my bait, I chuckle dryly, "or should I say ogling gremlin?"

He laughs, eyes flicking from the table to my eyes, "if you wore that around the house, then I wouldn't-"

"How did you know I was here?"

Daemon stills. He watches my expression for a moment then responds, "I did not."

My brows quirk. He mirrors my expression. I narrow my eyes and knit my brows, "then you are here as a customer."

He breaks into another laugh. He shifts on his seat, maneuvering to face me as he stretches his arm out to the table, "should I pay my wife to fuck me when I did not even touch her on our wedding night?"

My eye twitches at his words. It takes everything in my not to slit his throat with the dagger in my skirt's pocket.

He seems to be aware of how I tick, considering he chuckles as I release a heavy sigh.

"My sisters and I are artists-"

"Funny, I thought you were all bastards," he purses his lips, "considering none of you look alike, I'm guessing it's a sisterhood of bastard-whores."

I grit my teeth and growl, slamming my fist on the table, "those women you fuck in brothels only become whores after you taint with your filthy seed."

"Careful," he tuts, "I might fill you with my filthy seed if you keep running your mouth."

My eyes darken, clenching my hands tightly, "then you would be dishonoring your promise not to touch me if I stayed out of-"

"Well, you're in my way now, aren't you, girl?"

I stand abruptly from the stool, Daemon eyes lift up as I do. I turn with anger laced in my movements and heave as I walk away to calm myself, lest I do something I regret. It seems I am just in time to be able to join the performance.

Daemon spreads his legs and leans on the table, watching intently from his seat.

When I am close to the stage, Sinti is upon me, grabbing my arm, looking back and forth behind me, "that went well."

"You think he's good looking?!" I snap at her.

Sinti recoils her hand, eyes wandering off. I scoff at her and go up to my spot on the platform. I didn't need one of my sisters to nudge me to know the man with the long silver-blonde hair was looking straight at me.

My sisters quit their bickering. Music begins to play.

I take in a breath and close my eyes, allowing the song in the air to take my mind off of the fucker across the room. The enchanting voice of one of my sisters begin to recount the tales of our family, its joys, its heartaches, its magic.

It doesn't take long for me to fall back into my groove as I wind my hands up around and move my hips to the rhythm. I relax into myself. I release a breath of relief. Following the normal choreography we had, I begin to lift one of my legs up in front of me.

My eyes rip open when I feel a hand grab my ankle.

I grunt in disgust and rip my foot away from him. The grimy man does not understand this and takes it as an invitation to hiccup from his chair, lean towards the stage, and grab my leg again.

This time, I waste no time in kicking him in the face, hard enough so he would finally get it.

It takes him a moment to register the pain. I look down at him pathetically as red trickles down from his nose.

"You fucking whore!" he cries in anger, making everyone but my sisters turn to him.

Having my day completely ruined at this point, I easily dodge the sluggish man's lunge attack and kick him again on the face. This time he crashes back onto his table, and by the time I jump up beside him, I see Daemon halt a few steps away.

I turn to Daemon with a repulsed look, as the man who touched me groans in pain. Before the vermin can even think to touch me again, I grab his arm and twist it behind his back, making him scream in pain, "don't make this any harder for yourself," I speak loud enough so both gremlins could hear, "just leave while I'm being generous."

"You call that generous?" the annoying prince chuckles beside me, making me rip at the the drunken man's arm even tighter, causing him to scream louder.

I shoot Daemon a glare. He revels in the attention.

When the vermin begins to beg, I rip my dark gaze away from the man I unfortunately had to go home to and usher the drunkard in my grips out of the establishment.

I shove him to the ground with one furious shove. I watch him writhe, feeling nothing for him, then turn to go back to my performance.

"And you do this every night?" Daemon asks, blocking my passage with his large body and stupid face.

My stoic expression sours at the likes of him, "just as you indulge yourself in brothels, my prince."

He chuckles, crosses his arms, and steps forward.

Having enough of his shit, I grit my teeth and finally rip my weapon out and point a blade to his neck, pressing it firmly against his skin.

Daemon lets out a breath, feeling the sharp prick just below his jaw. I look up at him, practically begging with my eyes to give me a reason to kill him. Yet he chuckles, and like a lunatic, pushes deeper into the sharp edge. I am so shocked by the red that gushes out, I rip the blade away from him with a gasp.

His laughter bubbles further, "clever fool."

Taking advantage of my shock, Daemon grabs the blade from my hand and brings it up to my throat. I gulp as he ghosts it all the way down to my rib. A breath escapes me when he cuts a piece of my scarf. He presses it to his bloody neck, handing me back my dagger.

I only stare at him, which is why he grabs my hand and pushes the object in my grip.

"I expect you to go straight home after you accomplish your duties here."

I blink at him.

"I'm going to need you to respond before I leave you, dear wife."

I open my mouth but then grind my teeth at the smirk he gives me.

"I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine."

He chuckles, nodding his head, "I..." he smiles, "intend to do no such thing."

With that, he leaves.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Can I just say I love how like, into revisiting and analysing this dumb show’s scenes you still are — with the rise in popularity of streaming (I’m sure this has something to do with it, anyway) it’s become more and more commonplace for people to consume a piece of media, enjoy it, get bored of it after a while and never touch it again after moving on to the next new thing. It’s so wholesome and refreshing to see people still be so passionate and always find something new to talk about a show that, for all many of us care, ended 8 years ago. I do move in and out of being obsessed and disinterested with the media I’ve enjoyed, but in a world where I’m constantly seeing people say “oh you’re a fan of [X]? But that’s old :/“ (mostly about something that finished like last year lol) your blog is a breath of fresh air :)

Well thank you 🥹

The thing is, I get it. I get why and how people move on to different fandoms so quickly, and I don't really think poorly of that or anything. It's been almost a decade and it's easy to fall out of love with something after so long. Hell, when you think about it, this fandom has outlived the lifespan of a lot of entire relationships people have had 🥴. People find new things to get excited over and the *gasp* feeling of finding this new /thing/ is always fun. So I do get it.

But for me, it's just not that way. It's not that simple. Not because I think I'm somehow special (maybe a lil deranged 😬), but rather that's just how I operate. Before Clexa the only other ship I ever really cared about was Willara from Buffy which I watched when I was a goddamn teenager lol (RIP to my fellow gays always falling for girls who get shot ✊😔). I just don't get attached much to characters and ships. Usually ai like them in passing, enjoy watching them, and then that's... it. Tibette from the L Word. Wayhaught. Brittana. I like them and I follow them, but there's no real desire to delve deeper beneath the surface.

And then something like Clexa comes around and just absolutely fucks me up. It hits me and connects with me in a way that I just can't shake. Watching the show isn't enough. Thinking about it isn't enough. I have to discuss it and dissect it and fill in the gaps that we didn't see, and read and (now) create more stories for them just to understand everything about them to a deeper degree.

So few characters really elicit that kind of connection, but Clexa do. Even for a lot of the people who have moved on, at one time they felt that connection. Clexa was a fuckin madhouse for years and I think the fact that even still to this day people keep discovering and rediscovering them and falling in love with them all over again speaks volumes about just how wonderful that relationship and those characters actually were.

Especially Lexa.

Now, I love Clarke. I make it known that thiiiisss is a Clarke Griffin apologist's blog. That feral little kitten has never done anything wrong in her life. Ever. Including all of the terrible things she's done, as well as the many, many things that were flat out wrong. She is still innocent. She is only a baby. A murderous, tormented, compassionate, complex babygirl. So never get it twisted that I'm saying Clarke is somehow lesser than, but when push comes to shove when we're talking about baseline complexity, there is no character like Lexa. There's just not.

This woman was definition of doomed by the narrative. A child stolen away to be used as a glorified sacrificial lamb for her people. A toddler wielding a sword made of wood taller than her own tiny body, trained to accept her own life as expendable for the greatest good of her people before even learning her ABCs. She took the throne at 12 bby slaughtering her only companions and made her death mask out of kohl and fallen tears. Every person she ever loved as a mother, father, brother, either died for her, or by her own hand. The only two people she ever dared to be weak for were torn from her in the name of politics and the weight of her own bloodied crown. Under all the regalia she was just Lexa. Heda, always surrounded by her people and yet eternally just a lonely soul. Born here on Earth, raised to eventually die for others, left to rule over the people on the ground as best she knew how.

And yet through the pain, she was strong. So fucking strong it emboldened the warriors around her. She was brave, and lethal, and unyielding in her pursuit of peace. Meeting every push against her forward march to change head on, never flinching in her own brutality along the way. She knew that she was born for this; believed the black of her blood to be every bit as much of a blessing as it was a curse. Even when people doubted her and did their best to end her reign, Lexa always came out swinging.

She loved hard and kicked ass even harder, is what I'm saying. And the fact that they took a character like that and ended her so fucking carelessly? I just... I'm gonna be pissed off about that for a very long time. And until I'm no longer pissed off about that, I'll be here running mouth about it 🥴 probably still trying to make it better by writing her and the love of her life in as many stories as I can, so they can finally get the happy ending that was robbed of them in canon 🫡

[sugawhaaa]

Beomgyu x reader

E M O B O Y

Pairings: switch!beomgyu x switch!fem!reader

Warnings:smut...like hard core

Genre:friends to lovers, childhood friends, smut

Themes: blow job, public sex, oral sex, based off the song by Ayesha Erotica

Word count: 2,150

A/N: this actually sucks...I really don't like it. I feel like the descriptions for the spicy time sounded weird no matter how I tried to describe it? Idk let me know if you genuinely like this lol

You leaned against the wall of the bathroom in the mall as your friends gossiped. There wasn't anything too interesting going around lately but according to your friends there was a lot. You kept an ear out as your friends dolled themselves up in the mirrors. Of course when gossip is being talked about boys come up.

One of your friends, kizzy, brought up her boyfriend and added on some info you really didn't need to know about him. But your other friends seemed to enjoy this topic. It was strange to say the least, you're all from the ages 19-21 so all this sex talk is completely normal yet you always felt out of place. I mean it's not like you haven't thought of anything like that but it's still odd to talk about.

Your thoughts got interrupted as the girls started discussing their next shopping destination.

"Hey, Y/N you haven't picked a place yet! You should choose the next one," Sissy said with a smile, her shining pink lip gloss drawing attention to her lips.

"Um, I'm good. I don't really care where we go haha, we all like the same stores anyway," You said with a shrug and a complimentary smile.

"That's true…" Kizzy said as she thought to herself. "Alright so how about Spencer's? What do ya think!?" She said with a clap of her hands, it echoed throughout the (hopefully) empty bathroom.

"Oh you whore you just want to go to the back section," You commented making everyone laugh as they packed up their makeup including Kizzy.

After getting to Spencer's the girls all roamed around the store in groups of two, you were with Sissy in the LGBTQ+ section. It didn't take long for the girls to get bored and head to the store across from Spencer's, hot topic.

"So what's the deal with you and that boy," kizzy nudged you with her elbow. Of course you didn't forget that Beomgyu works there but you pretended to act dumb.

"Who?" You said widening your eyes.

"The cute boy with the long hair. He works here?" She said as we walked in.

"Oh him yeah. What about him?" You said as you automatically followed Kizzy to the anime area.

"You get closer to him?" She said with excitement on her face.

"I mean I can't really get much closer, we've been friends since first grade," you said with a shrug. Kizzy just nodded her head and sighed. That's when Sissy, Abigail and Minnie came over. They had a ton of things with them already and we'd only been there for five minutes. They were showing Kizzy everything they found when Abigail showed her a pair of strawberry earrings and a cute strawberry dress. Kizzy flipped out and asked her to show where they were. All the girls giggled off to another area, you kept browsing around when you heard an ever so familiar voice.

"Need any help Y/N?" He said with a smirk. You looked up to the source of the sound and viola Beomgyu standing over you. Today he was wearing about a thousand layers of black clothes. A my chemical romance tee, with a baggy fishnet over top of it, he also wore baggy and slightly ripped jeans. As for accessories he wore a black choked with some small spikes, a cross necklace, a skull necklace, a metal star belt, tons of rings, snake bite lip piercings, and a nose piercing. His make up was Suttle today, just some cloudy black/blue eyeshadow.

"Oh Beomgyu you scared me!" You said with a slight jump.

"I'm not that scary looking!" He said, crossing his arms and tipping his chin up. You laughed as you set your hand on his shoulder. You sighed and started stretching. All this walking around was making you tired.

"Getting too old for this already?" Beomgyu chuckled lowly.

"Hey! No. Just these girls move faster than sonic when it comes to clothes and cute boys,"

"So that's why you're all here," he said looking down at you while leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Yeah they somehow always find the cutest things here,"

"What can I say, it's in my genes," beomgyu said, flipping his hair. You laughed at him and he grinned as well. His dark bangs hung in his face as he laughed. "Anyways, do you want to sit for a minute," he said gesturing to the back of the shop.

"Yes please," you laughed. He led you to the back of the store and you sat behind the counter with this other girl who was wearing a very scene fashioned outfit. She was very kind and bubbly but you seemed to forget her. You sat awkwardly as Beomgyu and the scene girl chatted. It was quite the awkward angle, but Beomgyus Jean's did fit on him nicely. Your cheeks were red at your dirty thoughts. You patted your face trying to snap yourself out of it. You looked down at the floor and saw Beomgyu wearing some new boots.

"Gyu, are those new?" You said pointing to his shoes. He looked down and nodded.

"Yup I actually got them from here," he laughed. He then bent down to your level, looking you in the eyes. You blushed and tried to keep eye contact, he rested his arms on your bare thighs. You jumped slightly at the cold feeling of his bracelets. The look in his eyes suddenly turned you on so much causing you to reflexively rub your thighs together. Doing so secretly so Beomgyu wouldn't notice anything. "Are you alright? You seem off," he said looking up at you with lustful eyes.

"J-just hungry," you avoided his eyes. He grabbed you by the wrist and said

"Alright, I have some snacks in the back," he said looking up at the scene girl.

"It's fine your shift is almost over," she said with a wave of her hand. He took you to the very back of the shop to a door. He opened it and dragged you into the pitch black room. It was a little closet filled with some random trinkets they might need. He shut the door tightly and turned to you.

"So what do you feel like eating," he said with a smile as he turned the lights on. You looked at him suspiciously.

"Um, maybe a bite of you," you said jokingly. You laughed while Beomgyu gave you a bit of a peculiar stare. He inched closer to you as he rested his hands up aimlessly aiming for you.

"Gyu?" You said as his lustful gaze burned through you. You put your hands on his boney shoulders, the feeling of his warm body on yours. You then found your back against the wall as Beomgyu's hands were placed on the wall. Pinning you to him.

"You aren't actually hungry are you?" He said with a smirk.

"W-what?" You stuttered as your cheeks heated up. There's no way he actually figured you all out! Right?

"A minute ago you said you were hungry, but I think you actually meant to say horny," he said with a small smile. Your eyes widened before looking away from him. He just got closer to you, close enough to kiss you. His addictive scent filled your nose as his hand gently swiped some loose strands of hair behind your ear. "God you're so pretty," he said as his lips came closer to yours. Your eyes started fluttering shut while Beomgyu looked down at you. He stood there waiting for some kind of permission to kiss you.

You grabbed him by the shirt harshly and pulled him in for a rough kiss. It was messy and uncoordinated. Hands and tongues roaming heated skin. Moans and hums filled the small closet. It wasn't long before your curious hands found their way down to the zipper of Beomgyu's black jeans. You used your middle finger to rub up and down the zipper line. Beomgyus hands went up to your hair and played with it. You broke the ongoing kiss to breathe. Without any thoughts inside your head besides wanting to hear Beomgyu moan your name you went down on your knees. His hands still held onto your hair as you started undoing his jeans. Beomgyu panted above you as his hair hung in his face.

"Y/N what are you doing?" He said with a quivering voice. You pulled down his pants to see his hardened member before you.

"Getting a snack," you replied before wrapping your lips around him. He gasped before throwing his head back and covering his mouth. You slowly moved your mouth up and down his length before letting go for a quick breath. As you moved back, strings of his arousal connected with your saliva. Beomgyu looked down at the beautiful sight below him and he basically started petting you while praising you. You slipped your lips back around him and started going at a quicker pace using your spit as lube. Beomgyu bit his lip as he muffled his whines and moans.

"So good, so good," he kept whispering as you started using your hands for extra support. His moans started getting louder and more frequent as he bucked his hips into your mouth. Gyu then started speaking nonsense. A mix of "I'm so close" and "I'm gonna cum," and not surprisingly he was right. Your mouth filled with salty yet sweet and warm liquid. You choked slightly, making you cough, letting some of his cum drip from your lips. Beomgyu then fell to the floor in front of you. Shock was very present on his face along with the black strands of hair. He panted as some drool fell from the corner of his mouth.

Meanwhile you swallowed everything and started crawling over to him. You kissed him passionately as you fell to the floor. As he entertained your mouth his hands went to your ass abruptly moving his hands around. His hands traveled up to your waist before tugging and the hem of your skirt. He swiftly pulled them off as you took a breather.

"Now that I'm thinking about it," he started as he sat up straight, allowing your bare legs to rest on the floor. "I'm getting hungry myself," he said, pouncing on you, landing on the floor. He placed some hickies all down your jawline and neck. He pulled off your shirt before tracing more kisses, bites and hickies all along your body down to your tummy. He locked in between your thighs and over your still clothed pussy. You moaned and whined throughout the whole process.

"Beomgyu please, stop teasing," you whined as your hands found their way to his hair.

"Alright, you've been a very good girl," Beomgyu said, pulling down your undies. He quickly used his whole tongue across your whole entrance making you moan and squirm. He wasn't messing around when it came to giving oral, apparently. He ate you out like you were his last dessert to ever enjoy. He collected every last bit of your arousal. Beomgyu's long fingers then found their way inside you making you moan before covering your mouth. Gyu quietly hushed you before continuing to venture inside you. His fingers quickly moving around inside you to find that specific spot that'd make you scream his name. He decided to go as deep as possible into you and he found one spot that made you jolt up to him. You mumbled out "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my fucking God," a bunch as he kept hitting that same spot over and over.

You then felt your walls tighten around his slim fingers and your legs quivered. You warned Beomgyu about your high before his fingers were coated in your juices and his ears filled with loud moans. After you released everything his fingers went to his mouth, cleaning up all the mess you made on them.

"You taste so good," he moaned as he bent back down to your clit and started licking it. That's when the door burst opened.

"Alright Beomgyu get out your shifts over," the scene girl stood there not even phased by the situation at all.

"Close the door! My girlfriend doesn't want the whole world seeing her naked!" Beomgyu yelled and the girl closed the door.

"Fair. But Beomgyu if you don't get out I'll pull you out by your choker," she said outside the door before walking away to help some customers.

"Girlfriend?" You asked as you put on your clothes with Beomgyu.

"Oh um yeah," he said awkwardly as he slipped his jeans back on. "I thought since you just gave me a blowjob you'd want to be my boyfriend…" he said awkwardly as his cheeks filled with blush.

"Haha of course, babe," you said with a smile.

[hystixia]

surprised no one's asked for you to elaborate on the wound fucking idea yet like hello??? does disasterpiece mean nothing to you??

please talk more about it I'm begging you😭

also goodmorning LOL, it's never too early to be a slut for jeff :)

FEATURING 、JEFF MASON X F!READER

WARNINGS 、NONCON, WOUND FUCKING, BLOOD, GORE, BLOOD KINK, DEGRADATION, IMPLIED SNUFF AT THE END (?)

NOTE 、LMFAO REAL ! ! you’re the only one that’s asked specifically abt it so therefore ! i shall give you what you want nonnie <3 ALSO GOOD MORNING ! LOVE YOU LOTS ! ! JEFF IS JERKING OFF OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW WATCHING YOU START YOUR DAY RN ! !

You’re at a disadvantage but still able to push against him and attempt to create space despite him straddling you on the ground. He thinks it’s cute, the way you put all your strength into pushing him, brows knit together because you’re trying so hard. Your little huffed breaths and the way tears are clinging to your lashline because you’re scared of what he’s going to do with that knife in his hand if you don’t try to get away.

He knows though. He knows you’re scared of him, you’ve always been a little on edge when he was around and especially whenever he was near you. He liked that you were constantly on your toes, worried of what he’d do if you made him mad. It got boring as time went on though, he needed to bring that excitement back somehow and someway or he was going to move on to killing you to be done with it.

“Jeff, p-please! Please don’t do this!” “Do what? I haven’t even done anything to you yet.” He chuckles, finding it amusing how panicked you sounded as you desperately begged and pleaded with him to stop. He forces your shirt up enough to expose your belly and he drags the knife over the soft skin almost teasingly, a sick grin on his face as you trembled and cried.

“Fuck, I like it when ya cry.” He pokes the point of the blade into the side of your stomach just off the left before ghosting an X over it and your brows knit together in confusion, trying to understand what he was doing. He looks into your eyes and you tense up, that dark and violent glint in his red eyes and you nearly let out a hysterical cry but the air is ripped from your lungs when he plunges the knife into the spot he’d traced over. He twists the knife, chuckling darkly as you cried out and screamed at the top of your lungs, your hands trembling and trying to grab his wrist to stop him but you were far too late to prevent anything from happening now.

He smiles at the sight when he tugs his knife out, blood staining the metal before he looks down at the blood seeping from the open hole he carved into you. You gasp out, tears falling down your face and your chest rising and falling rapidly as you all but hyperventilate under him. He pulls you up and presses you against the tree and an odd angle that leaves more excruciating pain to spread in your stomach. You felt nauseous and dizzy, vision unfocused as you tried to clear your mind and think of something to do but it’s as if time has slowed for you but remained up to speed for him.

He’s quick to tug his pants loose and let them bunch up around his knees as he moves closer, cock already throbbing in his hand as he pumps himself a few times with a low groan. At first, you thought he was going to jerk off over you while you’re wounded and bleeding out. Which was disgusting in of itself but what he actually did was so much worse and you couldn’t have prepared yourself for it when his cock breached the gaping wound and your warm insides moved against his intruding cock.

You cry out, writhing and trying to scramble away but it’s much too difficult to do. He let’s out a hissed grunt before pulling back, staring at the blood coating his length, and then slamming back in.

“Gonna fuck y’up ‘til y’pass out, heh.” He says in a low voice, almost as if he were talking to himself and directly toward you. Your eyes flutter open and closed, struggling to stay conscious as the feeling of your guts moving and making way for him was too unbearable for you to withstand. You whimper and whine in pain and discomfort, sniffling and crying as you remain rather motionless at this point, too weak to try anything as he used you.

He’s grip on you is tight as he fucks into the wound, groaning as he watches the blood gush out and hit his hoodie, staining it a deep red color and the sight of it on his cock was sending him into a frenzy.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ take it, dirty bitch.” He huffs out, jaw clenched tight and brows furrowed together as his abdomen tightens up and his hips stutter in their rough rhythm. He doesn’t care that you’re unconscious or either dead at this point. You would be anyways once he finished in your guts and made sure you couldn’t draw another breath afterwards. “You’re fuckin’ mine, dumb slut— Fuckkk, that’s it, j’st be a good rapeslut f’me, ngh, and take it.”