#YOU PREPARED ONE HELL OF A FEAST

[poppet-seed]

OH MY GOD??? I JUST FINISHED READING AND MY POOR HEART JUST BROKE

THE BOYS YOU HURT THEM SO GOOD

❤️ Without him 💚

Ahh, my beloved @megamagimugi... Did you think that I only had ONE birthday present for you? 😌🎂

Turns out that, a while back, when you posted this, I knew that someday I'd want to write something inspired by it. Then you also made this (specifically Mario's drawing) and, well, my mind got to work 🤭

And finally, after working non-stop for the last couple of weeks, I'm delighted to present you a fic entirely inspired by your amazing and astounding art 😄🎉

I really hope you'll enjoy this both as a birthday present and a Mar10 Day celebration, dear friend! A couple of warnings though: this has a few TW that I'll list in a minute, and it's LONG. I remember you telling me I should let my stories grow as much as they need so... I did 🤭 So please make sure to take all the time you need and, maybe, grab a drink or a snack. Enjoy! 💖

I hope it's okay that I tag some friends who might be interested, but of course it's totally fine if you'd rather skip this one for whatever reason 💖 @vulpixfairy1985 @smokszyvverstar @bberetd (only if you want to, my dear bestie 🫂💖) @dreamyluigi @pepperycar @stripetkattelalala54-gf (at your own time of course 💖) @itsavee4117 @dragon-fly34 @roscolate @doodleydoo101

Without further ado, get ready for some brotherly angst... and love ❤️💚

TW: Blood, injuries, mourning, character death

✨ AO3 LINK ✨

Click to keep reading down below 👇🏻💖

❤️ Without him 💚

It’s still dark when Luigi emerges from the mansion.

Or perhaps sunlight never reaches this cursed area.

Luigi doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything anymore.

Trying not to drop anything he’s carrying in his arms, he just walks towards the outside of the building.

His heart feels heavy on his chest.

It’s all been a lie.

King Boo has been making fun of him from the start.

Mario is dead.

Luigi is unable to utter these words when he meets Professor E. Gadd in his laboratory to return the Poltergust 3000. Even so, the fact that he’s returned alone, as well as his somewhat robotic attitude and his reluctance to speak, are enough for the scientist to understand what’s happened without Luigi having to openly say it. Still, he decides not to stay to listen to whatever the old man was planning to say in order to try to console him. What for?

He just wants to mourn his beloved brother in peace.

He doesn't even mind where. He just knows that he wants to be alone, to leave this horrible place behind, to go away and never look back.

With narrowed eyes and his mouth a thin line, Luigi heads out of the laboratory. He doesn't bother to turn around to give one last glance at the iron door he crossed just a few seconds before, behind which now there’s only an empty lot whose atmosphere, however, is still disturbing. Luigi simply walks away from it with his arms full, his face impassive, his body numb, unable to sense the discomfort of the few scratches and blows he’s received while battling the ghosts, nor the tiredness that’s gradually taken hold of him as the night progressed.

Nevertheless, his throat...

Luigi doesn’t know when it appeared, but he feels a lump in his throat that just keeps growing. Knowing that he won’t be able to contain it for much longer, the plumber decides to sit on the gnarled root of a tree and slowly arranges the objects he was carrying in his arms around him.

One by one, he observes all of Mario's belongings that he’s collected during the night and which, unbeknownst to him at the time, would end up being the last things he’d have left of his twin. They were what he held on to in search of a glimmer of hope as he wandered through the mansion alone, thinking only of the moment when he’d finally find his sibling and, after making sure he was fine and safe, he could give him back everything he’d lost. A shoe, an ordinary one, just like the ones he wears. A glove, also like his, but a bit wider and a little wet. A star, which he himself insisted that Mario take with him when he went to explore the house on his own, so that he could protect himself if necessary, but which he didn’t have time to use before...

The twinge in his chest is so intense that Luigi is forced to squeeze his eyelids and lips with all his might. No matter how hard he tries to avoid it, his treacherous mind shows him the images of what must have happened: Mario, arriving alone at the manor, ready to inspect it and make sure it wasn't a trap, is suddenly attacked by a horde of Boos. They’re so numerous that his poor brother barely has time to notice their presence before several of them seize his arms and legs to prevent him from trying to defend himself. The star rests in his back pocket, longing to be utilized and turn its owner invincible.

But the Boos are stronger when they are united.

Mario didn't stand a chance.

The first tears begin to escape from the corners of Luigi's eyes and slide down his cheeks. The plumber doesn’t hold back the accompanying sob, which is followed by several more as his heart slowly bleeds. His shoulders shake and he brings a hand to his face while, with the other, he presses the last two objects he has left of his older sibling against his chest with all his might.

The hat. Luigi was surprised to find it in the washing machine, as at home he’s in the habit of washing both his clothes and Mario's by hand, but he simply took it to Madame Clairvoya as soon as he had the opportunity so that she could reveal something about the whereabouts of his twin. Now, Luigi not only understands that everything the ghost told him was a lie, but he also feels sad that the cap is so clean. It retains none of his brother's warmth, not even a single strand of hair, which was a shade of brown slightly lighter than his own.

Luigi is grateful to keep the garment, but, for him, it’s as if it never belonged to Mario.

And then there's the letter. Literally the last words his twin wrote to him. Coming from Mario, it could only be yet another attempt to protect him: “Look out for Boos, Luigi!” How did he manage to write it if the specters ambushed him? Why didn't he think of using the star to defend himself first? Maybe that way he could have escaped...

But no. Mario's priority was always to protect Luigi. Always.

Until the last second of his life.

Salty rivers flow from Luigi's eyes without any control. His body shakes in harsh convulsions while, deep inside, his shattered heart cries, tearing his soul apart. His soul, which will never be whole again, which has been broken forever. Mario... What will Luigi do now without him? How will he be able to go on without his sibling by his side? They’ve been together since they were born, they’ve never spent more than a few hours apart, they’ve always had each other's backs.

Especially Mario.

Never in his life had Luigi felt so useless.

What has he ever done for Mario? He never defended him, not in the same way that his brother defended him. He never got involved in a fight to protect him. He never had the courage to stand up to those who made fun of him, or rather, to them, because they always went for Luigi first and, as soon as Mario got involved, they turned to him.

But Luigi, despite the rage that welled up inside him and mingled with his fear, was never able to intervene.

And now he’ll never have the chance to try.

Heartbroken, he once again berates himself for all the mistakes he’s made that have led to this situation. First of all, how could he have been so stupid as to believe he had won a huge mansion in the middle of nowhere when he hadn't even entered a contest? Of course it was a trap! And of course Mario, much more battle-hardened than him, sensed it from the start.

And of course he’d do everything in his power to protect his younger twin.

Luigi sniffs, his face soaking, but he doesn't bother to wipe it. He doesn't want to let go of his brother's hat or letter. He wants them to remain close to his heart, as a way of keeping Mario's memory alive.

And also, perhaps, to lessen the guilt.

Because the biggest mistake Luigi made was to allow his sibling to go to the house alone.

Because of him, Mario fell right into the trap set for him by the Boos.

Because of him, Mario had no chance to defend himself.

Because of him, Mario is dead.

And Luigi will never be able to forgive himself for it.

Perhaps, if he had insisted more, his twin would’ve been happy for them to go together. Perhaps, if he had been with him, Luigi could’ve tried to protect him in some way. Perhaps he could’ve freed him from the clutches of the Boos. Perhaps he could’ve thrown him out of the building, away from the reach of the phantoms. Perhaps he could’ve saved him even at the cost of his own life.

Luigi would gladly give up his last breath if it meant bringing Mario back.

But who is he trying to fool? If he wasn’t able to face human aggressors in the past, how could he possibly muster the courage to do so with the Boos? Particularly considering how much he fears ghosts... Besides, he's not as strong as Mario. In fact, he’s quite the opposite: weak and faint-hearted. What could he have done against a legion of specters? He didn't even have the Poltergust 3000 when he arrived at the mansion.

Not that it helped him much.

Yes, in the end he captured the Boos, but one by one. Yes, he also defeated Boolossus, but, again, he did it by splitting him up with those ice statues so he could catch each spirit separately. And, yes, he beat King Boo. Despite the grief and pain that surged from the depths of his soul as soon as he heard the terrible truth, for once, anger took over and Luigi was finally able to trap his enemy.

And for what? For nothing. It was all in vain.

Mario was dead all along.

---------------------------------------------------

Mario wasn't expecting the ambush.

The Boos caught him completely off guard. They appeared from everywhere, illuminating the hall of the manor with their glimmering shine and pouncing on him before he even had time to understand what was happening. Despite his good reflexes, which helped him dodge the first Boos, Mario was being overpowered.

He fought tooth and nail. He punched and kicked as he ran and jumped, trying to reach the main door of the house, from which he had made the mistake of moving away. He only had to go down the stairs, maybe he could even buy some time if he tried to hang from the central lamp. Not having much time to decide, the plumber put his idea into action.

Two Boos intercepted him in mid-leap and Mario suddenly found himself floating upside down, held only by the leg of his overalls. The shrill cackles of the specters echoed around him. What the hell was going on? Why didn't those Boos turn around as soon as he looked at them, as happened in the haunted mansions he explored in some of his previous adventures?

Where had these ghosts come from?

“Let go!” he yelled, enraged.

He shook himself violently and even tried to reach the beings with his hands, trying to bend his body as far as possible, but the Boos would not allow it. Unexpectedly, they swung him before launching him into the air, which drew a shriek of terror from him as he feared fracturing something as soon as he hit the floor.

But then other Boos caught him, this time holding his arms sternly to prevent him from twisting. Mario, of course, put up a fight, eager to break free just so he could escape from there and hurry to warn Luigi. His brother was on his way to the manor. He had to stop him from setting foot in this ghost-infested place!

However, as soon as he realized how the remaining Boos were gathering in front of him like a swarm of bees, Mario stopped resisting, confused by the spirits’ attitude. Silently, he watched as these tiny and not at all scary Boos merged to form a single, enormous, round one, with a mocking expression that it fixed on him right away. Mario gasped, startled, unable to comprehend what his eyes were witnessing, and he couldn't contain the chill that ran through him when the newly formed specter’s glance flashed with pure malice, blazing like lightning.

The first blow, and the most lacerating, was to the eye. It was so fast, so sudden, that he didn't even have time to close it. Pain shot through his head as if a knife had been viciously plunged into his skull, and he was unable to contain the scream that escaped his throat. Instantly, the laughter of the Boos who were still grasping him flooded his ears, together with the guttural guffaw emitted by the enormous being that had just hit him. Mario barely had a moment to catch his breath before it attacked him again, this time in the stomach. When the Boos released him without warning, the plumber couldn't even shout as he plunged to the ground.

He fell on the stair landing with a dull thud, his nose hitting just above a step, so that the skin over his upper lip took the blow. He could barely utter a soft groan even though his whole frame felt the impact, but there was no air left in his lungs. He soon felt blood running down from under his moustache to his mouth. He was unable to try to raise his arm to wipe it away.

But the Boos were not done with him.

Mario felt a cold, ghostly hand grab his shoulder and force him to turn around without any care, so that his damaged body was left shoddily leaning against the wall of the hallway. Mario inhaled, trying to shake away drowsiness, and managed to focus his gaze just in time.

The huge Boo was hurtling towards him at full speed.

With a cry, Mario forced himself to cling to the steps beside him and held on to them to pull his frame. He tried to move his knees too and clambered awkwardly on all fours to dodge the attack, unable to stand up.

Although he managed to avoid the blow, as he struggled to get up, he felt the same spectral hand grab his ankle. Mario screamed and clung with all his might to the railing at the top. He shook and swung his foot up and down, without stopping for a second, angry and fed up at the same time, until he finally felt the extremity slip down his foot. It was taking off his shoe, but he didn't mind. He had to escape.

Finally, with one last jolt, Mario managed to free himself and hastily got to his feet. With one bare foot, his white and green striped sock being the only thing protecting him from the cold floor, he ran towards the double door in front of him, opened it in a hurry and went through, then rushed to close it behind him. He wasn't sure that a door would be an effective barrier against spirits, but he had to try.

He had to warn Luigi.

Breathless, his heart racing, Mario fell backwards against the door he had just gone through and began to rummage through his pockets. In his left pocket he found his pen and in his right pocket he found his notebook, which he always carried with him in case they received an unexpected call and he had to write down the details of a client who required the plumbing services that he and Luigi offered.

Never in his life had he appreciated having them so much as then.

With his hands trembling and blood starting to drip down his chin, Mario began to turn the pages. His eye still hurt a lot and he was sure that the damned being had caused him some serious damage, but he forced himself to try to open it to see something in that half-dark room. In the middle of his race, he hadn't even stopped to examine it, and he barely raised his head at that moment, just enough to make out a couple of candles whose faint light provided too dim an illumination for his injured eye.

But it would have to be enough. He had to warn Luigi.

If he was going to die there, if those Boos weren't going to let him reach the exit, he would at least try to leave a note for his twin as close as possible to the entrance door.

The handwriting came out crooked and somewhat shaky due to his state of nerves, but he didn't let that stop him. As soon as he had written his warning, he tore the page out of the notebook and pressed it against his chest. He needed a plan. He needed to reach the exit, either to escape or at least to be able to leave the note somewhere where Luigi, hopefully, would see it.

Hopefully, he thought, his little brother would have thought twice and would not go to the mansion.

Mario couldn't even imagine the fear Luigi would feel upon encountering such a dark, gloomy place, and, to top it all, one plagued by ghosts. He himself felt terrified, as he would’ve never expected the Boos to be so violent.

He desperately wanted to get out of there. He wanted to leave and not look back. He wanted to find Luigi before he set foot in that damn house and return home together.

He didn't want to spend another second without him.

Determined, Mario got back on his feet. He was still clutching the note to his chest when he put his ear to the double door, trying to hear something. He chose to ignore his surroundings completely, as he had no interest in discovering anything more about that house. He was resolved to leave, whatever the cost, or at the very least, to make sure that Luigi was kept safe, even at the cost of his own life.

Neglecting what was around him was the biggest mistake he made.

Once again, he didn't see the blow coming. He only felt something hard and heavy fall on his head, so violent and savage that the searing pain caused him to lose his sight in a matter of seconds. Before his body hit the carpeted floor of the building, Mario had already lost consciousness.

---------------------------------------------------

Luigi wonders if he’ll ever run out of tears. If his heart will ever stop aching as if a claw were squeezing it with all its might.

If he’ll ever learn to live without Mario. If he’ll ever stop mourning his absence.

If he’ll ever be able to forgive himself.

He knows with absolute certainty that the answer to all these questions is no.

His throat hurts like hell because of the loud, choking sobs that come out of it, which have been increasing, hand in hand with the anguish that floods his soul and has spread throughout his entire anatomy. The crying tears him apart inside and threatens to break his sternum in two halves. He doesn't care. It seems like little punishment to him. It’s too small a price to pay for being the main person responsible for the murder of his sibling.

“Oh, Mario...” he murmurs, his weeping unstoppable.

The loneliness was already weighing on him in the mansion, having to face all those ghosts on his own, but he did it for Mario and would do it again if it meant bringing him back.

But spending the rest of his days alone knowing that it’s his fault that his brother is no longer there...

What will he do now without him?

His anguish prevents him from hearing the creaking of the door to the professor's laboratory. The hurried footsteps on the ground, some of them somewhat muffled. Not even the approaching rapid gasps. The pain has plunged him into a dark and impenetrable world in which there’s no room for anything other than guilt and sadness, suffering and hopelessness.

However, there is something that does manage to make its way into the darkness of his mind.

The only thing that could.

“Lu?”

With a start, Luigi falls silent as he opens his eyes. He holds his breath as he makes out a figure in front of him, a silhouette trimmed against the gloom of the forest. He has to blink several times, though, until his vision, clouded and blurred, clears up enough, and then, silently, he looks up slightly and observes what is before him.

But he cannot believe what he sees.

No. His eyes are deceiving him, as are his ears.

It's not real. It can't be real.

Luigi shrinks. He’s undoubtedly in the presence of a spirit. A spirit that has somehow escaped from the mansion that has become its tomb and, full of a wholly justified thirst for revenge, is ready to torment him until the end of his days.

A spirit that, nevertheless, seems very solid and... is it panting?

Luigi swallows, unable to believe it. He notices the tear in the specter’s red shirt, more or less at the height of the elbow of his left arm, where a bloody wound stands out. He notices the naked hand at the end of it, also covered in blood. He notices the dirt on his overalls. He notices his green and white striped sock, visible because his right shoe is missing, stained with dirt, earth and a few drops of blood.

Slowly, Luigi lets out an exhalation as he raises his head with wide open eyes. He then sees that the supposed ghost, his hair tangled and messy, is smiling at him. A somewhat strange smile, because he has a black eye, a bruise on his cheek and blood. Blood that rises from his forehead and rushes towards his damaged eye, and blood that spurts out from just below his mustache and drips down his chin.

But it's still a smile, after all.

Then, the spirit of his brother, puffing less and less, holds out a hand to him.

“Lu,” he says again.

His voice doesn’t sound guttural or shrill, as one might expect from a specter. On the contrary. Luigi believes that he could touch the warmth and affection that oozes from the tone of Mario's ghost.

Mario's ghost.

His heart skips a beat.

He really is seeing Mario in front of him. His twin really is grinning at him. He really has held out an arm, and Luigi suddenly discerns just how close his fingers are to his face.  Ignoring the dirt on the only glove Mario is wearing, all Luigi manages to do is keep the letter in one hand while, with the other, he places Mario’s lost hat on his sibling’s palm.

The giggle he emits as he grabs the cap also sounds very real. As authentic as that of the real Mario.

Like when he was alive.

As he watches the being lay the hat on his tousled curls, Luigi tells himself that, given that Mario was murdered when he was missing all these objects and, no doubt, put up a fight against the Boos, it makes sense that his spirit would manifest itself in this way: gloveless, hatless, shoeless, and looking like he's been beaten up.

His heart shrinks even further in his chest. How unfair that this was how Mario’s life ended. How angry he feels that he wasn’t able to do something to help him.

How ashamed he feels for not having been at his side so that, at least, Mario wouldn’t have had to go through that hell without him.

He’s the worst younger brother in existence.

He barely perceives the new tear staining his right cheek. He simply blinks as the specter, after adjusting his hat, turns his attention back to him. Luigi barely has time to behold him for a moment, his soul shrieking with hope at the sight of his twin, hat and all, being again in front of him, when, once again, his sibling, or what’s left of him, holds out his hand to him. Without hesitation.

This time, Luigi doesn't know whether he should give him the letter, or maybe the star, or perhaps the glove. So, undecided, he stares for a few seconds at Mario's outstretched limb before, uncertain, looking up at his face. His brother, despite the blood, despite the bruises, gives him a broad and sincere smile, the affection he has for him shining in his only open eye. As blue as the midday sky and as bright as when he was...

Alive.

-------------------------------------------------------

Even though he couldn’t know it then, Mario was about to face a long and agonizing captivity.

He remembered, even before opening his only healthy eye, the pain hammering at his skull and causing him excruciating dizziness. He remembered noting the blood sliding down his forehead. He remembered noticing the lack of his hat and the glove on his left hand when, in a futile attempt to mitigate his suffering, he massaged his temples.

He remembered the vision of an empty and lonely world, where fire danced in the dark sky and, all around him, there was only an endless stone pavement, with no trace of buildings, trees or any other living thing. He remembered the feeling of being lost and alone, the hopelessness of realizing that no matter how far he went, he never got anywhere, the fear of never being able to find a way out. He remembered the stale, almost unbreathable air and the dim light, to which his good eye soon became accustomed. He remembered the physical pain of all his wounds, his body complaining with every step he took, but above all, he remembered the panic that took hold of his soul.

The dread of never seeing his sibling again, of having to spend the rest of his days in that strange and horrendous place without him, overcame everything else.

Mario simply walked, unwilling to give up, ignoring his bare foot. He had to get out of there, he had to go back to Luigi, he had to stop the Boos from doing the same damage to his twin as they had done to him. He deeply regretted not having found a way to get the message to Luigi before the damn ghosts attacked him. Because of them, not only had he been unable to warn his brother, but now he was also bleeding from his head. He didn't care, although this time he did try to wipe the blood from his forehead with his sleeve, and also from his chin.

When Bowser fell on his back with a tremendous noise that destabilized him, it took him by surprise just like the Boos attack.

What the hell was the Koopa King doing there? Was he in cahoots with the specters? Mario didn't have much time to think about it, as Bowser immediately attacked him with his fire. He felt tremendously stupid when he recalled, in his eagerness to find a way to beat him, that Luigi, always so cautious, had insisted that he at least take a power-up with him before leaving home in case he needed to defend himself. How right his younger sibling always was and how grateful Mario was to have him. Maybe he could have used it against the Boos, he thought, berating himself, but he’d been so worried about escaping and warning Luigi that it hadn't even crossed his mind that he had a power-up that would give him the advantage.

Until, rummaging in his back pocket, he found it empty.

Those damn Boos!

His hat, his glove, his shoe, the letter he wrote to warn Luigi, and now his star too? Mario grumbled under his breath, feeling very guilty and useless for letting himself be knocked out so easily. He should have resisted more. The damn spirits had taken advantage of his incompetence and had made sure to leave him as helpless and defenseless as possible.

Equally frustrated and scared, Mario realized that he was going to have to face his archenemy the old-fashioned way. He was aware that he wasn’t in the best condition for a battle, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. Without a second thought, he began to run around Bowser to throw him off, but to his surprise, King Koopa, cackling, started to turn on the spot and didn’t take his eyes off him for an instant. Damn it, the plumber thought, annoyed. It seemed that his old tricks would no longer work...

Suddenly Bowser's head detached from the rest of his body.

Mario shrieked and fell backwards, horrified. He watched, with his good eye wide open, as the head floated on its own while the lower part stayed behind, and in the midst of his terror he was perplexed to discern that there was no blood anywhere.

What on earth was going on? What kind of twisted nightmare was this?

He got his answer when, from inside Bowser's neck, a Boo emerged, bigger and chubbier than the one that had attacked him in the mansion hall. It wore a crown with a brilliant ruby on its head, which sparkled as it reflected the glow of the burning sky. Its crooked smile revealed pointed fangs and a blue tongue, and its eyes, red and gleaming, fixed on Mario with a flash of hatred that made him swallow.

“Welcome to your new home, Mario!” the specter bellowed in a shrill voice. “You'd better get used to it, because you're never going to leave here!”

“W-what?” Mario muttered as he struggled to stand up and conceal his fear.

“You’re finally going to pay for what you've done!” the being continued, as if he hadn't heard him. “I've been planning this revenge with my Boos for a long time... Do you remember them? They're the ones you've been scaring and frightening non-stop, and that's a ghost's job! Do you hear me, you two-bit trashy plumber? Not some short, stumpy idiot’s like you!”

“Hey!” protested Mario. “Who are you calling stumpy?”

“The one I'm about to finish off!”

Unable to help himself, Mario shrank back as the supposed King Boo pointed one of his spectral arms at him. Overwhelmed, he looked around, but he knew he wouldn't find anything there, no weapon with which to defend himself, nor food or water to regain his strength.

He was doomed.

He knew he’d be ashamed for the rest of his life of what he was about to do, but at that moment he couldn’t think of any other option. So he was forced to summon up his last reserves of energy and choose the only alternative he would have liked never to have to carry out: he turned around and ran.

He immediately felt like a coward. He wasn't the type to run away, but rather to stand up to the situation. However, he quickly remembered that, sometimes, his younger brother also escaped from dangerous situations to buy time, come up with a plan and then, at last, face the threat.

The problem was that Mario had nowhere to take shelter. Behind him he could hear the heavy footsteps of the fake Bowser, whose body he imagined King Boo had just mended. Oh, if only Luigi were there with him... Mario’s sure it wouldn't take him long to come up with a strategy for them both to emerge victorious.

Even so, for nothing in the world would Mario have wanted to see his twin there. It would be definitive proof that they’d both lost, that they’d both been victims of that excessive desire for revenge that King Boo harbored against them. Or against him, rather, despite the fact that, in the past, Mario used to just turn his back on the Boos and walk away from them. He couldn't understand why King Boo felt such enormous aversion towards him just for that.

But, in any case, Luigi was not to blame for anything. Mario wanted to see him, of course, but not there, not in that empty, stinking place. The longing to see him again, to hold him in his arms once more, to feel his warmth and affection enveloping him, flooded him all at once, intense and fierce like the waves in the middle of a storm, but he cared more about his safety. He cared more that Luigi never came to that house, that he didn't fall into the Boos' ambush, that he wasn't caught in that horrendous world like he was.

Mario didn't know how, but he would find a way to return to his sibling whatever the cost. He was going to survive, if only to annoy that damned Boo. He was going to resist, for he was determined to embrace Luigi once again with all his might.

He was fed up with that nightmare, but he was even more fed up with every second that passed without him.

Then, overcome by tiredness and thirst, Mario stumbled.

As his already aching body hit the hard stone floor, Mario realized that he wouldn’t have a chance to fulfill his desires. He wouldn’t have a chance to return to Luigi. He wouldn’t have a chance to escape from there. He knew he was defeated, for pain and exhaustion had taken hold of his flesh and bones, and the darkness was eager to take him with it. He didn't want to give up, he didn't want to give in, but there was nothing he could do.

It appeared that, at last, his enemies had managed to beat him.

Bowser's footsteps stopped behind him. Mario waited, gasping for breath. He expected, perhaps, to have a paw stepping on his back or a claw lifting him up by force. He was even ready for the fire to devour him in no time, leaving nothing but ashes.

Nevertheless, what he felt was a slight brush against his shoulder, so cold and subtle that it sent a shiver down his spine.

“By the way...” King Boo's voice sounded like a terrifying whisper next to his ear. “It seems that someone has come to the mansion looking for you...”

Mario jumped and opened his eye with a start.

“Luigi?” he muttered, panting.

No! No, no, no, that was the last thing he needed to hear...

“But don't worry,” the being continued, reveling in his alarmed reaction, “my Boos will take good care of him, Mario. You’ll soon be reunited!”

He concluded with a shrill laugh that pierced his skull, but he didn't even mind.

Luigi. Luigi had ended up going there to search for him. Luigi was going to fall into the Boos' trap.

And Mario could do nothing to prevent it.

At that very moment, his heart ached much more than any of his many physical wounds. Mario hung his head, dejected, trying to find the strength to get to his feet, to look for a way out, to try to find a way to help Luigi. He had to do something.

Tears of impotence suddenly flooded his eyes and slid down his cheeks, mixing with blood. Mario cried in silence for a few seconds, feeling useless and very guilty about what his poor brother was about to suffer. If only his body didn't hurt so much, if only he could have been stronger to stop the Boos, if only he could have remembered the damn star...

He was grateful to have been left alone. At least no one would see him crying. At least no one would hear his low sobs or witness how tremendously pathetic he really was. What a hero. The shame of the Mushroom Kingdom. The most pathetic loser anyone had ever heard of. The disgrace of his family. The furthest thing imaginable from a role model.

He woke up when Bowser fell back, with all his weight, right next to him.

Mario wasn't even aware that he had fallen asleep, but, although he was still sensing the pain of all his lesions, he forced himself to shake the drowsiness off and stand up. Before he could fully stabilize himself, however, King Koopa turned on himself, with his back to him. The plumber began to back away, confused...

And then Bowser turned around at full speed and his tail struck Mario's left arm with unusual violence.

All Mario could do was scream as he was hurtled away, his skin burning from the blow.

He shouted again as he landed on that same arm, his hand and cheek scraping against the stone floor. He was barely able to utter a low groan. He didn’t even know which part of his anatomy hurt the most, which injury bled the most, if he would ever open his damaged eye again.

Bowser's footsteps echoed behind him, drawing nearer. His roars sounded more furious than before. Mario watched him approach with his eyelid half closed, still confused and disoriented. Everything was happening too fast and he, unable to forget the words that King Boo whispered to him before he lost consciousness, still felt guilt weighing on his chest at the thought that Luigi...

Mario’s eye fluttered open as he understood that Bowser's anger, which was actually King Boo's, had a reason.

Luigi.

Of course! His younger sibling was smart, brave and fast. He knew how to make the best plans and always had the best ideas. If there was anyone capable of standing up to the Boos, if there was anyone capable of finding a way to defeat their king, it was Luigi.

His incredible, agile and intelligent twin brother.

Mario felt terrible for having given in to despair. After all, hadn't he himself thought that Luigi would undoubtedly know how to face King Boo? How could he have allowed hopelessness and discouragement to take over his soul? Luigi could handle anything.

And Mario had to hold on, survive, resist. For Luigi.

He had no time to wallow in his pain.

Mario got up.

He resumed the race. He ignored the bellowing of the fake Bowser, which often mingled with the shrill shrieks of King Boo himself. He ignored the screams of his own body, begging him to stop and rest. He ignored the pleas of his poor throat, desperate for a simple drop of water. He even ignored the roars of his empty stomach, longing for a small morsel to fill itself up with. He ignored the weeping of his heart at the prolonged separation from his beloved sibling.

He ignored everything. He concentrated on running. And when he could no longer hear his enemy behind him, he dared to take a quick look over his shoulder before giving in and letting himself fall.

He didn't know if King Boo would return. He had to make the most of the time he had alone to give his battered frame a break, but he couldn't let his guard down. This time he wouldn't sleep. He’d stay alert. Watchful.

He was going to survive. King Boo was undoubtedly enjoying torturing him with every minute that passed, but Mario was planning to get his own back.

He would survive, escape and give him what he deserved.

And then he’d rejoin Luigi and never spend another second of his life without him again.

---------------------------------------------------------

Luigi can’t help but observe the ghost of his brother, unsure of how to react to his outstretched hand and apparent kindness. Should he trust him? Surely it's not... another trap?

“Luigi,” Mario says in a low whisper, “it's-a me!”

His words are interspersed with a soft chuckle that sounds like it wants to burst out, but which Mario tries to contain. Luigi catches sight of how his lips move when he speaks, how his chest rises and falls, how solid the limb he’s extended seems. He can’t help but notice, once again, how real his voice sounds when it reaches his ears.

Doubts and disbelief battle against hope inside him when, biting his lower lip, Luigi dares to raise his arm. He’s convinced that this is a huge mistake, that he’ll only find air, that he’s imagining things and his mind is deceiving him and it’s all in vain...

His breath escapes him the moment his fingertips find the palm of Mario's hand.

Solid. Firm. Real.

Just like the way Mario hastens to close his fingers around his own in a protective gesture.

Always protecting him, always looking after him, always watching over him.

Luigi gasps, staring fixedly at their clasped hands. He squeezes them, trying to convince himself that his older twin is really standing in front of him, and not a specter or a projection from the afterlife come to torment him.

And Mario squeezes back.

Luigi lets out a sound halfway between laughter and surprise. Fascinated, he looks up and finds a radiant grin from ear to ear on the bruised face of his sibling, his blue eye flashing, not losing detail of his reactions. Holding his breath, Luigi dares to put the letter he still had in his other hand on the root of the tree and slowly lifts his arm up.

His trembling palm finds Mario's chest and rests on it, unsure. His brother then places his own fingers on top of his and presses them gently, inviting him to keep them there for as long as necessary. It feels warm and real...

... As does Mario's pulse, steady and calm, which Luigi soon begins to perceive.

He inhales, on the verge of laughing or sobbing, he doesn't know, and clutches the fabric of the overalls of his twin, who lets out a low giggle. Luigi observes him again, biting his lower lip so as not to let out whatever is bubbling in his throat, and, without haste, starts to lift his arm, dragging Mario's along with it, as he doesn’t seem willing to let go of him.

When his palm meets Mario's cheek, he’s enveloped by the familiar warmth emanating from his skin through his glove.

His sibling tilts his head slightly towards his hand, closing his eye to enjoy the contact, and he exerts a slight pressure on Luigi’s extremity to better feel his caress.

Luigi is unable to discern the tangle of emotions that are swirling within right now, threatening to make his heart burst. Tears well up again, but this time they’re accompanied by a smile that gradually takes shape on his face as his mind finally takes in what’s happening.

Snickering gradually forms in his stomach and rises up through his sternum. Luigi, without letting go of Mario's hand or taking his palm away from his cheek, jumps to his feet as he releases the guffaw, sonorous and vibrant, which is promptly followed by that of his brother, just as powerful. He doesn't understand how, he doesn't understand what has happened, but it doesn't matter to him at all at the moment.

All he cares about is that Mario, the real one, the authentic one, is standing in front of him, gripping his hand securely, his laughter an echo of his own. All he cares about is that he can stroke Mario’s cheek, sense the warmth of Mario’s skin, feel Mario’s fingers lovingly covering his. All he cares about is that his twin, determined to return the gesture, ends up bringing his hand to Luigi’s cheek to wipe away his crying with his thumb, his face, real and smiling and alive, full of tenderness.

All he cares about is that he can finally hug him again.

“Mario,” he whispers, his tone still tinged with disbelief.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head, his body this time shaken by the chuckles he can’t stifle. He soon feels Mario’s forehead meet his, which brings forth a sob that wells up from the depths of his being. His sibling’s touch, as always, is comforting, reassuring, a balm for his poor shattered soul which, at last, begins to recover.

“Lulu,” replies Mario in the same tone, his palm still resting on his cheek.

With a new sob, Luigi slides his hand from Mario's cheek to the back of his neck to draw him towards him, and, after releasing his limb, he wraps his other arm around his beloved older brother and holds him close. He hugs him tighter than he can remember ever having done before, running his fingers through Mario’s tousled hair and crying into his shoulder. His broken heart slowly initiates the road towards healing thanks to the presence of his twin, who, without hesitating for a second, has in turn wrapped him in his arms and embraces him with the same intensity, his hand gently stroking his back in an attempt to convey some peace and tranquility.

Even so, as always, Mario doesn't pressure him. Silently, his sibling cradles him in his arms, the warmest blanket in the middle of winter, while Luigi gives free rein to the dizzying roller coaster of emotions he’s experienced in the last few hours. The uncertainty about Mario's whereabouts, the concern that something bad had happened to him, the horror of seeing his fear confirmed when King Boo told him that his Boos had killed Mario as soon as he set foot in the mansion, the grief, the guilt, the pain, the loneliness...

Finally, little by little, Luigi frees himself from it all. With each tear, with each sob, with each instant that passes clinging to his brother, his soul begins to heal and his heart starts to be restored, its pieces coming back together in his chest now that his other half is by his side again. The simple fact of having Mario next to him, of feeling his sturdiness in his arms and his breathing in his ear, is a strengthening relief for Luigi that is born in the depths of his being and gradually spreads to every corner of his anatomy, taking away all that’s negative and leaving room only for the immense joy of having his twin back and the placidity and peace that his bear hugs always give him.

Only Mario, with his gentleness and affection, his strong arms and delicate caresses, is capable of calming the storm that had been unleashed inside Luigi and that threatened to drag him into utter despair.

“Sono io,” Mario whispers then, his velvet tone filled with the cadence of a lullaby. “Sono qui, fratellino. Sono davvero qui e non vado da nessuna parte. Mai.”

Luigi's next sob turns into a giggle. Yes, Mario really is there with him, he really is holding him, he really is speaking to him in their native language to assure him that he’ll never leave his side again. His arms clench around his sibling, and he needs to catch his breath a couple of times before he’s able to reply.

“Ti voglio tanto bene, Mario,” he stammers, his voice strangled.

His brother pats him sweetly on the back, hugging him just as vigorously.

“Anch'io, Lulu,” he replies, and his soft, melodic tone fills him with calmness and serenity. “Anch'io ti voglio tantissimo...”

Clutching Mario's neck, Luigi laughs and cries at the same time. His words, spoken with such love that they make his soul tremble, provide him with all the warmth and comfort he had been longing to receive all night, since he set out on his unsuccessful search alone in the middle of the darkness. It still almost seems too good to be true that his twin is truly here, next to him, wrapping him in his protective arms like a shield that keeps him safe from all the evils of the outside world.

Mario is here, Mario is talking to him, Mario is embracing him, and Luigi can only cry with pure happiness.

Finally, with the last tear, Luigi manages to banish all traces of doubt and sadness left inside him. These are soon replaced by joy, which leads Luigi to vigorously clutch his brother, making him chuckle in surprise. Immediately, Mario hugs him tighter, and Luigi laughs even harder as he confirms that, as expected, his sibling’s energy is still intact and could take his breath away with a squeeze. He doesn't mind at all. Nothing could ruin the euphoria of having Mario back.

His rapture is such that, almost inadvertently, he begins to spring up and down in place, and it doesn't take long for his feet to move further away. As he continues to hold on to Mario, neither of them willing to let go of the other, he drags him along with him, but his twin doesn't seem bothered. In fact, Luigi suddenly feels how Mario's arms firmly encircle him around the waist and, the next thing he knows, his feet leave the ground, causing him to clench on to Mario even stronger as a loud squeal of surprise escapes his throat.

His brother's guffaws reverberate in his ear as he spins him around in the air, and Luigi joins in just a second later, his heart swelling in his chest at the bliss of the reunion.

When Mario finally sets him down gently, Luigi steps back a little, still snickering. His hands remain on Mario's shoulders, and his sibling, in turn, doesn’t let go of his waist. Luigi has to blink a couple of times to focus his still blurry gaze, and he jumps back as soon as he looks at his twin again.

“Mario!” he exclaims, cupping his brother’s face. “You're hurt!”

How could he have been so careless? The black eye, the blood... Luigi carefully runs his thumb over Mario’s injuries while, in his mind, he tries to remember if there’s anything within reach that he can use to help him. He’s going to need ice to apply to his eye, and gauze to clean the blood, and...

Mario's quiet laugh brings him back to the present.

“I'm fine, Lu,” he assures him, even though it's obvious that it's a lie. “They're just... war wounds.”

He shrugs and Luigi, much to his regret, smiles. He’s more than used to his twin always playing down the damage he receives during their adventures, no matter how serious. Still cupping his face in his palms, he leans down to kiss his sibling on the forehead, his affection for him warming his heart, and his grin broadens, full of tenderness, as he notices that Mario has closed his eyes the moment his lips have come into contact with his skin. When he moves away, they both exchange a loving expression that speaks for them.

“Come,” Luigi says shortly afterwards, reaching for Mario's hand, which he had raised to his shoulders. “I'm sure the professor has something to cure those war wounds,” he repeats jokingly, making Mario stick out his tongue. “In fact,” he exclaims as he realizes this, “he's going to be shocked when he sees you!”

To his surprise, Mario covers his mouth with his other hand to hide a giggle as he walks behind him.

“In fact,” he says, stealing his words, amusement coloring his voice, “I just came from his laboratory.”

“What?”

Luigi stops, open-mouthed, by the base of the tree and stares at him in silence, his fingers clenching his brother's.

“It's a long story,” Mario explains, looking around him doubtfully. “Do you think ...?”

As has sometimes happened when he’s seen Mario hesitate, Luigi, surprising himself, manages to react quickly.

“Say no more.” He puts his forefinger to his twin’s lips and grins. “Let's collect your things and go with the professor. You can tell us about it while I take care of you. I'm sure he'll be able to give you something to eat too.”

The smile Mario puts on is, to Luigi's amazement, timid.

“That would be great.”

At his response, Luigi abruptly realizes that, like him, his sibling must have gone hours without eating. And maybe even without drinking. He’s seized by the sudden urge to take Mario to the laboratory at once, to make sure he eats and drinks something before he starts to explain anything, to have the opportunity to begin treating his injuries. He gazes at the one on his elbow, which hasn’t stopped bleeding, and berates himself for having allowed his twin to pick him up in his condition. Is he blind? What kind of brother is he?

Hurriedly, Luigi bends down and picks up the shoe and glove. At least, he thinks, he’ll finally have a chance to return everything to his sibling, just as he intended. He would’ve liked the circumstances to be different, for the two to feel as best they could, but Luigi is well aware that, even so, he can't complain. What matter is that Mario is alive, and he’s going to make sure he gets better as soon as possible.

He's slightly startled to note that Mario is trying to grab the glove himself, so, taken aback, Luigi lets go of the garment. Looking distracted, Mario takes it with his right hand while stretching out his left, as if he were ready to put the filthy glove on his bleeding fingers.

Luigi almost has a heart attack.

“No way!” he stops him, holding his wrist. “It's very dirty and you're hurt. Your wounds could get infected!”

Mario chuckles.

“I just wanted to see your reaction,” he admits, giving him a slight push. “And you fell for it hook, line and sinker!”

“Very funny,” replies Luigi, folding his arms.

On his lips, however, a smile dances. It's a very good sign that his brother feels like teasing him despite his condition.

And how good it feels to be joking with his twin again.

For the next few minutes, Luigi enjoys every second of them both busily picking up Mario's objects, as his sibling never misses an opportunity to tease him whenever he can, pretending that he’s going to put his shoe on the sock stained with dirt and blood or that he drops the star when Luigi turns it over to him.

Still, when he picks up the letter, Luigi notices that there’s no trace of amusement in his brother’s gestures. Silently, he watches him unfold it and read it, and something breaks in his soul with the sigh that escapes from Mario's lips. Suddenly he seems dejected, as if he were being plagued by a flood of unpleasant memories, and Luigi wants to do something to erase them, to eliminate that expression from his twin’s face, to restore the joy and lightheartedness with which he was joking with him just a moment ago. He wants to pull his sibling out of the pit of sadness and desolation he has just sunk into and prevent him from falling back into it.

Then Mario looks up and, with a smile that’s anything but cheerful, holds out the paper to him.

“This is yours.”

Without a sound, Luigi reaches out and picks up the letter. He doesn't need to read it again, because he knows full well that it was a warning, a last attempt by his brother to keep him safe.

“I wrote it for you,” adds Mario.

Luigi tries to return his gesture but only manages to raise the corners of his mouth a little. Mario's shadowed gaze reveals to him that, much to his regret, he’s still immersed in those memories which he hopes he’ll soon share with him.

Perhaps, if they carry the burden together, it won't be so heavy.

“You have a lot to tell me,” he says, trying to give his voice a light tone that he’s not entirely sure he can achieve.

At least he manages to make his twin’s grin wider.

“And you me too,” says Mario, this time sounding much more carefree.

Luigi finds himself chuckling. He’s amazed by his sibling’s ability to overcome negative emotions. Deep down he knows that this is nothing more than a mask, and that Mario won’t be able to feel entirely better until he reveals all his fears and experiences to him.

But, for now, it’s enough.

----------------------------------------------

The first thing Mario did when he woke up again was to curse himself.

He shouldn't have fallen asleep again! He was supposed to stay alert! King Boo could return at any time, and he had to keep resisting. He had to go back to Luigi. He couldn't give up, even if he didn't know how to get out of that deserted world. He couldn't give up, even if his body kept complaining, at the end of his tether.

He couldn't give up even if it was the last thing he did in his life.

All he wanted was to see Luigi one last time. He’d be satisfied with that. He’d go in peace if he could only see his younger brother, safe and sound, before everything was over.

His defeatist thoughts came to a screeching halt the second his good eye revealed that the landscape around him had finally changed.

Surprised, he sat up, perhaps a little too quickly. A wave of dizziness plagued him, but he forced himself to ignore it.

He was no longer in the world of emptiness.

Mario had appeared, he didn't know how or why, in a room with stone walls and embedded columns. It seemed to have been very luxurious in the past, but at the moment there was nothing in it except a lamp hanging from the ceiling. Its light, although dim because it only had two bulbs, was enough to blind him, after his only healthy eye had become accustomed to the dull atmosphere of the lifeless place in which he’d been trapped for who knew how long.

Hope lit up in his chest as soon as he made out, at the back of the room, something that could lead him to his long-awaited freedom.

A door.

Mario didn't feel able to stand up again. His legs ached from all the running. His lungs begged for a long breath while his throat, dry and sore, protested ever more feebly, not to mention his growling stomach. His arm, his hand, his head and his mouth were bleeding, fresh blood mixing with the dried blood staining his skin. His eye was hurting more and more and he even feared he might lose it. His scratched cheek was throbbing as if he had a second heart just beneath it.

But the prospect of finally seeing Luigi caused all his physical pain to fade into the background.

There would be time to rest, to eat and drink as much as he liked. There would be time for his wounds to be properly treated. There would be time to give his body all the care it needed.

What mattered most to him now was to finally heal the pain in his soul.

Despite King Boo’s torture, Luigi hadn’t disappeared from Mario's thoughts for a moment, much less from his heart. He’d been unable to stop wondering how he was, if the Boos had hurt him, if King Boo had made good on his threat. Fortunately, he knew that if Luigi had fallen, he would know it deep down inside.

That would have been the signal to surrender and let himself be defeated.

There would be no point in living in a world without him.

In that instant, as he slowly got to his feet and started walking towards the door, Mario could only bring one hand to his chest to try to calm his weeping heart, which was protesting at the too-prolonged absence of his other half.

“Presto, cuore, presto,” he said to himself, gasping.

Speaking in his mother tongue, even if it was just to himself, brought him relief and reassurance that warmed him from within and made him feel closer to his younger sibling, even though he hadn’t yet been able to find him. The two often spoke to each other in the language of their homeland, inherited from their parents and grandparents, and it was how they used to comfort each other when they went through difficult times.

Italian was one of the many things that united the twins.

Soon, Mario reached the door. Fortunately, it opened without a problem and led him into a long stone corridor. The plumber began to walk down it, his pure love for his brother and his eagerness to see him being the driving force behind his legs. The corridor was winding and led to another door, which he could also open easily.

From then on, he was swallowed up by the darkness.

With every step he took, Mario regretted more and more not having a flashlight or a torch with him. There was nothing to illuminate these tunnels, and the realization that he was underground was somewhat overwhelming. He groped his way forward, his fingers feeling the stone walls, anxious to find an exit soon, an end, something.

Then his hand came across something and Mario stopped in his tracks, hopeful. He used all his fingers to slowly touch whatever it was that was in front of him. It seemed to be a smooth and resistant fabric, like that of... a canvas? Was he perhaps inside a painting?

He wasn't about to let that stop him.

“Hello?” he shouted, starting to hit the canvas from behind. His voice sounded hoarse and parched from lack of water, so he had to clear his throat before trying again. “Can anyone hear me? Please! I need to get out of here!”

He still had to ask for help a few more times before he finally perceived movement on the other side. Holding his breath, Mario leaned back and waited until someone finally removed the painting that was keeping him locked up.

The sudden artificial light dazzled him. He could barely take a quick look at the kind of art gallery he had ended up in before the person who had freed him caught his attention.

“Mario!” exclaimed the tiny little man, still carrying the canvas he’d just taken down from the wall.

He was short, shorter than him, which was saying something, and he had no hair except for a white streak that stood out on his forehead. He couldn't see his eyes because he was wearing glasses with spiral lenses, as well as a lab coat.

Had Mario stumbled upon... some kind of scientist?

“You're alive!”

The little man, delighted to see him even though he didn't know him at all, carefully put the painting aside and held out his hand to help him down. Mario accepted his offer, but despite this, he almost fell as he descended from the gap in the wall, as weak and dizzy as he was. Somehow, he had already become accustomed to people, especially the Toads, recognizing him and getting excited whenever they saw him in the streets of the Mushroom Kingdom, but when this person helped him up, he appeared genuinely pleased to have run into him, as if he missed him even though he didn't know him. Mario smiled at him, grateful and also very relieved to finally be able to interact with someone other than the damned King Boo, but he couldn't pay attention to the man’s words. He had to get his bearings in order to finally find Luigi.

It was, in fact, the name of his twin on the lips of the professor that caught his attention.

“Luigi?” he exclaimed, springing to him. “Is he here? Is he all right?”

“He's outside,” the old man explained, and his enthusiasm faded a bit. “He's... well, he thinks that you're...”

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Mario's shoulders sank slightly as he understood what his brother must be experiencing, but he was immediately overcome with determination.

“I have to see him,” he declared, clenching both fists, one bare and wounded, the other covered by a glove that was far from white. “Where is he?”

“Over here, son!” The scientist was soon cheered up again and led the way. “He's going to be so happy to see you!”

Mario was pleased to tell that the man seemed truly delighted. He wondered if he had been assisting Luigi while he remained trapped in that horrible environment that he preferred never to remember, and he was glad that his younger sibling had been able to count on his help.

Anticipating the second when he’d finally be reunited with him, Mario didn’t even pay attention to the rooms he passed through after the professor. He simply followed him up the stairs, ignoring the noises coming from some rooms whose doors remained closed, the pain of his lesions and the exhaustion of his body completely forgotten. He focused on the wooden door his guide was heading for. The man opened it and, with a smile, stepped aside to let him pass.

Mario took a deep breath as he found himself, at last, in the open air in a world he knew.

He might have been greeted by a dark sky and a gloomy and unwelcoming environment, as well as an unpleasant gust that ruffled his dirty, tangled hair, but it was still better than that cursed place where he’d been forced to flee from a fake Bowser. He couldn't help but notice, with surprise, the huge, now empty, plot of land where the mansion that had almost become his tomb used to stand. Mario wondered what had happened to it, why it was no longer there even though the entrance gate was still intact.

He didn't care.

It wasn't long before he heard some sobbing that drew his full attention. Turning to his right, he saw the leafless forest through which he had accessed the area, with a few crows perched in the highest branches.

And there, sitting on a large root protruding from the ground, he made out, with his back to him, the person he’d been looking for since he was attacked by the Boos.

His heart sank. His twin’s sobs stabbed at his soul like sharp daggers. He needed to make them stop. He needed to reassure Luigi that he was all right, that it had all been a lie, that it was all over.

He needed to embrace his beloved brother.

Ignoring the necessities of his body for the umpteenth time, Mario ran towards him, eager to reach his side. He forced himself to restrain himself, however, when he spotted the objects lying next to Luigi. His lost shoe, the one that that brute Boo had torn off him while he was trying to break free from his grip. His glove, resting on the root as if it were a ghostly hand. On the other side of Luigi, leaning against the tree, Mario made out the glint of the star, the one that could have saved them both so much suffering if he had only remembered to use it at the right moment.

Now that he was closer, Mario noticed that his younger sibling, in the midst of the grief he hoped to erase soon, was pressing two objects against his chest: his hat, which looked much cleaner than the last time he had it on his head... and the short letter he had written for him.

So, in the end, Luigi had found the note.

Mario let his shoulders drop. He was unable to smile while his twin was still in tears, but he felt a bit relieved to know that his warning had reached its intended recipient. And after all, Luigi was there, safe and sound. He had certainly outwitted the Boos. In fact, Mario then realized that he must have defeated King Boo too, or else he wouldn't be there right now.

Pride filled his heart and spread throughout his hurt frame, and he had to restrain himself from pouncing on Luigi and wrapping him in his arms with all his love and joy.

His brother was sad. He had to proceed slowly and carefully so as not to frighten him. He was going to prove to him that King Boo had lied to him. He was going to embrace him and allow him to cry in his arms while, he hoped, offering him the comfort and affection he needed.

Grinning softly, Mario held out his gloved hand and pronounced the name he used to call his sibling.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Lu.”

Luigi is startled by the concern that shines through his twin’s voice. He blinks a couple of times, returning to reality, and manages to focus again. Mario is staring at him with a smile full of adoration, but in his eyes, now that both are open, he can read a clear glint of worry.

Luigi purses his lips. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve for his brother to be so attentive to him, to go out of his way for him, to look out for him even when the most harmed one and who’s had the worst time of the two is Mario. Luigi only got a few bruises here and there, so slight that he doesn’t even remember them anymore. At least he’s glad he was finally able to treat his sibling’s wounds, especially his eye. Even though he didn’t say it out loud, seeing the condition of Mario’s left eye, Luigi came to fear that it was beyond saving.

Fortunately, it seems that, for now, applying ice to reduce the swelling and the ointment that the professor lent them will be enough for the eye to begin to heal. Luigi has decided that the first thing he’ll do the next day, as soon as they’ve rested, will be to take Mario to the Mushroom Kingdom hospital. His eye is going to need more than just ice to heal completely.

Luckily, the other lesions are healing well. Luigi has taken care to disinfect them all before bandaging or covering them in some way. His heart tumbled as he registered the seriousness of all of them and he berated himself, once again, for his negligence when he met up with Mario. He almost had to carry him back to the laboratory, as dizziness was taking over him even though Mario tried as hard as he could to hide it. His poor big brother... Now he has a bandage around his head to cover the huge injury that Boolossus caused to knock him out. That damn Boo... If Luigi had known what he’d done to Mario, if he’d had the slightest idea, he would’ve made sure the being paid for daring to hurt his twin.

He consoles himself by thinking that, at least, the specter is locked up now, like his king and all the other Boos who were bold enough to cause his sibling so much suffering. At least they’re paying for what they’ve done. At least they’ll rot forever on those canvases, from whence they should never have left.

Luigi jumps a little when Mario's fingers, with extreme delicacy, graze his cheeks. He lifts his gaze from the arm he’s bandaging and, looking back at his brother, Luigi notes that his eyes are blurry, and is surprised when his twin’s touch makes him perceive the dampness on his face.

At what point did he start to cry? Was it when he heard the way Mario attempted to escape Boolossus' brutal attacks to try to warn him not to go to the mansion? Could it have been the moment his sibling described everything that had happened in that other world, surely a dimension created by King Boo? Or perhaps they were tears of emotion caused by the way relief washed over Mario as he realized that he was no longer trapped in that horrendous place and, therefore, they could be reunited again?

Or maybe they’re simply tears of rage at the impotence he feels at not having been able to save his adored older brother from all his ordeal.

And to think that he felt alone and terrified as he wandered through that gloomy building alone... He could almost laugh at his stupidity. What he went through was nothing compared to what Mario had to face.

And it's all his fault.

He was the one who believed wholeheartedly that the contest was real. He was the one who got his hopes up thinking he had won something. He was the one who told Mario about his supposed new house.

He got him involved in all of that and Mario almost died.

Only to protect him.

If only there were a way to go back and spare his beloved twin all that torment...

Unable to contain himself, Luigi lets go of the bandages in a haphazard manner and pounces on Mario, who jumps back startled. However, his sibling is quick to return the embrace with a slight tender chuckle, and Luigi takes a deep breath to try to hold back his sobs as he senses Mario's reassuring pats on his back. He brings him closer and forces himself to release the air slowly.

“It's all over, Lulu.”

Mario's voice, sweet and reassuring, is like a delicate and loving caress that makes him smile. Luigi hugs him a little tighter as he nods, unable to speak.

“We're together, okay?” his brother continues, his tone full of serenity and adoration. “We're together and we'll never be separated again.”

A soft, warm kiss is pressed on his temple, and the love and care present in the gesture cause Luigi to melt. He tightens his eyelids as hot drops flow, wetting his twin’s shirt and drawing from him a sob that he cannot repress. Luigi sniffles for a moment and presses his cheek against his sibling’s, who strokes his hair affectionately. When he moves away from him, Mario hastens to cup his face and continues to gently wipe his tears away.

Luigi blinks and purses his lips in an effort to calm himself down. His brother's grin, as well as the sweetness with which he tries to comfort him, warms his heart and helps him, at last, to smile back.

“M-Mario, I...” he manages to say, his throat trembling.

He raises an arm to reach for one of his hands and Mario does not hesitate to interlace his fingers with his. Luigi clings to him and to the firmness that the contact transmits to him in an attempt to ground himself and try to find his voice.

The squeeze that Mario gives his hand is enough for him to manage to form the words.

“I'm so sorry, Mario,” he apologizes in a strangled tone. “I'm so sorry for dragging you into this...”

“Hey, hey,” Mario interrupts in a low but firm whisper.

Luigi perceives his twin’s palm pressing lightly against his cheek, trying to deepen the caress. He closes his eyes, moved, but, as much as he wants to, guilt won't let him stop crying.

“Lulu, you didn't drag me into anything,” Mario assures him. “King Boo framed us both, remember?

“Yeah, but I fell for it...”

“And so did I,” interrupts Mario, smiling, and lets out an ironic cackle. “In any case, we'd both be a couple of complete idiots, wouldn't we?”

That makes him giggle. His sibling always knows what to say or how to act to make him feel better, and Luigi is aware of his immense luck for having Mario in his life. He still feels guilty and undeserving of his forgiveness, but the quiet chuckles that his brother manages to draw out of him do lighten the weight on his heart a little.

“If only I could’ve spared you so many bad wounds,” he laments, observing, one by one, the injuries he has just bandaged.

“Well, every cloud has a silver lining,” replies Mario, amused. “I already have a costume for next Halloween: I'm a mummy!” he adds, lifting his half-bandaged arm and pointing at his head.

Luigi's guffaw comes from deep within and is genuine and thunderous. He’s amazed at himself for having emitted such a sound, but he has no regrets: not only does he feel better thanks to his twin, no longer wanting to weep, but Mario also joins in his laughter, looking at him with shining eyes. Seeing his older sibling amused again, slowly healing thanks to his nurturing and the food the professor kept in his laboratory, fills Luigi with so much joy and peace that he’s unable to describe in words, but which fill his soul with placidity and harmony.

He can't wait to take him home and make him one of his favorite dishes. Lasagna, perhaps, or spaghetti Bolognese. Or maybe he'd prefer his favorite pizza? Luigi doesn't mind, as long as he can take care of his beloved brother as he deserves and, in his own way, try to make up for everything he’s suffered.

He then notices the intense glance Mario is giving him, his blue eyes so glistening with affection that it only makes his smile widen.

“Besides, Lu...” Mario sighs and gently squeezes his hand, “you know I'd do it for you again. I'd go through the same thing all over again just to see you in the end. I wouldn't change a thing.”

He concludes with a shrug, as if what he’s just said means nothing, as if he didn’t just completely open his heart to his twin and fully reached Luigi's. He grins, his smile and his gaze full of love and devotion, as if he wanted to proclaim to the four winds how much he adores his little brother, but it was enough for him that Luigi knew.

Luigi, of course, needs no more to be moved. His lower lip trembles and his eyes are misting again, this time because of the tenderness that his sibling’s words have awakened inside him, but he tries to keep his throat clear.

“And-I t-too, Mario,” he says from the heart. “I w-would do it again t-too.”

Without letting go of his fingers or lowering his arm, Mario lets out a moved chuckle.

“Oh, Lu, you don't have to. I know how much you fear ghosts. You’re so brave for facing them all, but I’d never ask you to do it again.”

“I would,” Luigi assures him, nodding vehemently. “For you, I would.”

This time it's Mario's turn to get emotional. Luigi can see it in the way his eyes shine and his lips purse, in the unhurried way he takes a breath and releases it just as slowly. As if he can't believe his luck in having a younger twin like him.

But the lucky one, of course, is Luigi.

“Ti ho già detto quanto ti voglio bene, Lulu?” stammers Mario, his voice faltering.

Now it’s Luigi who, unable to contain himself, giggles tenderly, so much more moved than he feels able to express.

“Ti ho detto io quanto ti voglio bene, Mario?” he replies in the same tone.

The two chuckle in unison and close their eyes. Their foreheads touch, with extreme care due to Mario's bandages, but that doesn't stop him from placing his fingers on the back of Luigi's head to draw him closer. With their hands joined, they laugh and cry in silence, without haste, for everything they need is right there in front of them.

Mario is the first to bend down to put his arms around Luigi. He rests his head on his shoulder and embraces him tightly, squeezing him hard on purpose to make him laugh. Luigi, delighted to receive one of his older sibling’s bear hugs again, can only squeeze him back with the same enthusiasm.

He’s missed him so much.

“It feels so good to have you back with me, little brother,” Mario whispers in his ear, and Luigi thinks he could melt.

“It feels so good to have you back in my arms, big brother,” he replies, cuddling him.

Mario giggles, unwilling to release him, and rubs his head against his shoulder. Luigi is even more moved when he realizes that his twin is snuggling up against his chest.

“I swear you’re just as soft as a pillow,” Mario mutters without opening his eyes, his voice a little muffled.

Luigi lets out a soft chuckle at his brother's attitude and the serene smile that adorns his lips. Without a doubt, after all that’s happened and having stayed awake long enough to tell his story and for Luigi to tend to his wounds, the time has come for Mario to finally rest.

Judging by how unwilling his sibling seems to open his eyes again, Luigi gets that he’s beaten him to the decision. Laughing again, he holds Mario close and strokes his head gently.

“If you want, I can be your pillow,” he offers in a whisper, cradling him lovingly.

“That would be very nice.”

Mario's voice sounds weak, barely a murmur. Luigi knows very well that his twin is about to fall asleep, so, without letting go of him, he begins to lie down. He’s grateful that the professor has ceded his room to them so that they can have some privacy and a place to give in to drowsiness, and he’s pleasantly surprised at how comfortable the mattress is on which he’s now reclined. He looks down at Mario and what he sees fills him with warmth and tenderness.

His older brother, lying right on top of him, has curled up against his chest, his extremely placid expression and his slightly parted mouth are clear indicators that he’s already in the land of dreams. Luigi exhales and holds him tight, wondering if he’ll ever come to understand the magnitude of everything his sibling has lived through, of everything he’s suffered, for him.

Sensing his grip, Mario sighs in his sleep and clings to the strap of Luigi's overalls, who in turn sighs, his heart swelling so much he thinks it could burst. After that long and scary night, he could ask for nothing more than to have his twin like this, resting in his arms, finally safe and feeling so secure and warm that he immediately dropped off. Love floods his body when Luigi, taking care not to wake him, leans down to press his lips to Mario's forehead, on a spot free of bandages, and keeps them there for a few seconds, wishing that they can transmit to his brother all the peace, serenity and affection that he’s experiencing at the moment. With luck, they’ll bring him golden dreams.

“Sogni d’oro, fratellone,” he whispers, each one of his words filled to the brim with love.

Feeling the new breath escaping from Mario's half-open mouth, Luigi is satisfied and, without letting go, he lays his head on the pillow and closes his eyes.

Now that the nightmare is over, he too can afford to take a nap.

After all, he’s finally with him again.

[kasagia]

Right hand

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: You were his right-hand (wo)man after he saw you in combat during your training on the Bene Gesserit. He freed you from them and turned you from a Bene Gesserit into a faithful soldier who took care of all his dirty business. Getting rid of the bodies of the people he killed, organising opponents for him to fight, poor people on whom he could vent his anger and desire for bloodshed, or even concubines. You were his eyes and ears in the baron's court. You reported everything to him, being more effective than any Bene Gesserit. But he wants more... much more. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; bathing together; dagger play; breeding kink? I guess; a lot things happening; my first time for Feyd so I'm a little nervous😅; enjoy!; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART II ~•♤♤♤•~

It wasn't your choice to undergo Bene Gesserit training. Your mother abandoned you when you were a little baby and took you to these terrible women, leaving you to their mercy.

You hated them. Their entire organisation, which included planned breeding, aimed at creating the Kwisatz Haderach. To you, these women were a sick cult that you were reluctant to be a part of. You trembled with fear, thinking of the day when they would send you to extend the genetic line of a nobel family by lending your womb or to ensure that their plans succeeded.

However, you realised that you had little say in the matter. The Bene Gesserit would find you anywhere if you tried to run and hide. You were doomed to follow the orders of your crazy old reverend mother and wait in fear for the day when you could prove your usefulness.

But one day, you crossed paths with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. And for a very long time, you considered it a real gift from fate. The first happy turn of events in your tragic life.

He was on a diplomatic mission. He was being shown around by the princess of your planet, and they happened to be attending the training of the Bene Gesserit sisters. You immediately caught his attention. Your movements were smoother, full of the passion of a true warrior. You charmed him so much that, at first, he thought you had put a spell on him. After seeing your potential and your obvious dislike for your sisters, he took you with him to Giedi Prime.

He faked your death so the Bene Gesserit sisters wouldn't come looking for you. He made you his right hand, his most trusted soldier. It was only after years of service under the Na-Baron that you realised that you had entered a much worse hell than any plans the Bene Gesserit had for you.

Feyd Rautha was supposed to be your personal devil. But first, you saw him as your saviour.

An animalistic, bloodthirsty scream resounds throughout the na-baron's private training room as his 'toy' falls dead under the blow she received from the furious man. You enter the room just as Feyd pierces him with his sword, causing drops of blood to land on your face.

You wipe them away, undeterred by the na-baron's brutality. Years of service had accustomed you to all the acts of cruelty he was capable of. At least this time, the dead man's entrails didn't spill around him. You hated calling his harpies to the feast. Despite so many years spent at the side of the baron's favourite nephew, you never got used to his concubines. They made you feel strangely uneasy.

"My lord, na-baron." You say, announcing your presence. Feyd breathes heavily and shifts his mad, furious gaze to you, not noticing your entrance until you speak.

You walk past the body, avoiding the pool of blood, and hand him a towel. He takes it from you without a word, wiping the sweat and blood from his head, chest, and back. You ignore his exposed muscles and kneel next to the man on whom he took out his anger, preparing to carry him out of the room before the next opponent/toy shows up.

"You were right. That old fool entrusted Arrakis to my brother. He will embarrass our family in one day. Ha! Even half is enough for him! This wretch doesn't know how to manage a small province, let alone an entire planet with fremen ready to attack at any corner." He says, rubbing himself furiously. He throws a towel into the corner of the room and walks to the table to pour himself something to drink.

"He gives him a chance to prove himself. When he wastes it, you will get it and prove to the baron and the lords that you are rightfully entitled to the title of baron." You say, securing the body so the guards at the door can carry it out.

"Every fool knows that. It's obvious that I'm a better choice than this scoundrel, who will sell the secrets of our family and swear allegiance to anyone who threatens his life. Baron throws a party in his honor. To the success of his mission. He's just doing it to piss me off. He doesn't give a damn about Rabban or whether he succeeds. This is just another of his tests on me. That's why you're coming with me. I've already sent for a dress for you." You look up at him with your surprised gaze. You're even more shocked when he reaches out his hand to help you up—something you didn't expect from him in his white, burning rage state.

"A dress?" You ask, taking his hand. You hold your breath, keeping yourself from gasping, as he lifts you off the floor with one strong pull. Unprepared, you bump completely onto his chest, not being able to keep your balance.

You freeze at the feeling of his muscled body close to yours. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest from the adrenaline he felt while killing this poor man. You tense up, seeing his icy-blue eyes already staring at yours. He starts giggling darkly as he presses you tighter against him so you can feel every muscle of his.

"Is there a problem? Would you prefer to come naked? I wouldn't mind, but…”

"I'm simply surprised that you want me there officially. I usually sneak there. I watch from the shadows. Well, you know." You interrupt me before he can insinuate anything, and with his silent permission, you move a decent distance away from him, leaving his arms.

You always had to be careful when making moves like this. You saw how he punished for minor offences, just for breathing. And you didn't run away from the Bene Gesserit with him to lose your life because of one of his… impulses. Although he has never put you in any serious danger, which was strangly amazing, since all of the servants who worked for him (and are still alive) have experienced his wrath on their bodies at least once.

"I know. But this time, I need you by my side. Not in hiding. My birthday is coming up—the most important of them all. I want to know what my uncle will come up with. Maybe you can find out something from the Lords. Besides, why wouldn't I want to have such beauty on my arm?"

"You want a woman by your side so you can humiliate your brother before he leaves? Perpetuate in him a sense of belief that you are superior, even if you don't have power over Arrakis right now?"

You see his hands tighten on his blades. You purse your lips, realising you were too quick to question his intentions. Basic mistake. You shouldn't have tested the waters when you knew Feyd was already on the end of his patience.

He takes a step towards you, entering your personal space. You swallow and lift your head to meet his gaze. This wasn't the first time he had intimidated you, tested you, carefully gauged your reaction, and waited until he finally saw the fear in your eyes. But you never gave him that satisfaction. If the Bene Gesserit taught you anything, it was that fear was weakness. A weakness you could tame... at least enough not to show it to anyone else.

So you endure his piercing, burning gaze with indifference. You stay like that even after a small smirk starts to appear on his face. You wonder how many people before you saw that smirk and stared into those night-black eyes on Giedi Prime as they passed from this world.

"That pink little tongue of yours will get you into trouble one day, my little witch." He purrs, his tone low and dangerous. He reaches up to your face with his free hand and gently runs his hand through your hair, caressing your cheek and jaw with the pad of his thumb. "Possible. I'm a na-baron... don't I deserve the best?" He looks defiantly at you, throwing you the proverbial gauntlet. He's waiting for you to stumble. For open defiance of his order.

You don't understand why, but he's been acting like this more and more lately. He made ambiguous comments, carefully watching your reaction. It was something new—a change in his behaviour that you hadn't figured out the reason for yet. But you had too much on your mind to think about it any longer.

"I can prepare you a beautiful concubine perfect for Giedi Prime standards." You suggest at which he shakes his head, laughing hoarsely. He turns his back to you and pours himself another glass of water.

"It's not necessary. I want you. Go and get ready. I'll join you in two hours when I'm done here." He says just as the door opens to reveal the soldiers you called for to take the body away and who have brought him a new drugged opponent. Feyd licks his lips, flips the blade up, and catches it, making a little show before lunging at his toy.

"As you wish, my na-baron." You say before leaving him to get ready for the party. Another warrior's scream echoes off the walls of the chamber as Feyd unleashes his anger on him.

You scan the room carefully, standing with your glass against the wall in a more crowded part of the room. You try your best to blend in with the crowd, but with your hair down, it's not that easy. Even if you try to cover your hair, you can feel people's curious gazes on you. But the worst ones are the burning gazes of the lords on you, some of them too lustful to be able to feel comfortable.

If you could, you would hide in the shadows, as usual, and observe them without being the centre of attention. You felt like a monkey in a circus or an exotic animal at an exhibition. The cold hand on your shoulder reminds you why you can't do this. You turn around to once again meet the na-baron's intense gaze today.

"You look good." He says as his eyes carefully scan the black latex dress with cutouts on the sides that reach down to your hipbones. "But I don't remember having that metal corset disguised as armour and that ridiculous chain veil sent to you along with the dress."

"I almost mistook this rag for a nightgown. I had to wear something on it. They think I'm your whore anyway; we don't have to prove it to them." You respond to his taunt and turn towards him. He is wearing black, formal armour, which is perfect as an official outfit.

"Do you find it scandalous to be my whore, little witch? Maybe even disgusting?" You meet his gaze to roll your eyes at him, at which he chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. You don't like this closeness, but there's nothing you can do to push his hand off of you. You are in public. Such a gesture towards him would be equivalent to a death sentence.

"I see nothing... honourable or good in being anyone's whore, my na-baron." You say, gently moving away from him so as not to lean on him as much.

"Have you seen anything noteworthy?" He asks, unfazed by your trying to move away from him. He pulls you up, wrapping his arms around your waist tighter and making your back rest against his chest. His fingertips brush against the exposed skin, caressing your hipbone.

You frown, turning your head to look at him. He's never been so... clingy before. He always respected your personal space and never touched you. You blame it on his desire to tease his brother, who is staring at you intently from across the room, and you shift your gaze to the people present at the party.

"Several lords congratulated your brother. However, there are rumours and beliefs that he will not be up to the task. Some also believe that you will slit his throat before his ship leaves for Arrakis."

"This idea crossed my mind. If you hadn't brought this information to me earlier, you would probably have had to deal with making the public believe in his… tragic and sudden death from natural causes."

"Natural causes; I wish I could see that." You scoff, finishing your drink. You turn around, leaving his arms, and set your glass down on the table. When you turn to him again, he holds out his hand for you to take.

"You'll see if you don't entertain me. I'm bored, and looking at this smug idiot isn't helping my patience or my ability to restrain myself. Dance with me, my little witch."

"You're interrupting my work." You complain, taking his hand. He leads you to the dance floor and spins you around, pulling you tight against his chest. He holds you close to him, perfectly placing his steps and moving to the beat of the music. He is as fluid in dancing as he is in fighting. Flawless as always.

"I'm your work. You are my right hand; you meet all my needs. I don't think I need to remind you of that, do I?" He asks in challenge, taking your chin between his two fingers as he looks at you carefully. You only smile at him in a sweet, artificial way. He laughs, fully aware of how fake this act is, and drops your chin.

Over the years, you discovered that he liked it when you teased him and responded to his taunts with your own. Of course, only when no one could hear it, and not very often. He had a reputation to uphold. He couldn't afford for anyone to see his right-hand (wo)man mocking him. Unbeknownst to you, he found it adorable the way your eyes lit up whenever you did something mischievous.

"Of course not, my na-baron."

"Good." He nods at your words. He takes his eyes off you for a moment and focuses on something behind your shoulder. He leans down, his cheek brushing against yours. You shiver at the sudden closeness, his scent becoming more distinct as you inhale it wholeheartedly. It's captivating. Sweet. Intoxicating. Dangerous. Just like him. "Do you have your daggers?" His hot whisper reaches your ear. He's so close, you can almost feel his full lips brush against your earlobe.

"Yes, why?" You ask, perfectly masking the tremble in your voice. But you doubt whether you can hide from him how your heartbeat speeds up. You blame it on the adrenaline rush. Not fear caused by his proximity.

"It seems to me that you will soon have to prove to these imbeciles once again why I chose you to be my right-hand man." He explains as the song ends.

You feel him reluctantly release you from his embrace and take a step away from you. You turn around and see his brother walking towards you, his right hand following him, giving you a mischievous look and a lecherous, mocking smile when he sees your outfit. You straighten up, lifting your head proudly at the man in a similar position to yours. The difference between you was that you served the stronger Harkonnen. It would give you an inviolably higher position if, like them, you had a penis between your legs.

"Brother. You finally brought your pet to play with us." Rabban says, nodding to his brother. You feel a wave of disgust as his gaze lingers on you longer.

Feyd tenses, furious, as his brother's eyes are all on you. You wouldn't have noticed if his hand hadn't been on your hip bone a moment later, hiding some of your exposed skin from his brother's eyes. You wonder what his problem might be. After all, he chose this dress for you by himself.

"Be careful. She doesn't have a muzzle. I would prefer that no harm come to you before you go to Arrakis. She's got some pretty... sharp teeth." He says it condescendingly, pulling you closer to him. In a perfect world, you'd kick them both in the groin. Unfortunately, you don't have that luxury. You can only imagine putting these two pseudo-alpha males in their place. But how sweet these dreams are...

"What about a small competition? My man against yours? Let's see what this mysterious beauty that you keep hidden can really do." Rabban's right-hand man gives you a cocky, confident look. He plays with the dagger in his hand, making a poor show that was intended to intimidate you. You roll your eyes behind your metal chain veil and shift your gaze to Feyd. You are only subject to his orders. Not some weak, pathetic creatures.

"This party is already dead. Do you want to kill also YOUR pet?" Feyd mocks him, and you almost break your unflappable, emotionless attitude, barely holding back your laughter. Na-baron sees this and smiles to himself, rubbing circles with the pad of his thumb on your hipbone.

"Are you afraid that she won't heat your bed anymore?" Feyd narrows his eyes at him. You feel his fingertips dig painfully into your hip as he tries to keep himself from lunging at his brother with the blade. You know full well that the eyes of the lords, the baron, and most of the people at the party are turned towards you.

"I have no doubt whatsoever about the outcome of this little skirmish. She will just sweat unnecessarily. And I would rather have her in full strength tonight." He says it in a mocking tone, shifting his gaze towards you. He licks his lips and tightens his grip to make his lewd intentions towards you clear to the two men.

Despite his famous reputation, he never touched you. Giedi Prime society might have thought otherwise, but in the years you had served as his right-hand man, he had never once taken you to bed or had you entertain him at night. You appreciated it immensely, which is why you accepted such behaviour from him without batting an eyelid whenever you were in public. It was all a game to maintain the reputation he had built over the years. Or so you thought.

"Feyd, boy, release your pet. Let her entertain us." The baron's words interrupt any skirmish that might have developed between the brothers.

It was not uncommon at Giedi Prime parties for soldiers to fight against each other to entertain the crowd. You just didn't think that you would have to fight someone during your first official arrival at the party. Although you should have anticipated such an unexpected turn of events. The baron and Rabban would not miss the opportunity to find out how much you were really worth and why Feyd, out of all the talented soldiers, chose the Bene Gesserit as his right-hand man.

You send a quick glance at Feyd. He gives you a small nod, so you bow to the baron and prepare to fight. The crowd around you parts to form a circle. You feel people's excitement as you flip the metal chains from your face to your hair, revealing more of your face. You wrap the shawl around your hair, tying it tighter and making sure it won't get in the way of your fight.

You look at your opponent, who is also preparing, trying to spot any of his weak points before the fight even begins. Rabban says something in his ear, which causes the manly smile to grow. Feyd stands in front of you, blocking your view of them. You look into his steel blue eyes as he leans towards you.

"Don't hold back." He whispers in your ear, handing you his blade. "And finish it quickly. We have other things to do."

You nod at him. He walks away from you, sending a mocking smirk at your opponent. He spreads his arms, taking a few steps back, as if inviting him to try his hand at you. You feel the burning gaze of his eyes on your back as you position yourself in front of the man.

"Don't worry, witch. If I win, I won't kill you. It's a shame to waste such a pretty face. I wonder if you're as good as the rumours say. Your pussy must be good to keep the na-baron entertained for so long." He says, waiting for you to activate your shield. But you don't do this. You want to completely humiliate him and give everyone in the room a clear message about your power and that you didn't secure your place just by having a pretty face. The crowd cheers, but you think you can hear Feyd growl furiously amidst the shouts of approval.

"I doubt you'll have the chance to find out." You say, and without waiting for his next words, you attack.

After the first few attacks, you figure out his tactics. He is physically strong, it's true, but that's his only advantage. It attacks you in a learned way, repeating its patterns. You read him quickly and position yourself to use his strength and mass against him. You could have walked up to him a long time ago and slit his throat, but you know it would be much better if you had some fun with him. You will show that you have complete control over the course of this fight.

You dodge the man's punches, and after a few minutes, you quickly get bored when you once again manage to kick him and send him to his knees. You take advantage of the moment he gets up from the floor to glance at your na-baron. Feyd doesn't look happy with your introduction. Of course, you see his interested look and how he appreciates your skills, but he doesn't look at you like he usually does. He doesn't wait with bated breath for your next move, like the crowd around you does. You can tell from his face that he wants you to finish this as soon as possible. You frown, surprised that he of all people doesn't enjoy watching the fight. You wonder what the hell is wrong with him.

Your moment of inattention is, of course, immediately exploited by your opponent. You manage to fend off the man's blade, but not his kick, which sends you landing on your butt on the floor. You feel rage more than pain; you only see red when you hear the cocky laugh of the man you are fighting with. You're so focused on driving the blade into his body that you don't notice Feyd's angry look, the murder in his eyes, and the desire to rip your opponent apart with his own hands as you fall to the floor. And you certainly don't see the trembling of his hand, as he instinctively wanted to grab you and pull you safely behind him.

You strike once, quickly driving the blade into the man's stomach and leaving it there. You push him to his knees, push away the hand that holds the sword, and reach for the dagger hidden in the sleeve of your dress. You strike a second time, piercing his shoulder. You stick the second dagger into his hand and knock the weapon out of his hand, taking it from him. You grab the man's throat in a tight grip and tilt his head back. You lean over him, a mocking smirk on your face as he struggles to breathe.

"I didn't even take off my high heels." You mocked him as you slit his throat.

You smile victoriously as you decapitate him. His head rolls at your feet, blood splattering your dress and face as you breathe heavily. You sigh, feeling your heart pound in your chest, as you bow to the crowd surrounding you as they shout and applaud you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rabban's sour, angry expression. You kick the head of his right hand towards him and give him a small smirk. You stand upright as you meet the eyes of your na-baron.

And then you saw it. Hunger in his eyes. Pure lust and desire, as his pupils were wide and solemnly focused on you.

You knew that gaze. He only looked like that at things he really wanted. Only his favourite concubines got THAT look from him or a beautiful, precisely made weapon that fit perfectly in his hands. Usually he had that look in his eyes right after the great battle he won. He would lock himself with his concubines and then spend long hours in his chambers, giving himself completely to his primal instincts.

You shiver as he walks towards you, ignoring anything else in the room. He grabs you tightly by the throat, and, to the delight of the drunken crowd who are screaming madly with excitement after the show you had made, he kisses you.

It is hard, hungry, and passionate. His hand completely removes the metal chains and shawl that were covering your head, and he pulls you to him as close as possible. His grip on your hair and throat is tight as he demands that your mouth be opened for him by biting your lower lip. You moan involuntarily, causing his tongue to slip into your mouth, as he is exploring new territory with a zeal you've never seen from him.

He pulls away from you when you're completely out of breath. Your vision is blurry, your heart is pounding from the adrenaline of the fight, and you can only stare at him stupidly and blankly while trying to understand what just happened.

Your eyes widen as he licks his lips, lust still burning in his eyes as he takes in your panting form and swollen, red lips. A trickle of blood drips from your mouth after he bit into it a few minutes ago. As you taste your blood on your tongue, you realise the terrifying truth.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen desired you.

Feyd strokes your neck, which is still in his tight grip. His eyes travel from your lips to your neck, to your collarbones, to the valley of your breasts, and to your hips, which were starting to bruise from how tightly he held them in the moments before your fight. Suddenly, everything starts to fall into place for you. His strange, unusual behaviour, the flirtatious comments, the long stares, and his more frequent attempts to hold you close to him and touch your exposed skin are starting to make sense.

You were screwed.

Completely and utterly fucked up.

You've been avoiding him since that night. More than any Reverend Mother or Bene Gesserit. Which was a very difficult task, considering how many things you had to do as his right hand.

But, luckily, you managed to avoid being alone with him. Of course, it couldn't last long. You knew him very well, and you knew that eventually he would try something and come for you. But you tried to deceive yourself by living the lie that his desire would pass and his concubines would effectively take care of him.

If he noticed your attempts to stay away from him, he never mentioned it. Of course, he chased after you when he saw you walking alone down the hall, but you never gave him a chance to catch up with you. He may have grown up here, but you knew the palace like the back of your hand. And all the nooks and crannies you could hide in from him.

So you actually managed not to get close to him for a very long time. Until it was time to train a unit of soldiers directly subordinate to him.

"Y/N!!!" You're sure all of Giedi Prime could have heard his scream. You sigh, calming down as you continue your walk to the arena. You step out into the black sun, carefully watching the men training. You walk up to him and bow to him.

"My lord na-baron." You say it politely, unfazed by the fact that he's practically seething with rage. You were more used to dealing with him like this than when he was horny... or worse, kind. You would turn on your shield if you knew it wouldn't make him fall over the edge and start murdering everyone he could.

"Take your blade. None of these piles of useless muscles know basic defensive moves. Look, you all! You have to learn this by the end of the day, or next time you will enter this arena as my opponent!" He walks over to one of them, probably to either stab him or adjust his position, leaving you to get ready. You tie your hair up so it doesn't bother you during a fight and choose your blade.

You gasp in surprise when you are suddenly pushed. You turn around quickly, trying to keep your balance as you face the na-baron. You move your hand to activate your shield, but his voice stops you:

"Don't. I have to show them how to do it. No shield." You know he's lying, and that's not why he doesn't want you to turn on your shield, but you don't say anything. You just nod and prepare to get into a defensive position.

He attacks you quickly. Very quickly. You've trained with him before, and you have to admit, he's never been this… brutal with you.

You go through different positions with him until you finally stop following the textbook fighting patterns and start fighting seriously. You keep up with his movements for a long time, blocking his blade with yours and dodging attacks that you have no physical ability to block, but he keeps pressing against you, not letting you rest or trying to return the favour with one of your attacks.

You gasp in surprise when he trips you, sending you to the ground. You block his swing at you with your blade and kneel in the sand, trying to get up, but he's pressing too hard against you with his sword for you to move. You use all your strength to push him away from you. Feyd growls, throwing his sword aside, and simply lunges at you. You're too shocked to do anything as he snatches the blade from your hand and sits on top of you.

You fight him, sending both of you rolling in the sand. Eventually, he gets impatient and wraps his hand around your throat. You take a hoarse breath as he blocks your airway. You grab his hand around your neck and try to pull it away. You dig your nails into his palm, but he remains unmoved, pinning you to the sand.

He leans closer to you, and you take the opportunity to wrap your hand around his neck. He laughs, showing you his black teeth as he practically lays on top of you. His erection presses hard against your thigh as he grinds against you, grunting as he too begins to feel the need for air... and something more. You see black spots in front of your eyes, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to breathe.

You let go of his neck completely, your hand falling next to your head, and you desperately try to use the remaining air to try and use your Bene Gesserit voice on him. But before you try to say anything, he loosens his grip so you can breathe, but his fingers are still lightly holding your neck.

Too busy breathing, you don't notice how he tilts his face towards you. Only when you feel his tongue on your neck do you realise how close he is to you. You freeze when he runs his tongue from your neck, from jaw to cheek, to taste your tears. You hear him moan softly. To confirm that your brain, stunned by lack of oxygen, didn't make it all up on its own, he rubs against you, and his hardness in his pants is clearly felt by you.

You just fucking hope he doesn't fuck you in front of those soldiers.

You meet his black eyes with yours. You shiver as he leans in, his bare chest pressed completely against you as he whispers into your ear.

"Damn you, witch... if you taste as sweet as your tears..." He growls. You feel dizzy, and you're not sure if it's because of the heat of the moment, the fact that he cut you off from oxygen for a while, or because you're overwhelmed by his scent and the warmth that radiates from the two of you.

You thank whoever is above you as he finally pulls away from you and stands up. He gives you his hand and helps you stand on your two feet. The soldiers obediently look at the ground, not daring to face the na-baron's gaze. You swallow hard, pulling your hand from his grasp.

Feyd barks orders at them, herding them back to training. You breathe a sigh of relief when he stops paying attention to you. You use your shawl to wipe his saliva and your sweat from your neck. You take your blade and are about to leave the arena to do the rest of your duties. But a tight grip on your wrist stops you. You tense up and turn around to face him again.

"Y/N." He murmurs, watching you carefully. You're sure that bruises are starting to appear on your neck from his tight squeeze. "Come to my chambers tonight." A cold shiver runs through you, but all you can do is nod and watch his retreating figure as he leaves to continue the training.

You hoped he didn't mean what you thought he meant by that... invitation. Otherwise, this could be your last night on Giedi Prime or the last night of your life. You're not sure yet.

For the first time, you feel fear as you walk to his chambers. He had called for you at such times before, but it never occurred to you that he wanted to do with you something else than discuss with you matters that were related to the Giedi Prime Court, the baron's plans, or other political matters and plots.

You shudder, wondering what might be waiting behind that door. You saw the condition in which some of his concubines left him. You didn't want to become one of them; you didn't want to be reduced to being his lover. It was fine as it was. You felt very good as his shadow, ears, and eyes. You liked conspiring together with him, making plans, and that hrill each time you managed to take down the enemies that were standing in your way. He was supposed to be your savior, not your persecutor. Were you that naive from the beginning, or has everything started going to shit recently?

The guards let you through without saying a word. With your heart pounding, you enter his chambers.

He's sitting on the bed. His harpies finish taking off his clothes, and at first you want to back away, but as soon as his gaze meets yours, you freeze. Feyd snaps at one of them. She hands him a glass of his wine while the others look at you furiously.

"Leave." He tells them, never taking his eyes off you. The women look at each other, not wanting to leave him, especially leave him alone with you. You guess that if it weren't for Feyd's presence, they would have attacked you long ago, trying to eat you before their master got a chance to touch you. Disgust arouses in you as you think that you may be soon reduced to their role and turned into one of them. "I said something." He growls at them, shifting his gaze from you to give them an angry glare.

The harpies are going out obediently, but they are not wasting an opportunity to hiss at you as they pass you to get to the exit. You hear one of them scream in pain as Feyd suddenly throws a knife at them right before they close the door behind them.

You were more used to his brutal reflexes than to his tender gestures. You actually preferred him being aggressive more. At least you could have predicted his movement. That's why you didn't even blink when he threw a blade at his pets.

"You wanted to see me." You start when you are alone. If you could impress him with anything other than your fighting skills and the ability to obtain various information by staying in the shadows, it would be that you never showed fear or insecurity. At least not to those who don't know you. Almost no one could read you. Almost.

However, Feyd saw that you were behaving differently. But he was tired of controlling himself around you. He couldn't do it anymore after tasting your lips, tasting your skin mixed with tears, and feeling your curves press against him. He wanted more. Much more than he ever got from you. And he was going to take it, whether you wanted it or not. He won't go crazy with lust for you... or at least not with as much longing for you each night as he used to.

"I did..." He stands up, and you're grateful he's at least wearing underwear as he walks over to his bar and pours a second glass of wine. He hands it to you and taps it with his own. He takes a few sips and looks at you. After a while, he sits down on his bed again and swirls his glass, playing with the remains of the wine. "Baron wants me to find a wife." He announces calmly, staring at you intently as he finishes his wine with one big sip.

You almost choke on your drink. You place your glass on the table and meet the careful gaze of his cold, blue eyes. You feel yourself starting to get hot with nerves.

"I beg you pardon?" You ask, still reeling from the shock of this sudden information.

"He wants me to find a broodmare who will bear my heirs since I am getting close to the appropriate age." He repeats, standing up gracefully. He approaches you, his steps slow and measured, as if he were approaching his prey in an arena. And for a moment, that's exactly how you feel. But you show no fear or any other emotion as he stops a few inches in front of you. You straighten up, your muscles tensing as you think about any answer.

"I… I can make the necessary preparations and check which high families…"

"Strip." He orders you. His tone is hoarse, leaving no room for any objection. He talks just as if he were asking you to pass him the dagger rather than to stand naked in front of him. As if it was an order he carried out every day and something you should be used to following.

"What?" You ask stupidly, unable to process what he said to you in your head.

"Have you gone deaf? Undress. Take your clothes off." He repeats mockingly. He crosses his arms, takes a few steps back, and leans against the wooden post of his bed as he watches you carefully, waiting for you to either obey his order or openly disobey him, giving him the opportunity to punish you... as if he even needed a reason to do so.

"My na-baron, I..."

"Exactly, Y/N. I am your na-baron. So follow my order. Now. I'm not in the mood for our games. You think I haven't noticed you've been playing hide-and-seek lately? I have given much worse punishments for such disobedience and attempts at self-indulgence. Take your clothes off, or I'll rip them from you."

For a moment, there is a deathly silence in his chambers. Only your breathing can be heard as you try to find any way out of this situation. But you can't think of anything. Your mind is empty, your hands are shaking a little, and all you can do is look at him, silently begging him to change his mind. A frown of impatience appears on his forehead, and you know you have to do something before he gets irritated and cuts you with one of his blades.

You sigh softly as you reach for the laces of your shirt. You take your time, slowly untying your bindings. Feyd devours every bit of skin you expose to him, and you swear you hear him hold his breath as your shirt lands on the floor. You get out of your shoes and socks very slowly.

Luckily, he doesn't comment on it and lets you get out of his clothes at your own pace. He knows he will win anyway. Tonight, he will finally stop playing cat and mouse with you and put his hands on what is rightfully his. So he savours every moment, making a plan in his head for what he will do to you tonight for this small act of rebellion.

He licks his lips as you stand in front of him in nothing but black underwear. His eyes take in your every curve, skin lesions, and scars that mark your warrior body. Oh yes. He was going to enjoy this night and finally unwrap his early birthday present.

"Good girl. You know where the bathroom is, right?" Without waiting for your response, he goes there, expecting you to follow him.

You swallow hard. You're glad that at least you managed to stay in your underwear and that you're not completely naked in front of him. You get out of your pile of clothes and leisurely follow him to the bathroom.

As soon as you enter, the door closes itself behind you. You sigh, the sweet smell of bath salts reaching your nostrils. But you don't feel so relaxed when the coolness of the bathroom and the black marble you stand barefoot on make you shiver and your nipples harden.

The na-baron's dark chuckle catches your attention. He's in a large, black bathtub, his hands resting on its edges as he enjoys the warm water, watching you closely, a spark of amusement shining in his icy blue eyes. He looks like a vulture waiting for the best moment to kill his prey.

"It had been a long day. Join me." He says, lifting his hand for you to take and step into the tub.

Having no choice, you obediently reach for his hand and release it as quickly as you can, sitting on the other side of the bathtub with your legs tucked under you so as not to accidentally touch him. He laughs, shaking his head in amusement.

"Not so far, my little mouse. Closer. I won't bite… well, not yet."

"I'm not a mouse." You snap at him. If you're going to die, at least die with dignity. Blinded by your anger at him, you sit on his lap before you can think it through. It's only his hardness pressing against your ass that makes you realize what a mistake you've made. You don't show your discomfort, though; you even lean against his chest, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

He laughs softly, wrapping his arms around you just as the skin of your back meets his chest. You feel like you're in a cage, even though he's trying to calm you down by lazily drawing patterns on the skin of your arms. Your underwear soaks up the water and sticks to you, making you feel even more uncomfortable.

"Hand me my dagger."

You much prefer receiving such orders from him. You get up from the bathtub to get away from him for a moment, but he stops you by grabbing your hips tightly. He shakes his head and nods towards the dagger, which is literally at his fingertips. You bite your lip, keeping yourself from talking back at him, and reach for the weapon, handing it to him. You do this carefully, not wanting to cut the skin of your fingertips with the very sharp blade.

He cuts through the fabric of your bra with surgical grace. You gasp in outrage but don't move, knowing full well that you are only millimetres away from him taking your blood. You don't have to turn around to know he's smiling cockily as he traces the tip of his dagger across your skin to your panties.

"You know I can take it off by myself?" You ask as he traces patterns with the tip of his dagger on your stomach, around your navel. You hold your breath as he rests his chin on your shoulder and pulls you closer to him, rubbing against your still-clothed ass. You learn the hard way that the rumours about his... greatness were true.

"You had your chance at the beginning, now it's my turn. You're lucky that I'm not taking it off of you with my teeth anyway." He growls in your ear. You shiver as he presses a wet kiss on your shoulder, peppering kisses on your skin, down to your neck, and down to your jawbone before he rests his chin on your shoulder again.

"Sorry for interrupting your fun, my na-baron." You growl as he hooks the tip of his dagger against the fabric of your panties.

"No worries; you will compensate me in another way." He says, cutting your panties. He throws them behind him and lazily presses the dagger against your jawbone, forcing you to turn your head to look at him.

You meet his blue eyes with yours. His irises are practically non-existent, giving way entirely to his dilated, black pupils. He stares at you hungrily, licking his lips. He looks lost and indecisive, as if he didn't know what to do first.

His other hand, the one not holding the dagger pressed against your neck and jaw, explores your body, caressing your skin as if it were some kind of precious silk. You sigh as he cups your breast, which, of course, fits perfectly in his hand. You want to punch him in the face, but the dagger at your throat reminds you that one wrong move could cost you dearly. So you take his hand in yours instead, stopping him from over-exploring.

"You know... I tried to stay away from you. From the first moment I saw you... fighting with those daggers of yours... you're not as graceful in dancing as you are with them in your hands, taking down all your enemies. But you are Bene Gesserit. I know you're dangerous. So damn dangerous... if I were anyone else, you'd use your voice on me and tell me to castrate myself. Or you could make me magically disappear by throwing myself off some tall tower just because I thwarted your plans or looked at you wrong. Surprised? You may live in the shadows, my little witch, but I won't miss anything you do. You know I have trouble controlling myself... so how can I do that when you're so damn irresistible? The fact that I've endured all these years and not gotten close to you the way I wanted—the way I dreamed so many times at night—is quite a success, don't you think?"

He massages your breast, playing with it. You bite your lip, holding back a moan as he pinches your nipple. He leans closer to you, pressing his nose against your neck and inhaling your scent deeply. He removes his hand from your breast and moves your connected body along your body. You gasp, tightening your grip on his as he brushes your clit gently with his fingertip.

"I… I should go." You mumble, squirming in his grip, which is, of course, pointless and only makes him groan in pleasure as your ass rubs against his hard, leaking member.

"Stay. You won't oppose your na-baron, will you?" The bastard knows well that you won't openly oppose him, and he uses it as best he can. He moves your joined hands to his length, forcing you to wrap your hand around him. He hisses, pressing the blade closer to your throat and tightening his grip on your hand as he guides yours along his length the way he wants. "Your skin is so soft… and that beautiful hair that you needlessly hide… you don't know how many times I imagined pulling you by it." He mumbles into your neck. The hand with the dagger now presses against your chest, only causing your heart to beat much faster. A wave of heat washes over you, your traitorous pussy clenching desperately as you hear his moans in your ear.

"Feyd..." You moan as his hand releases yours and works at your desperate pussy. He growls, feeling the warmth of your walls around his fingers and the wetness he caused. You remove your hand from his member and tighten your grip on his hand, trying to push him away from your private parts in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.

"Don't fight. Just give yourself to me, Y/N. Let me show you how much you've lost while trying to hide yourself from me in your shadows…" He growls, pressing the tip of the dagger to your nipple. You freeze, moaning as he becomes stiffened by the sheer movement of his blade.

He bites into your neck, making you moan loudly and throwing your head back. He licks and sucks your neck, rubbing his painfully hard cock against your pussy. The water splashes around you, some of it spilling out of the tub due to his sudden movements. A few inches deeper, and he would have slammed into you, bisecting you with his huge cock, which stood ready for you from the moment he saw you in your underwear.

"Can you feel it? Can you feel what you're doing to me? How hard I am because of you? It's like this every time you hand me my blade, perfectly balanced and sharpened, every time you meet all my needs without even communicating with me, you just know what I want by looking at me, my little witch. So tell me, who is a better partner for me than my right hand? Who can I trust more than you? Who should I fuck, full of my heirs, if not you?"

You don't respond; you can't find any words as your brain desperately tries to shout out the pleasure he's giving you and force you to resist him. Unsuccessfully. The warmth of the water, his body, his scent, and his precise, deliberate movements cut off your thoughts. Feyd is practically salivating at the sight of you so lost in lust and desire as he witnesses you lose control for the first time.

He throws away the dagger, which falls with a crash onto the marble floor. Neither of you care as he grabs your hips and, in one smooth, quick movement, turns you around so you can face him.

You only have time to draw in a quick breath before he demands your mouth. You moan into his lips as he kisses you with the same passion and intensity as he did a few weeks ago at the party after you won the fight. You try to pull away from him, but he holds you tightly, placing his hands on your back as he presses you against him. You don't stand a chance against his strength. You can resist him, but you know it won't be long before you collapse from exhaustion. You bite his lip until you draw blood, which only causes him to groan and have him grind against you, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

You gasp as he leaves your lips for a while and pulls your hair, exposing your throat to him so he can mark it even more. He sucks on your skin, littering it with hickeys as you feel him slowly move, positioning himself beneath you so that his member presses against the entrance of your pussy.

And just as he's about to join your bodies, to make you two one, to feel your hot, wet, tight walls around him, there's a knock on the bathroom door.

This time, he's the one who freezes, tightening his hold on you. You feel like he's making sure he hasn't misheard or imagined it in this heated moment between you, but when the knocking sounds a second time, he realises it's real.

You pray with gratitude for the soul of the fool who dared to interrupt him, because you know that even if it were something important, he would not live to see the morning.

"What?!" He growls furiously, not letting you go, not letting you move an inch from him, still believing that he can quickly get rid of the intruder and go back to ravaging you, maybe even fucking you while he talks to whoever is standing in front of that damned door. Though Feyd preferred to be fully focused on you when he took you for the first time. However, he was convinced that if he didn't feel you around him soon, he would go crazy. He is so close... all he had to do was push a little more...

"My lord na-baron. The Baron wants to see you. It's very important."

You see pure rage bubbling in his eyes. He growls, shifting you from his lap as he stands up. You look down as you see all of him very clearly, especially what you were exposed to a few moments ago. He throws a towel at you, and you automatically catch it. He wraps one around his waist before he comes back to you again and grabs your throat. He gives you a crazy, passionate kiss, stroking your neck and appreciating the marks he made before pulling away from you.

"We'll come back to it, little witch." He leaves you with that promise, closing the door behind him with a bang.

You hear him shouting something at his harpies, and you shudder at the thought of having to walk past them to get out of here. You lean back against the tub, still sitting in the now-cold water, as you slowly process everything that happened.

You succeeded this time, but you know you won't be so lucky next time. You could either accept... your new responsibilities and his expectations of you, or you could try to break free from him, risking your life.

It was a decision to be made in the privacy of your own chambers. For now, you let yourself lie in the cool water, fully aware that if you weren't interrupted now, he would fuck you silly, likely planting his seed inside you.

You ran away from the Bene Gesserit with him because you didn't want to be a whore, a vessel for their crazy breeding plan. Apparently, you just changed the owner of your womb. You had to do something if you didn't want to end up as originally intended—as the mother of the future Kwisatz Haderach.

[kedsandtubesocks]

Born Again

Priest!Joel Miller x F!Demon Reader

summary: you want the handsome priest more than anything, he wants you gone…but what transpires between you & him is either a curse sent straight from hell (or a twisted blessing in disguise)

word count: 5.9k

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. dark themes. no outbreak/modern AU, enemies to lovers, Catholicism themes & imagery, multiple character deaths & discussion of death, heavy priest kink, blasphemy & corruption kink, morally gray!Joel, morally gray!reader, unspecific age gap (Joel is in his 50’s & older than reader), biting & blood drinking, moments of violence, manhandling, blood imagery, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m), finger sucking, major yearning & angst, protective!Joel, use of gendered language, hint of bi!reader, one use of “good girl,” reader addresses Joel as “old man”

a/n: This is my entry for @pedgito SpringFever25 [cemetery + supernatural] please be aware of the warnings - this fic I know won’t be everyone’s cup of tea & I kindly ask if it isn’t please scroll away! Divider credit & thanks goes to the wonderful @saradika-graphics

St. Jude’s church is quaint, rather simple. A coziness inside reflects its small Texas community that sits on the outskirts of Travis County. Beautiful stained glass windows line the walls illuminating the space.

The opening hymnal starts, and you sing the songs like you care. Then your eyes are drawn forward as your prey arrives.

The priest moves around the altar, readying himself for the mass. The cream and purple ecclesiastical robes paint him a holy shepherd of his flock.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…” He makes the sign of the cross deep with an accented twang, and your lips twitch.

You never would’ve expected such a rich southern voice to leave a pastor. Then again, this man doesn’t seem like an ordinary priest.

Father Joel Miller is rugged, reminding you more of an outlaw wearing a costume. The stern look on his handsome face seals a gruff nature to him. Yet you’ve seen his soft heart when the congregation flocks to him after mass finishes.

Many in the church lust after him. You can sense it. Even if it wasn’t in your nature, it’s hard to miss the multiple women during the service batting their eyes and wearing rather revealing tops that would make a nun faint.

You aren’t the only one who wants this man. But, maybe you might be the only one who wants to devour this man’s soul.

As a demon of lust, you’ve always wondered what it would taste like to indulge with a man of the cloth.

And Joel is your perfect target.

This priest has been challenging. Unlike other humans, you haven’t been able to read his desires.

You wandered into this town a few months ago and settled in effortlessly. This church called to you like a siren’s song. The amount of carnal desire seeping out begged for you to feast, made your mouth water. Then you saw the reason why.

Currently Father Joel focuses on preparing the eucharist, his brow heavily furrowed and meditative in prayer.

Distinguished in his age, scruffy beard, strong nose, gorgeous eyes - it’s unbearable witnessing a man like him waste under the holy robes. A bitter taste fills your mouth just thinking about it.

After the service, the church opens their food drive pantry for the weekly breakfast to serve those in the community who need a meal.

It’s your first time joining.

Originally, you had planned to lurk, slowly get accustomed to being around holy ground until finally working up the strength to pounce.

But of course, being a new face in a small church, you were singled out immediately.

You shared a fake sob story about how you were searching for God. Multiple parishioners immediately took you under their wing, even dragged you to bible study. Unfortunately they’ve now roped you into helping out with the event today. But, you view it as a step closer to your handsome goal.

Except the hot priest doesn’t give you a second glance.

You try everything to be in his eyesight, purposefully being extra disgustingly holy and helping out.

Even one of the deacons compliments you.

“A young woman such as yourself taking the time on a Sunday to do this? You’re a fine example.” Deacon Matthews beams at you proudly.

Yet Father Joel ignores you, not once acknowledging your presence.

It pisses you off. Annoyed, you’re sent back to the pantry at the rectory building to put away the plates. In the quiet storage room, heavy footsteps approach behind.

You turn around -

Whatever words you want to say die in your throat.

Father Joel stands in the doorway, staring furious. This is it, your chance. An unbearable excitement bubbles in you.

“Oh, Father! I’ve been meaning to-”

Your words get cut off immediately when the priest raises up a small crucifix, clutching it painfully tight in his grasp. He remains silent.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” You’re slightly confused and glad it leaks into your voice.

“I know what ya are…” his voice rumbles low and deadly.

“God damned creature of sin, I cast you out.” He spits the words seeping with venom.

A sharp pain strikes straight into your chest as if a lightning bolt just struck you. Your eyes sting. A distorted screeching noise, an internal alarm, roars in your ears while an animalistic panic claws across your skin.

You recognize this feeling.

Once after you had slept with a nun and devoured her soul, her hellbent convent quickly found you. The head mother superior, instead of a cross, raised a rosary at you. She spoke similar words to what this priest just said, invoking the same reaction you feel now.

Everything clicks.

You bark a laugh, shaking the sensation away, and look the priest dead in the eye.

“So…You’re an exorcist, huh?” You grin surprised, borderline gleeful.

This is going to be fun.

—

You show up to mass next Sunday, walking prouder than ever entering St. Jude’s church.

Joel murderously glares at you any chance he can. You get tempted to blow a mocking kiss at him during communion.

After mass, you even stay to wish him well. The priest keeps silent, doesn’t even shake your hand. Just nods politely knowing others are around watching.

“Oh what did you do to make Father Joel look at you like that?” One of the sweet grandmothers from bible study jests with you.

“Wait, I thought he always looked like that?” You joke back. The older woman laughs, swatting your arm.

“He’s quite grumpy at first.” She nods. “But after what he went through, I don’t blame him.”

That peaks your interest instantly.

You want to ask more, see what gossip she could spill. But the woman leaves too soon with her husband, and you’re left more curious than ever.

You’re about to leave and slink back into the shadows. Until a hard hand yanks at your arm, stopping you.

Stunned, you find Joel frowning with pure malice.

His touch sparks an immediate reaction. An electric chill runs up your spin. As strong as you are, you can admit, this man must be incredibly formidable to hold such blessed power. He could burn you alive.

“If you’re going to grab me this hard, at least take me to dinner first.” You scoff.

He doesn’t say anything but drags you to a secluded area alongside the shadow of the church. He’s alarmingly strong.

“How the fuck are ya even here?” The priest snarls.

The guy knows his stuff. Normally your kind doesn't last long around churches, especially when a mass is happening.

But you’re strong too. And the sins festering in this house of worship keep you strong, tarnishing the holy ground’s sanctity.

“Maybe you need to recommend more confessions, father. Your flock isn’t as holy as you think they are.” You sneer amused, yanking your arm away from his grip.

He’s closer than ever, and a caged desire rattles to pounce. It begs, aches, for you to consume him and feast.

Soon voices approach, and you slide out from his grasp.

“See you next week.” You wave, happily slipping into the shadows.

Keeping your promise, you arrive at the church the following week. Except this time you’re here for bible study. Of course you play along, the perfect curious believer wanting to learn. But you’re honestly here for the gossip.

“So what’s the deal with Father Joel?” You ask when the pastries are brought out.

Two of the women glance at each other sharing knowing looks.

“We forgot… you’re still new here and don’t know.” One of them mutters quietly.

Apparently, the priest was married before. Not only that, he had a young daughter.

Honestly you’re not entirely shocked. He’s gorgeous. Good for him for enjoying the fun before he decided to become boring and holy.

“But the three of them were in a horrible car accident, and both his wife and daughter perished.”

You don’t have a heart as a demon. But the echoes of sorrow, emotions you understood when you were human, flutter awakened.

“That’s… awful.” You mumble.

“Isn’t it?” The other woman nods sorrowful.

He apparently begged God for mercy the day his family died.

“And after that, he took on the path of a priest.” The other woman finishes bright like this is a happy ending of the story.

You feel upset for Joel now, for his family, getting diminished as a way to remind people of God’s grace.

“Thanks to God.” You say robotically. The words taste awful, and you hate them.

When bible study ends, the sun slowly starts to sink over the horizon. Saint Jude’s is not just a simple church, but an older one. There’s even a cemetery right beside it.

You walk along the graveyard’s edge cautious not to fully step inside.

Further inside among the headstones, the priest sits on a bench beside a tree, looking down at the ground with rosary beads in hand.

Now more than ever Joel looks like a man, beautiful and human, not a holy warrior of God.

He must sense you. Immediately his eyes snap up, and pure rage twists his face.

“What are y’still doin’ here?” Joel snaps low.

“Had bible study.” You shrug.

Daring to be bold, you take one step into the cemetery.

Being in here among the dead is more dangerous even compared to the church. So you remain close to the entrance.

“Y’know I can exorcise your ass right here and now.” He growls, and it sounds beautiful.

“You’re forgetting where we are, old man.” That nickname slips from you effortlessly.

His mouth falls. Eyes, dark as the graveyard dirt, fill with trepidation. It’s a strange reaction that paints him small, almost lost and begging for something.

But you simply shrug it off, kicking a bit of dirt towards him.

A cemetery is the one true neutral place where both demon and saint can walk alongside each other. Neither you or the priest have any power here. In theory, you’re as weak as a mortal. But so is he.

“What the fuck do ya want?” Joel says exhausted with an anger brewing below his voice.

“Demons want everything, that’s a silly question.” You reply.

His earthen eyes narrow, pinning you right where you stand among the dead.

“But what do you want?” He emphasizes his words sounding delicious this calm and deadly.

“Maybe I just want you.” Your answer, earnest and casual, rings borderline soft.

Exiting the cemetery, you wave goodbye to him.

“Until next time, Father.”

A new plan of action hatches.

Being a lust demon you indeed hold the ability to sense the carnal wishes of others. But it also means you can draw out and read what a person’s desires are, erotic or not.

And you want to know why Joel desired to become a priest.

Sometimes you can catch hints of a person’s desires from those they’re close with. So since your abilities, for whatever reason, don’t work on the handsome priest, your next option is Deacon Matthews.

He’s a boring man. Has two kids about to head off to college and a wife he doesn’t know is secretly having an affair. He’s been earnestly trying to talk with you more, and you swear you catch a whiff of lust floating off him.

So you sign up for another church event. This time it’s a rummage sale. You gladly offer to help at the stall Deacon Matthews works.

You catch the look on Joel’s face when he spots you. How disgusted he scowls almost makes you laugh.

“He seems extra grumpy today doesn’t he?” Deacon Matthews notices it too, and you playfully snicker alongside him.

“What happened to Father Joel embracing the heavenly gift of joy?” You joke.

The deacon sighs. “Well, after the trials he’s been through, I understand how hard it can be for him to find grace sometimes.”

Shifting in your plastic seat, you give your full attention to the deacon. Now you sense it, the heated sensation of a man feeling eager being the center of attention.

Deacon Matthew leans closer and of course tells you the same story you already know.

So you decide to act now. You touch Deacon Matthew’s arm expressing your sympathy, but it allows your power to slowly trickle in and search.

You find a glimmer of Joel in the deacon’s memory, but a terrible sensation crashes in.

Anguish and hurt, a frozen grief ripping fierce…

The holy mantle weighs a burden for Joel.

This man swore the vows, took on the blessed robes, as atonement for letting his family die. He wants to punish himself for not saving them, believing he doesn’t deserve to indulge in this world.

Pious, prudence, all punishment.

And by exorcising demons as God’s warrior, he gets to ignore his own.

You didn’t expect this much guilt, and heaven splitting heartbreak.

It makes your lips quiver, and you can’t explain why.

Immediately your hand draws back from Deacon Matthew. His eyes have hazed over, borderline lewd, and you subtly shift away.

“I’m sorry Deacon, can you maybe get me some water?” You ask politely, faking exhaustion.

“Of course, you’ve done so much today. Sit and rest.” He agrees, eagerly scrambling out of his seat.

You exhale, closing your eyes and trying to relax in the uncomfortable plastic seat.

“What? Can’t have me so you’re going after him?” Joel’s voice cuts through sharp, and your eyes snap open.

Standing hands crossed over his chest, he wears his typical glare.

He’s in a simple black button up with the white priestly collar gleaming through. This attire shows off his built arms, his strong physical form. The afternoon light also highlights the glorious grays in his beard and hair.

He’s older, beautifully older - you know this. But it feels as if you’re finally letting it sink, like fully understanding why an art piece is stunning.

You don’t say anything, simply stare at this man who’s slowly been eating away at you.

Deacon Matthews thankfully arrives just in time. Batting your eyes, you exaggerate your thanks. The deacon blushes, and before he can even greet Joel the priest storms off.

You don’t even have the heart to go after him or even make a joke.

—

In the bible, the book of Joel tells a somber tale. Scripture depicts the prophet Joel, in the midst of a dooming plague of locusts, urges the people to repent.

You think it’s almost ironic, a sick goddamn joke, that this man is named after such a biblical figure.

Because Joel Miller has become a plague upon you.

Your thoughts are only of him. You stay at the church more just to see him.

You haven’t feasted or eaten in weeks. Your body feels exhaustedly sluggish, more human, but you don’t even mind.

A new hunger ripens in you now anyways.

At night, your fingers constantly dig deep into your pussy thinking of Joel’s firm hands all over you, strong and dangerous, burning your skin. Demon of desire or not, this craving is unbearable. Your mouth dries parched at the thought of tasting him.

More, something dark in your whispers. You want him more…

After mass, a choir member tells you Father Joel wants you to meet him in his office. This could be the most twisted trap, but you realize you won’t be mad if it is.

“Come in.” Joel’s gruff voice comes muffled through the office door.

A strange nervous energy bubbles in you. Entering the office, you feel younger than ever, faintly human.

The beige room stands desolate, spartan and bare, except for a picture of the Divine Mercy on the wall. At his desk, Joel scribbles away at paperwork.

Closing the door behind you, his eyes flicker up.

“Didn’t expect you to exorcise me in the middle of the day and with your poor cute secretary right outside. You’re getting bold, old man.” You snicker.

The priest dully glares.

“So, care to tell me why I’m here?” You ask, sliding into the seat across the desk from him.

He remains silent.

A prolonged pause follows.

“You know… this office feels very naughty professor and student vibes more than hot priest and demon-”

“Enough.” His snarl cuts you off.

He seems more on edge like he’s teetering.

An apocalyptic tension suffocates the room fast, a choking incense that stings your lungs.

Joel suddenly leans back in his chair rubbing a large calloused hand over his face.

“Do you remember… anything from when you were human?” His voice has never been so quiet.

It’s strange hearing this powerful force of a man sound this meek.

“Uh…Sorry I don’t have memories of my old life.” You tell him truthfully.

The only memory you hold of your human days is when you sold your soul. There was pain, absolute wrecking grief that was swallowing you whole. You remember wanting to save the people you love, wishing you could trade your life to keep them alive.

That’s when the quietest voice had asked among the despair - what would you trade, to save those you love?

Anything, you had sobbed out.

Then, the pain drifted away. You woke up brand new and hungry, a clean slate. Now the heartbreak that crystalized you to this new life collects cobwebs in your lost soul.

“You remember nothin’ at all?” Joel presses again, and you shake your head no.

An ancient sigh escapes him, weary and anchored by the test of time. Something in you begs to comfort him.

“You seem tired.” You comment soft.

His endless eyes find yours.

Silence settles thick in the quaint and hauntingly barren office.

There’s so much you want to say. A demonic being of craving, of want, cursed to be silent, how cruel.

You want to ask what plague has he placed upon you. Is this a new form of exorcism? What evil has he unleashed? Because you’ve never wanted someone as badly as you want him.

A knock on the door shatters the stillness.

Joel’s secretary pops her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt Father, but the archdiocese is on the phone.” She’s smug. You sensed her desire before, a powerful drunken feeling knowing she gets to order Joel around.

“Alright,” he nods, and the secretary closes the door. You don’t miss the side eye she gives you.

You take your cue and stand up to leave.

“Hey…” his voice stops you.

“Demons… they have true names. What’s yours?”

That question surprises you.

Of course you’ve been using a fake name this entire time. He must have figured that out. Smart man.

But if he knows your true name, your human name…it’s over. A demon’s true name gives an exorcist the power to permanently destroy them.

A wide knowing grin pulls at your lips.

“You still haven’t even taken me to dinner, Father.”

The smallest wave of emotion flashes across his face. A tug pulls his lips, a hint of a smile he’s fighting against.

You’re about to leave when you stop.

“Oh…Also that secretary of yours definitely wants to dom you. Don't ask me how I know.” You mention casually.

You smirk walking out of Joel’s office, especially hearing his indignant squawks as you close the door.

—

The wind blows gently, barely rustling the leaves to let the dead rest peacefully for now.

A storm approaches. Serious enough that the annual Easter festival is now in question of being canceled today.

In his simple black button up and white collar, Joel stands like an ink blot against the graveyard. You’ve noticed he always stays by this particular tree with the bench.

“I know you’re here.” Joel’s gruff sharp twanged voice pierces through the silence. His face stays focused on the gravestones, holding a rosary tight in his large hands.

You smirk and step out from the shadow of the angel statue you've been hiding behind.

This is the deepest you’ve gone into the cemetery.

“Your senses are getting better, old man.” You greet him.

He scoffs insulted.

“You know… you really are too hot to be a priest.” You’ve made the joke to him before, and you make it again.

“Pressin’ your damn luck…Remind me why I haven’t fuckin’ exorcised your ass yet?” Joel mutters rubbing his temples.

“Because I’m just too fun to get rid of?” You offer with a weak grin.

An unsettling silence grows in the cemetery.

“Or maybe…you really are here just to torment me.” The words come out mumbled, like Joel doesn’t realize he spoke them.

“I could say the same for you, priest.” You openly tell him.

Finally he turns to you.

A strange corroded weight fills your chest. You realize it’s the desire now calcified into your very being keeping you anchored to this man. You wonder if this is your eternal punishment, to crave a man you can never have.

“Tell me… What’s your real name?” Joel asks simply, no hidden motive.

Here in the graveyard, he’s just a human man. Just like you’re the whisper of a human standing before him.

A painful smile tugs at your lips.

You give him your true name, the only thing left of your humanity.

Pure dread falls over Joel’s face.

Then he snaps.

“Ya damned fuckin’ demon from hell… Get the fuck outta here!” He yells, angry and violent, like a vengeful God ripping open the sky.

Demon.

He’s never called you that. It stings more than you thought it would.

But he’s right. It’s what you are, a creature warped from a human soul now relying only on sin. Demons don’t dream. Nor do they cry. But the way your chest twists, you wonder if this is the closest it feels to crying again.

Not saying another word to Joel, you leave the cemetery.

You don’t even know why you stayed to help with the festival. You adamantly refuse to look at Joel. Everyone notices the change in your demeanor. You lie saying it’s the weather.

“Ugh, it really is quite dreary for such a holy day, huh?” The sweet elderly woman from your bible study group coo’s sympathetically. She urges you to rest in the rectory.

“No one will bother you there honey, take some time to just catch a breather.”

You take her advice, especially as the thunder rolls ominous like the heavens stand ready to strike you at any moment.

The rectory is eerily quiet. You wander around until of course find yourself at Joel’s office. You can’t take this ache raging in you anymore. Once the festival fully starts, you decide to leave in the shadows and never return.

The front door out in the main hallway opens. Spurred by a strange sense of hope, you rush out.

You’re not one for prayer, but you pray it’s Joel.

Deacon Matthews, in his boring salmon colored shirt, instead stares at you. Danger gleams in his eyes.

“Finally…I was hoping to get you alone.” His voice boils with desire, radiating from him a rancid stench.

“You’ve felt it too haven’t you? What we have between us?” He grins, a serpent slithering closer to you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” You play dumb and confused.

“You've been flirting with me this entire time. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” His voice jumps more erratic.

His desire is brewing to a poisonous level that threatens to clog your throat. So you try walking towards the door, but he stands firmly blocking it.

You haven’t eaten in months. Any time you consider feasting, your stomach now turns sour as you only think of Joel. He really has ruined you in so many ways.

With your senses dimmed, you’re too late to react when a greedy hand grabs your shoulders and pulls you closer.

Panic erupts. Feeling like a cornered animal, your teeth sharpen. Your hands twitch, itching for the attack. But your mouth acts first.

You bite down hard on the deacon’s hand, and a violent scream rips from him.

You haven’t tasted blood in months. This bite, you thought, should have sent you into a frenzy. Instead you gag tasting this pathetic man’s blood.

“What the fuck are you?!” The deacon yells in terror.

You realize you must look quite the monster now.

So you decide to show him.

Hellish claws, your claws, yank this man’s face closer. Then you whisper into his ear the tongue of the damned -

“…ⱤØ₮ ł₦ ⱧɆⱠⱠ…”

The deacon screams horrified.

Someone yanks you away.

Then Joel’s fist collides with the man’s face.

At the impact, Deacon Matthew’s cries in agony while Joel holds you close to his side. The smell of his shampoo, his cologne and something so familiar, surrounds you in a heavenly cloud.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her.” Joel snarls deadly.

Blood spills across the deacon’s face and his hand while he sobs.

Joel holds you protective, hand cradling and covering your face. Slowly you revert to normal, the demonic retreating to hide.

No surprise, the commotion is heard.

People swarm in. Joel effortlessly explains what transpired and how you even used self defense against the deacon.

The bleeding terrified man however screams that you’re the monster here.

You stay quiet against Joel's side, keeping your face hidden, clinging to his black button up shirt. The church reacts ready to reprimand Matthews.

Everything goes hazy. Your head even aches painful, like something is trying to break through your skull.

“If y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna stay with her.” You hear Joel say.

Of course everyone strongly agrees. A few even offer to stay with you instead. But Joel keeps you in his hold.

In a blink, a door closes and you realize you’re in his office.

Then Joel’s hand slides up to your cheek. The simmering heat from his skin touching yours burns beautifully.

Even without the claws, or monstrous eyes, you still must look every bit a terrifying creature.

Then, with a white small handkerchief, he wipes away the blood on your face tenderly, cleaning you with the delicate care of someone who is precious.

“Y’got a good bite. Scared the shit outta him too.” Joel mutters, faintly joking, but you catch a hint of pride.

You stay quiet now.

“Hey, look at me.” Joel orders low, but concerned.

And you do. His eyes search yours.

He’s never been this close. You soak in the sight of him, a sharp gorgeous hawkish nose, aged wrinkles, soft touches of storm cloud greys floating among his chocolate curls. Heaven never looked more beautiful.

No words reach you. You can’t think of anything to say.

You don’t know who moves first, but a revelation comes when your lips surge to meet his.

It’s raw, consuming, rattling your bones.

You barely get to chase this greed, the taste of this man, before a searing pain cracks open your skull.

Your vision goes white. You don’t even know where you are.

Glimpses of home warm and welcoming, with a loving man and a wonderful daughter you’ve raised like your own, fill your mind.

Soon, the picture crystalizes clearer. The man driving, holding your hand. The young girl in the backseat laughing at something you said.

Then your world ends in fire.

The truth resurfaces you frantic and panicked, like emerging from the flood of ancient times. Blinking back into reality, everything is clear, pure as crystal.

Someone calls your name, and it sounds like home.

“Y’alright? Talk to me darlin’ please.” Joel begs frantically, still holding your face.

Darling, the word rips through you wild.

“Joel.” His name leaves you blessed and sanctified. You see him with eyes brand new.

The closest thing to a sob escapes you.

Confusion colors Joel’s face while you clutch onto him like a life raft.

You swallow hard.

“My old man… my husband.” You whisper.

You jokingly, affectionately, had started calling him ‘old man’ when he pulled his back after a job. Tommy and Sarah had laughed so hard at the nickname. Back then he was a few years older than you, but now…

Joel cracks. His face falls. Tears simmer in his eyes threatening to spill.

He kisses you again. This time it’s filled with an ache that draws you back from the grave.

The kiss grows heated fast. Desire explodes off Joel now and you want to drown in it. He licks into your mouth, pushing you against the door. You moan, sliding your hands into his hair.

Commotion returns outside interrupting the moment.

You growl annoyed.

Joel shushes you against your lips, yet his hands continue holding you tight.

Eventually you untangle out of his arms. Yet you feel like a newborn foal on shaky legs. Joel keeps you close the rest of the day. No one from the church thinks anything of it especially after what happened.

If only they saw you now.

Sprawled out in his bed, Joel devours your pussy and grinds into the sheets. You moan loud enough for all the angels to hear. He eats you starved, as if he’s found divine communion between your thighs.

“Need you inside, Joel please,” you beg, yanking at his grey curls.

Who is he to deny you, not just a demon of sin, but his wife?

Sliding into you, Joel feels like the beginning of the world, a Genesis life changing. It’s a lust that makes you melt, pure and dangerously addictive.

Joel’s lips stay attached to your skin, biting and licking every inch of you.

“Fallen Angel, light of God, you are crafted in beauty and loved.”

You remember that’s the prayer the nuns said. Now Joel whispers it reverently against your skin.

“Lost creature of heaven, you are found.”

You cum hard clutching at his shoulders. You worry about hurting him. Yet Joel bites at your skin like he’s the one now longing for your blood. You wonder if you and him could both dig into each other’s bones.

But once the passion finally simmers, and your poor husband needs to rest, the heavy reality sets in.

Naked in his arms, you know understand the strange passion and awareness Eve must have felt being in her husband’s arms after biting the forbidden fruit.

“You really sold your soul…” Joel mutters.

You sigh, rubbing your face into his warm strong chest.

“I didn’t care… I begged for anyone to save you or Sarah.” You whisper.

Your sweet sunshine girl.

Even without a heart, thinking of Sarah brings immeasurable pain. You mourn her with Joel, his arms becoming your sacred church.

—

“Sweetheart, ya need to eat,” Of course Joel notices how weary you’ve become.

“It’s okay… I’m fine.” And you’re half right. The desire unleashed between you and Joel helps maintain you enough. You wouldn’t dare devour his soul now. After all, there are other things you gladly want to consume from him.

You kiss the palm of his hand holding your face.

But ever the provider, ever the caretaker, your husband moves his hand down to your lips. His fingers trace your mouth. His eyes darken, and your body hums wanting him again.

“Bite me.” He mutters.

You bluntly tell him no.

“Do it or I’ll exorcise your ass.” His words hold no threat.

“Come on baby,” he adds, a soft purr, your personal temptation.

You’re worried. Worried if you bite you won’t be able to stop. You don’t want to hurt him.

Joel’s hand returns to cradle your face, stroking your cheek tenderly. He whispers your name.

“You won’t hurt me.” He’s always been able to read your mind.

It’s why he draws your face to his neck, the perfect spot to hide beneath his robes. Reverently you kiss his skin thanking him, then your teeth sink in as gently as you can.

His blood rushes into your mouth tasting of salvation. Your mind shuts off, instantly consumed by him. You lick and suck, pouring your devotion into this man. You moan or maybe it’s Joel. Because the way his hips grind seeking release, he’s drunk on this too.

This is the ecstasy saints dream of, a holy feast of unbelievable bliss that has you coming untouched.

This is your sacred sacrament you would die for.

—

“My husband, the priest.” You snicker watching him get ready.

You hate how incredibly sexy it is watching him slide the white collar on.

“Well, my wife’s a demon.” He smirks.

“I think there’s an actual shirt that says that.” You wonder.

Joel rolls his eyes and you laugh.

Kissing him before he heads to mass is pure sinful bliss. It only gets worse when you visit his office. Closing the door, Joel sits at his desk raising an eyebrow seeing you.

You make it known why you’re here when you sink onto your knees between his legs.

Nuzzling against his thigh, a possession overtakes. Joel’s hand runs to your face.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” You mutter peering up at him.

His thumb swipes across your lips, and his eyes melt into dark pools. Especially when you slide his thumb into your mouth and suck, moaning at the taste of his skin. Your teeth ache to bite him, taste him like you did again this morning.

“Y’look like fuckin’ sin.” He mumbles, but rapidly draws your face up closer to him.

“Gonna be my good girl and keep quiet?” He asks leaning down to kiss you, meeting you halfway. Nodding, your hands fly to his belt.

A knock on the door comes. Joel cusses sharp under his breath.

“Should let your secretary walk in and see us like this.” You grin.

He shushes you.

“Next time let’s try to fuck in a confessional.” You mutter against his lips.

“Little fuckin’ trouble maker.” He growls, a beast that you welcome with open arms.

Later, in the witching hours, you wander around Joel’s living room. You spot a photo of you, him, and Sarah at Halloween the one year she dressed up as a power ranger princess.

Warm strong arms suddenly wrap around you from behind.

Joel’s gorgeous nose nuzzles against your face.

“You don’t mind… that I’m like this and not like how I used to be.” A shadow frozen forever, a creature condemned to hell.

He places the softest kiss on your cheek.

“Ain’t who I used to be either. M’old now.” He mutters.

“You’re hotter than ever.” You tell him firmly, and Joel snorts amused.

Shifting in his arms you embrace Joel tight.

“I’m a selfish demon now. You’re the only one who can get rid of me.” Both figuratively and literally.

“Like hell I ain’t.” Joel replies firmly, inhaling your scent.

“Besides, ‘m not so holy anymore.” He adds.

“Are you okay with that?” The question escapes you quiet, small and worried.

“Wouldn’t fuckin’ change it.” It’s the last thing he says before he dives in to kiss you.

Maybe in another life you would’ve been blessed to be Joel’s wife, pure and human, would’ve grown old with him…maybe even adopted a cat like Sarah had been begging.

Heaven will never greet you. So you hold this version of it tight in your hands.

You used to wonder why you had wandered to this specific town. Now everything aligns. A piece of you was trying to return to your other half, the love of your life.

Walking into the cemetery, you find your husband again praying at his favorite spot.

That’s when you finally notice a small memorial plague against the tree. Walking towards it, you read what’s on it.

There’s a scripture verse…then Sarah’s name and yours below it.

An emotion too powerful to describe swells in you.

Done with his prayer and alone in the cemetery, Joel soothingly now rubs his hand against your back.

“Let’s head home, sweetheart.” He mutters, your home and salvation.

A particular line from the exorcism rites suddenly comes to mind -

Lost creature of heaven, you are found

As you head out of the graveyard by Joel’s side, you truly believe you are.

[ink-and-dagger]

do you have any silco x reader fic recs? both on ao3 and tumblr?

Oh boy do I.

I have zero time for reading these days (sob sob) so I'm sadly not at all familiar with any new fics post S2 being aired. But let me lay before you a sumptuous feast; lovingly prepared by the old guard of the Silco fucker society.

Reader's responsibility applies - please check tags etc etc..

Flawless - @a-gal-with-taste

An apt title, for Gal's writing is, indeed, flawless. Silco x Sex Worker!Reader. Absolutely brutal and beautiful - to me, Gal is the Angela Carter of the Silco fandom.

Here be Dragons // Hic Sunt Dracones - @sherwood-forests

This will always be one of my top recommends for a Silco x Reader fic. It's unlike anything else that I've seen in the fandom, and it reminds me of one of my favourite books Uprooted by Naomi Novik. Gives me the cosy feels.

Penance - @astudyincontrasts

Hands down the hottest, sexiest Silco fic in my opinion. If you enjoyed Fleabag or want to bang that priest from Midnight Mass then you need to get on this fic ASAP. To this day I cannot set foot in a church without getting horny. Thanks Study.

Secret Ingredient - @sweatandwoe

This is the Silco fic that made me want to write my own. DWM exists because of Sweaty. Domestic romance and drama of the absolute best kind.

Come Morning - @chickenparm

Parm has so many Silco fics and they are all incredible and required reading for the fandom. But I've chosen this one because it's so incredibly real and human, and will rip your heart to shreds.

Swapped - @silcoitus

I love seeing my blorbos in Situations™ and this is one hell of a Situation™ to find oneself in. Fun, funny, and full of tension. I get the pleasure of beta-reading this one, and I always have the best time squawking at Coi in the comments bar on google docs.

Go, Team! - @vasiktomis

This is actually Marcus x Reader x Silco and it's fucking genius. Vas is a genius and a pervert and I love them and they're my role model. Everyone absolutely has the right not to engage with content that they're not interested in but also if you don't read this fic then you're a coward.

Bend But Not Break - @constantfragmentation

This is a Jane Eyre retelling in the form of a Silco x Reader fic. Yeah that's right. Regency Silco. Emotional constipation cranked up to the max and coats with tails? Yes please. Ensure that you're near a fainting couch whilst reading because you will swoon.

Art in the Heart - @juniper-sunny

Juni was out here giving Young Revolutionary Silco his time in the spotlight long before he was ever animated. If you're a new to the fandom and have come here specifically because of young Silco then AITH is required reading. Head over to Juni's you'll be fed good.

To The Depths - @cognacandlilac

Full disclosure, I haven't actually had the chance to read this fic yet. But it has been on my TBR for an embarrassingly long time and every time I see a snippet I'm like "hot damn I need to get on this pronto" because I just know I'm going to be totally obsessed and consumed by it.

I've only picked one fic for each of the above but I would honestly recommend just tearing through the entirety of their fic lists because there are some absolute masterpieces in there. This is also far from an extensive list - there are so many incredible writers in the fandom and I'm so sorry for anyone I've missed off. I say this with my whole heart - the Silco fandom is easily one of the most talented and skilled corners of the internet. We may be fairly small in numbers compared to other characters/fandoms, but by God the art and stories we have are platinum quality.

[cuntyji]

RED SEA DIVING CLUB ౨ৎ VARIOUS X FEMALE READER

synopsis: your period is here, but guess what? so are your men, and they all have very different approaches to the situation. it’s a mess, literally, but so are you. and they all love it here.

content warnings: suggestive content (no explicit description, it's mostly just crack headcanons because writing smut scares me), periods, period sex

author's note: chuckles nervously and prays this does not flop

sukuna does a little interpretative dance in his head when you ask him to go down on you during your period. it’s a whole theatrical performance up there—twirls, jazz hands, maybe even a dramatic bow at the end. whoopsie, he loves blood, has loved it for millennia, and hey, he loves you too! there’s sheer tension in the air, a moment so raw and intimate—except he looks like a kid in a candy store, eyes practically sparkling with excitement. he thinks he looks reaalll sexy, some smug, brooding beast of a man, but in reality? he just looks giddy, like a dog that just heard the word "walk." “ohhh, baby, y'spoiling me,” he drawls, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to feast. you blink, and suddenly his face is buried between your legs like he’s got a personal vendetta against your thighs. he's winning.

choso, on the other hand, is the one asking to do the deed. he’s curious, fascinated even. “so... s'still okay, right?” he asks, blinking at you with all the innocence of a man who has lived for over a century but still somehow lacks the finer understanding of menstruation. sure, he knows what it is, but the nuances? the societal taboos? the way some guys act like you’ve summoned an ancient curse when you bleed on the sheets? nah, all of that flies right over his head. “do you want to?” you ask, testing him. he nods. so earnestly, too. “yeah.” well, are you complaining? is he stopping? hell no. he’s already got his hair tied back like he’s about to solve an economic crisis, shoulders squared like this is a challenge he’s fully prepared to take on. a scholar in his field. dedication unmatched.

toji is not squeamish. period? what period? this is child’s play to him. unlike your loser exes who whined the second a speck of red touched the sheets, toji merely grunts, “eh, we’ll wash ‘em later,” before promptly ruining them further. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even pause—just goes about it like usual, putting the dirty in down and dirty. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand after, grins, and says, “tastes the same.” (bro?????) he doesn’t even make a thing of it. it’s just sex - just you, just the same old routine, except maybe a little messier. what a man.

gojo, meanwhile, is relieved periods are a once in a month thing. not because he minds the blood—please, (💅) he’s a sorcerer, he’s seen worse—but because, as much as he loves the post-period ovulation package deal that turns you into the horniest creature alive, he’s not exactly jumping with joy at the idea of cleaning up every time you two tear into each other. “babe, i love you,” he says, voice dripping with exaggerated affection, “but we might have to invest in some, like... plastic sheets.” yet, the moment you so much as blink your lashes at him, he’s already laying you out like a starfish. no thoughts. just action. he’s a loving partner, after all.

geto, bless his heart, frowns slightly when you mention it. this is your healing girl era, your resting girl era, and he believes in honoring that. “hmm, i think we should wait,” he says, ever the rational, reasonable man. strictly, at that. no debate. until you sigh dramatically grab your rose toy like thor's hammer, about to embark on a solo pilgrimage. and suddenly? he’s giving you a ride to poundtown. a whoooolllle first-class trip. “oh? you had the energy to go looking for that thing but not to come sit on my lap?” he muses, dark eyes narrowing as he slides a hand up your thigh. oh, joy!

nanami, on the other hand, feels like activities like these can wait. sex isn’t everything, and there are other ways to relieve your cramps. he massages your lower back, makes you warm tea, rubs slow circles into your stomach with his broad, calloused hand. but. if you beg reaaalllllly nicely, voice all soft and sweet, looking up at him with those desperate eyes... well. who is he to say no? “fine.” he exhales, already unbuttoning his shirt. “but you’re washing the sheets.”

a/n: hi

[solxamber]

Hello! I humbly request Skully J. Graves for the spooky season, please and thank you! (Ps, I LOVE YOUR VILLIANESS SERIES SO MUCH. if you put him in the series, I would love it. Thank you.

Frights and Fancies - Skully J. Graves x reader

I've finally finished the first part of the Halloween event story and here we go! Skully J. Graves for the spooky season!

(this was written before part 2 of the event was out so it might be ooc)

It was almost Halloween, and the Ramshackle Dorm looked like it had exploded in pumpkins, cobwebs, and fake skeletons. Well, not fake enough for Skully, who was currently trying to rearrange a skeleton to perfectly mimic Jack Skellington’s iconic pose.

“This is it! This is exactly how Jack looked when he stood atop Spiral Hill!” Skully beamed, leaning back with a gleeful twirl. “I could cry!”

“Please don’t,” Grim muttered, slumped on the couch like a cat who’d had enough of life. “I’ve seen way too much Halloween today. I’m exhausted.”

You stifled a laugh as Skully pranced across the room, his long coat flowing behind him dramatically. He stopped by a cobweb you’d just hung, delicately adjusting it with reverence. “Ah, this is a masterpiece! The precision, the artistry—oh, Jack would be proud!”

“I bet Jack has a restraining order,” Grim mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Skully didn’t seem to notice the sass. “You don’t understand, Grim! Jack Skellington is the Pumpkin King! He is the very soul of Halloween! Imagine... if I could bring him here, right to this very dorm... oh, we would throw the greatest Halloween party the world has ever seen!”

“You’re throwing it right now, and I hate it,” Grim muttered, pulling a pillow over his head.

Skully, undeterred, rushed over to the pile of pumpkins by the door, holding up the largest one like a trophy. “This one’s going to be the pièce de résistance! I’m going to carve Jack’s face into it—oh, the precision, the skill! It’ll be a tribute!”

You were barely able to stop yourself from laughing as Skully started sketching an intricate face into the pumpkin. It was hard not to get caught up in his excitement, even if it was a little... obsessive.

“Hey, uh, shouldn’t we maybe, I don’t know, check the snacks or something?” you suggested, trying to save Grim from further mental collapse. “We’ve got a whole room full of sweets to prepare.”

“Oh! Of course!” Skully jumped to his feet, pumpkin forgotten. “We must create a feast worthy of Halloween Town itself! Grim, you’ll love this—there will be so many sweets, you won’t be able to handle it!”

“Sounds like my personal hell,” Grim groaned, finally sitting up. “Do we have to? I was kinda hoping to nap.”

Skully was already halfway to the kitchen, humming some eerie tune under his breath. You shot Grim an apologetic look, but he was too busy glaring at the ceiling like he was making a pact with some unseen force to end Halloween forever.

The kitchen was soon filled with the smells of spiced pumpkin and sugary treats. Skully was in his element, flitting around like a Halloween-obsessed ghost, talking nonstop about Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King, and all the Halloween traditions from his foggy village.

“And no one here at school even knows about Jack!” Skully was saying for probably the twentieth time. “Can you believe that? It’s like they’ve never even heard of Halloween!”

“Maybe they’re lucky,” Grim grumbled, stuffing his face with a pumpkin tart.

Skully either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He had already moved on to decorating cookies, carefully icing tiny skeleton faces onto each one. “Jack’s elegance, his charisma! He’s the epitome of what Halloween should be.”

“Jack this, Jack that...” Grim sighed dramatically. “If I hear that name one more time—”

“I could name the pumpkin Jack,” Skully suggested, completely serious.

“No!” Grim snapped. “Let the pumpkin live its own life! Let it be free!”

You snorted, almost dropping the tray of cupcakes you were setting out. Skully blinked, confused for just a moment, before smiling his usual charming smile. “Ah, Grim, you always know how to liven things up.”

“I’m this close to being a ghost myself,” Grim muttered.

By the time the evening rolled around, Ramshackle Dorm had been transformed into a veritable Halloween haven. Cobwebs draped across the walls, pumpkins lined every surface, and the faint glow of eerie lights filled the air. Skully stood in the center of it all, arms wide open as he surveyed his masterpiece.

“This... this is the Halloween of my dreams,” Skully said softly, his voice full of awe. “I couldn’t have done it without you two.”

Grim gave a halfhearted wave from his spot on the couch, already half-asleep again, but Skully’s gratitude was genuine. You smiled, watching as he twirled around one more time, completely in his element.

“Well,” you said, “if Jack Skellington could see this, I’m sure he’d be impressed.”

Skully’s face lit up like a jack-o’-lantern. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, adjusting a crooked pumpkin. “You’ve done Halloween proud.”

Skully gave a deep bow, flourishing his coat as if he were addressing royalty. “Then, in Jack’s name, I thank you both!”

From the couch, Grim groaned. “I’m gonna need a vacation after this…”

As Skully danced around the room, humming Halloween tunes and praising Jack Skellington, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, it had been a lot of work, but seeing Skully so happy—and hearing Grim’s constant complaints—made it all worth it.

This was going to be a Halloween to remember.

Masterlist

Also I'd love to add him the the villainess series, but I'll wait till atleast part 2 of the Halloween event to completely understand him before I do!

[detroit-become-hurt]

Sweet Thing

So to kickstart this block again I'm regressing into old hyperfixations. So here's a fanfic I'm working on for The Lost Boys! I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Moving to Santa Carla was a sudden decision, but something about it just felt right. There was something about that place, calling you to it, you just didn't know what.

Or: you're drawn to Santa Carla cause you're the final mate of The Lost Boy's pack

I sighed heavily as I sat on a bench at the boardwalk. Santa Carla was fun for the first week upon moving here, but after that it sort of just lost its charm. It was the same routine of showing up to work at the little oddities shop between the chinese take out place and some other little resturant that served the greasiest burgers. It wasn’t a bad job, but it wasn’t always the busiest as there were other attractions to see that were much more interesting. The shop consisted of bad taxidermy, crystals, fake skulls (which a lot of people thought were real), and tarot cards/readings. It wasn’t a bad gig, just again, not the busiest. 

Tonight was my night off, and I really had no idea what to do. I decided sitting here was better than sitting at home, with even less to do. Deciding it was best to grab some food I stood up, making my way over towards the shop and the chinese place. Chinese sounded good for dinner. As I neared the resturant, I couldn’t help but notice a group of bikers loitering outside the shop. There was two blondes, rough housing with each other. A tall dark haired main leaned on the wall of the front of the shop, watching the two blondes wrestle. And finally, leaned against one of four bikes was a third blond, a cigarette balanced between his lips. His eyes flitted through the crowd, taking in faces, a dark look lurking behind them.

It wasn’t really of any concern to me seeing these four, Santa Carla was full of different types of people, and I’ve seen them around before at different places on the boardwalk. We never interacted before, but a cloud of trouble oozed off of them. I tried to keep to myself. 

Ordering my food I waited to the side for them to finish preparing it, tapping my foot lightly as I listened to the sounds around me. Rollercoasters whizzed by with screams that lasted mere seconds, loud carnival music and people chattering away. It was almost overwhelming, the sounds. But you grow used to it pretty fast. Finally my order was called, and I picked up the bag containing the food. Upon closer inspection I realized that they had gotten my order wrong…but it wasn’t worth arguing. They ended up giving me more than what I ordered, I wasn’t going to complain.

“Perhaps Sandra would want some of this…” I wondered out loud, thinking of my coworker who was currently working tonight. Deciding I would share my feast, I walked over to the shop, towards the group of four bikers. As I approached, I caught the attention of the blonde leaning against the bike. His eyes trailed up and down me slowly, sizing me up. “Um…excuse me. Could you move your bikes, so I can like…get inside the store.” I asked, trying to maintain eye contact.

“You want us…to move our bikes…so you can go inside?” He repeats back to me, and I instantly knew what he was doing.

“Yes. You, move bikes. I go, inside?” I throw back, raising an eyebrow. The banter between the two of us caught the attention of the other three. The second blonde with curled ringlets going down his back couldn’t help but snicker, flashing me a dangerous smile and a wink when I looked his way. “Really it would just be easier if you moved, so I don’t have to weave in and out of your guys bikes and risk knocking one over. So what’s it gonna be pretty boy?” I asked shifting weight on my feet.

The third blond, who’s hair was teased to high hell and back laughed loudly. “Aw come on sugar, if anyone’s pretty here it’s you.” He says wrapping an arm his friend with the ringlets. “Do we at least get to know your name?” 

“What’s your name? I’ve seen you guys around before.” I say chewing my lip. I really did not expect to get into such a conversation, but it seemed like there was no backing out now. “If I tell you my name, will you please move your bikes?” I throw in, hoping they would indeed do as I asked.

His grin widens, and he sauntered down the steps, wrapping his arm around me. The smell of aqua net hair spray and weed overtook my senes. “I’m Paul. That’s Marko, Dwayne, and David.” He says pointing each of them out. “And I…have definetly not seen you around here. Are you new?” he questions.

Slipping out of his arm I nod, “I’m y/n. And yes, I am new. I just moved here about a week and a half ago.” I say. “Now really, this is quite the lovely chat but I think I’m just gonna weave around the bikes. Sorry to bother you.”

David holds his hand up, stopping my movements. “Hang on there sweet thing, you didn’t give me a chance to answer. Since I am a man of my word, we will move our bikes.” It’s funny he says that, cause he never mentioned giving me his word. But oh well. “Come on boys, let’s get out of here. We’ll see you around y/n.” he gives me a smirk, again something hiding behind his expression as the other three revved their bikes to life. With hoots and hollers they revved the engines a few more times before taking off, nearly hitting me in the process.

“Fuckin assholes,” I mutter as my heart pounds in my chest. Finally walking up the steps I walk inside, “Sandra! It’s me! I brought some food, the chinese place messed up the order.” Walking to the counter I set the food down, taking it out and arranging it so we could easily grab what we wanted. 

Sandra comes out from the back, a yawn errupting from her lips. “Oh thank god, I was going to fall asleep back there. Hey, did you hear like, motocrycle sounds?” She asks as she grabs some food.

Between swallows I nod, “Yeah. Some bikers out front. I asked them to move, and it took a minute but they did. Who knew all I had to do was give them my name.” I say. “I got their names in return. David, Marko, Paul, Dwayne. Interesting group of guys. I’ve seen them around the boardwalk before.” 

Sandra freezes, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Y/n…please tell me you’re joking. Like say sike right now.” She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, anxiousness radiating into my bubble.

“What’s the big deal? They’re not trouble are they?” 

“Oh yes they’re trouble! They’re dangerous y/n. They’re always in trouble with security on the boardwalk, bothering people.” Sandra’s looking me dead in the eyes now, a look I can’t place. 

Finishing up my food I wipe my mouth, “Okay. I’ll keep my distance. Can’t blame me too much you know, I just moved here.” A part of me was annoyed. I appreciated her concern, but again I just moved here. And the boys seemed nice enough…although that doesn’t make up for the fact that I don’t know them.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just really like you and I don’t want you to end up on a missing person’s poster. It would suck to not have you in my life anymore.” That was one thing I was definetly grateful for, was my quick friendship with Sandra. She took me around, showed me the ropes, and was always there should I have needed anything in my short time in Santa Carla.

“Thank you, Sandra. Really.” Glancing at the clock on the wall I sighed, “I should probably get going, it’s getting late and I have to work a twelve hour tomorrow.” 

Sandra gives me a sympathetic look. “Well if you need anything, give me a holler okay? Seeya later!” Her voice disappears as the bell to the door chimes and I’m once again outside. Traffic has quieted quite a bit, not so loud. Turning I begin to make my way home, unaware of the set of eyes watching me from the dark.

I want her.

Me too.

She needs to be with us, one of us.

Soon, she will be. Give it time.

[wheneclipsefalls]

Little Gift- Feast

Dark Adult Neteyam x Fem Human Reader

Adult Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2 <3

Last Part Masterlist AO3

Summary: Your stubborn attitude isn't getting you much. Or perhaps...too much

Warnings: dubcon/noncon read at your own risk, MDNI, kidnapping, oral, jealousy, possessive behavior, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance, swearing, aged up characters, etc.

Your one woman hunger strike is not going as planned.

Twenty six hours in and you are hungry.

So fucking hungry you are ready to bite off the hand of the next Na’vi to come into your space. Not that you would need to with the delicately cut berry spread before you. The same one that Neteyam had meticulously prepared that morning. Others may think of it as a sweet gesture but you see it for what it really is- a temptation. 

In the same way last night’s mysterious, but mouth watering, meat had been. The beast that Neteyam had hunted, cleaned, and prepared with his own hands. The aroma had been so intoxicating that you broke skin from biting your bottom lip as you stared down at your share. 

The first time you refused a meal you expected the Olo’eyktan to throw a fit, flip you over his knee, or even jam the food down your throat but he has done nothing of the sort. Instead, he revels in this little competition the two of you have. Because that’s what it is to him.

A game. 

Sitting beneath a low hanging tree as you watch him train warrior diligently, there is nothing to entertain yourself with but the food in front of you. 

This strange purple fruit in front of you has been cut down into smaller pieces. The inside looks similar to the videos you have seen of peaches and the juice runs down onto the leaf below as if it’s trying to seduce you into finally taking a bite.

Your stomach grumbles as if it’s tearing itself apart. 

Fuck, why did you choose to resist food of all things? 

The meals at Bridgehead were the furthest thing from a proper meal but you had always enjoyed scavenging out into the forest for various fruits and vegetables to spice it up. It’s one of the best parts of your day. And now that you’ve had a taste of the wonders the Na’vi can create with them, it feels like locking yourself out of heaven. 

Neteyam’s gaze is heavy upon you. 

Sending him a fierce glare you make a show of nudging the fruit away from you, even as your body screams at you to shove it down your throat. 

Neteyam tilts his head, glossy braids swingings over his shoulder as a crooked smirk twitches at his lips. He isn’t frustrated, and isn't deterred. If anything those lips curve as if they hide a secret you are not privy to. So confident he knows who will be winning this tug of war. 

You exhale a breath when he finally turns around to correct one warrior’s footwork. 

A thump sounds from your side and you almost let out a scream before you realize it is Lo’ak who has dropped down from a tree. With a sigh he comes to sit beside you. 

“Looks like fun, doesn’t it?” He gestures to the group ahead of you, eyes rolling as he looks at them in pity. 

“Go away, Lo’ak.” 

“Jeez what’s crawled down your loincloth?” 

You look at him in disbelief. You will never understand where Lo’ak find the audacity to poke fun at your imprisonment. 

“Besides Neteyam that is.” He chuckles and your cheeks heat instantly. 

“You pervert! Never in a million years-” 

“It’s not like I have to take his word for it either. You’re quite loud.” Lo’ak ignore your heated ears and agape mouth as he notices the cut up fruit before you. He reaches forward and plucks a piece with a delighted ‘ooh”. 

Shiny juice escapes the seam of his lips as he chews and it makes your own mouth water.

Suddenly a hand is yanking Lo’ak to stand with a fistful of braids. 

“What the hell?!”

“You skxawng! Those are not for you.” Neteyam hisses, releasing his brother with a huff. 

“Alright alright. Damn, I was just keeping her company.” Lo’ak mutters, arms crossing over his chest with a frown. “Besides, I hate to see food go to waste.” 

Their eyes lock as a silent line of communication strums between them. Eventually Lo’ak lets out an irritated sigh before nodding and jogging off into the treeline. Neteyam’s shoulder’s visibly relax, hands casually placed on those sinful hips as he looks down at you. 

“You should’ve let him eat it. I’m not hungry.” You lie confidently, jutting your chin up in pride. 

“Is that so, tiyawn?” 

His deep voice ripples through your body.

“Yes.” 

You go to give him a sneer, maybe even the middle finger, but looking up at him from this angle proves to be problematic. His loincloth has a bulge and it lights your curiosity. Despite all the vulnerable and exposed positions Neteyam has put you in you have yet to see what lies beneath that scrap of clothing. Averting your eyes doesn’t save you from witnessing the smirk that dances over her lips.

Stupid observant bastard. 

His shadow looms over you as you fiddle with the strings of your loincloth. And then his braids are tickling your neck. 

“Perhaps it’s not fruit you are hungry for.” That simmering whisper blossoms a blush once more but nothing in comparison to the one that emerges when  he grasps your small hand and places it along his inner thigh. 

He doesn’t let you pull away, not before you can feel the corded muscle and smooth skin. Not before your eyes cave into temptation and sneak a glance at the increasing size of that bulge. 

“I know your little body has been enjoying our time together but if you’re good, I’ll let you play with me too.” 

And then your fingers are traveling over the exposed skin until the silk fabric is beneath your tips. You can’t even look at him. You pray that this aversion will read as nothing more than pure revulsion, because you don’t know what will happen if he senses your underlying lust. 

You can feel him twitch under your palm. 

Eyes forced closed and heart racketing at your rib cage, it takes all your power to control the rise and fall of your chest. 

And then the heat is gone. Neteyam releases your wrists, stands up, and sends a dark smile over his shoulder before rejoining the group. You want nothing more than to hide your face in your hands and scream but that would only show him your hand. 

You need to be strong. Keep your mouth shut, fry his patience, and get the hell out of here. 

Lo’ak is right about the training. It’s undeniably brutal and strict. While you stare in awe at the rate the young warriors can scale trees and shoot a target, Neteyam shakes his head and sighs before correcting them. You’ve studied a bit of Na’vi throughout your life but there’s no desire to translate his strict reprimanding. 

You do, however, find it hard to keep your interest away from the various rippling muscles and shifting loincloths. You’re ovulating. You must be and if you were only in your bedroom back at Bridgehead you would actually be able to take some medication to tamper down this insufferable flood of hormones. 

Still, you are stuck here and a group of nine foot tall walls of muscle are fighting, wrestling, shooting, and inadvertently showing off their physical prowess with ease. You swallow a lump in your throat when one Na’vi male tackles another and you get a perfect view of his ass. 

Pandora is so hot.

So so incredibly hot and that has to be why you feel the temperatures rising along your cheeks. 

Neteyam’s back blocks the view, a stream of instruction flowing from his lips as the two struggle to get the upper hand. Your hungry eyes start to travel up his body instead but you tug them away. 

You’ll be on your deathbed before ever admitting to ogling these men but you’ll drink acid before letting Neteyam catch you ogling him. 

Another shorter male’s abdomen tightens as he pulls back an ax carefully. Sweat glimmers along his blue form as focused eyes narrow at the target. Within one powerful swing the ax is chucked from his grip and pins a leaf the size of your thumbnail to a tree. 

He sighs before reaching back to tie his hair. The stretch accentuates the contrast between his narrow waist and broad shoulders. And yet you catch yourself sneaking a look at Neteyam’s form. 

For comparison purposes only of course. 

It’s too risky though to notice the slope of his back or the way one strap of his loincloth has shifted dangerously low along one hip. Or note the way his dark stripes smoothly curve over and accentuate his v line. Because that is something you would never do. You would never look. Would never think about him outside of plans to escape. Never dream of his deep voice with that heavy accent or even think about how it sounds in his native tongue. And you most certainly would never anticipate the view of Neteyam between your thighs nightly. 

Suddenly the ax-throwing Na’vi has become boring so you veer the focus as far away from Neteyam as possible. 

You shift your body to your left, letting your hair create a curtain to block the view of Neteyam pulling back a bow. It takes a bit longer this time to immerse yourself in these next two who spar with long sticks. 

All at once your body is ripped from your spot, legs dangling and kicking as you are roughly set to stand. Neteyam’s arm snaps around your waist as he kneels behind you. 

“Do I need to put you in time out?” It’s not a joke. Not when his teeth are skimming dangerously closer over your ear. “I would be able to smell you halfway across the forest.” He growls. 

Your thighs press together subconsciously as embarrassment floods in. 

So maybe you had forgotten about the Na’vi advanced sense of smell. 

“Which I wouldn’t mind were it not for your eyes being trained on other men” The ground slips beneath you and suddenly Neteyam is throwing you over his shoulder. 

“Wait! Let me go!” You’re not even sure why you try at this point. It’s not like he has ever listened before. The hope of being heard dims even lower when you see his thrashing tail and feel his heavy footsteps as you're carried further into the forest. 

But dammit you are hungry and hot and your loincloth is stained with your arousal so you let your emotions bubble over. 

“You fucking brute! Put me down right now!” You scream, nails scratching harshly over his back. It doesn’t draw blood but wow those fading marks look so pretty over his blue skin. Not to mention the beauty of his ass swaying with every step. “I’m so sick of this shit!” 

Neteyam is quiet. 

So very quiet and it doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Open.” He commands but you remain still.

Body frozen as you stand before him, his massive member at eye level. It’s almost as if your brain simply can not process the sight before you. The way his cock is so different from the ones you have encountered with its purplish blue hue, speckled glowing dots, and even the precum that shimmers in the fading light. Curiosity sparks once more and for a moment you consider reaching out to touch it. 

However, the real shock is the massive size difference. You are no virgin. Bridgehead does not have a plethora of great men but you’ve found partners in the past to satiate your needs. So standing here staring and blushing feels out of the norm but with the way Neteyam is hung, how can you not? 

Even at peak arousal, or what you hope is peak, it’s unable to sprout fully, the sheer weight dragging it to hang lower by his thighs. You’ve always assumed the Na’vi would be…bigger but this….you’d never imagined something like this. 

The idea of ever fitting it in your mouth let alone inside of you makes your stomach coil. 

Are all Na’vi males this way or is this something specific to Neteyam?

Something tells you that thanks to the Olo’eyktan you will never find out. 

“Open your mouth, tawtute.” His voice is sharp like a drawn dagger, slicing through the wind to threaten obedience. 

“B-but it….it won’t fit.” You try not to think about your choice of complaint. 

Not that you don’t want to.

Not that he shouldn’t make you.

No, you simply complain about the logistics. 

“You’ll learn, pet. Now open.” The nickname is anything but endearing coming from his lips now, honey eyes darkening as he stares down at you. This is retribution. 

Shaking like a leaf, your lips ever so slightly part. It appears Neteyam is tired of giving verbal commands when one large hand grips either side of your face, pressing to force your mouth open wider. 

“You won’t let me get any food past those pretty lips, fine. You will take my cock instead.” That growl reverberates through your body until it swirls into a low seated passion and desperation. Neteyam’s nostrils flare, soaking in the scent of your betraying body. 

To your surprise Neteyam doesn’t immediately choke you on it but instead guides your open mouth to his base. Prying your jaw open wider, your lips are smeared along the heated skin. Hesitantly your tongue flickers out. 

“That’s it, pet. Don’t be shy.” 

When your tongue smoothes out to drag along the length of him you remind yourself that this is something you are forced to do. For survival. For escape. 

And you prepare yourself to later bury the memory of your desire and curiosity in this moment. To forget how salty sweet his precum tastes as it dances along your tongue. To forget the way his pupils dilate as he purposefully paints your pillow lips with that glowing substance like it’s your own personal lip gloss. To forget the way his abs flex when the head of his cock is finally enveloped by your hot wet mouth. 

But most of all, you promise yourself that you will forget how gorgeous Neteyam looks from this angle with his silky braids hanging loosely and glowing eyes devouring you whole. 

The back of your throat is reached within record time. Your gag reflex immediately kicks in and Neteyam pulls out while cooing at you.

“Poor little pet. Not used to taking such a big cock, are you?” You take the condescending words without fight, trying to clear your throat and prepare for more. “But then again I’m sure Jeremy has never made you cum until you cry.” Neteyam smirks and your breathing halts.

You look up at him with wide eyes. 

Oh God, when did he find out about Jeremy? A dark twinkle shadows the Olo’eyktan’s demeanor, his upturned lips promising an evil fate to your old flame.  

“What di-”

“Down you go again, pet.” Neteyam interrupts, prying your mouth open once more and shoving himself inside harder this time. He doesn’t let up this time when you sputter and choke around him. “Relax that throat for me, tiyawn. I know this isn’t your first time doing this.” He chuckles. 

Reluctantly you force yourself to follow his instruction, urging your heart rate so slow as you breathe in through your nose. Inch by inch, he slides down your throat until all you can taste and feel is him. A tinge of soreness already sparks along your jaw but stern eyes whisper the consequences of letting your blunt teeth even close to him. 

A part of you yearns to get lost in the moment, let your arousal that has shamefully not disappeared since Neteyam’s confession take the wheel and give your mind a break. However, that is not the Olo’eyktan’s design. He means to drive a lesson home. 

“I was under the impression that you simply didn’t enjoy giving oral, not with the way your scent soured every time that pathetic man had you on your knees.” 

Your whimper of distress only turns into a hum that vibrates along him. Neteyam’s grins, toes digging into the earth below. 

“But now I see that is not the case.” His hips roll forward, hand crawling to cradle the back of your head. “Staining that little loincloth for me. You just needed the right man to fill that pretty mouth didn’t you?” 

Your protests are nothing more than high pitched whines as he picks up rhythm, only half of his cock fitting inside yet still more than enough to fill your throat. 

“No need to deny it, oeyӓ tiyawn. Your body has been loyal to me from the very beginning.” That hand fists into your hair, holding you down on his cock as tears gather over your eyes. “Even when your mind has a hard time catching up.” All sweetness dissipates from his voice, left only with a hard steel. 

“Like today for instance.” 

You suck in air as soon as your mouth is empty, coughing and crying as he keeps that grip in your hair. A firm yank has your neck straining to look up at him. 

“I thought you would know better, little gift.” 

You subconsciously grip his thighs in order to keep yourself standing upright.

“But it looks like I need to spell it out for you.” 

Suddenly your mouth is filled again but instead of waiting to let you suckle and explore, Neteyam immediately sets pace spearing down your throat. Nails digging into his toned thighs, you focus on keeping your breathing steady and relaxed. 

“Good pets do not stare at other men. They do not let them smell their arousal.” Neteyam grinds out, a groan lacing his words as you feel him twitch. Your throat convulses around him, the urge to breathe through your mouth ever increasing. “Because good pets know who they belong to.” 

The trembling in your legs skyrockets as your knees threaten to buckle. Suddenly Neteyam’s grip in your hair is not just there to keep you swallowing him down but also as an extra support. 

“Do you know who you belong to, little gift?” A shudder ripples over his toned body, balls drawing up tight. And yet he pauses, keeping you frozen but still stretched around him. 

He wants a response. 

Nodding doesn’t appear to cut it, not when he tacks on a “and who is that?”. 

You go to scoff at his persistence but it’s only another choked cough around him, tears spilling down your cheeks. He hips slant forward pressing himself even further down your throat until you are gagging. 

“Say it.” The Olo’eyktan demands. “Say my name.” 

He pulls out and airs hiccups through your lungs so fast you almost swoon backwards. But his name is still the first gasp to escape your lips. 

“Nete-..Neteyaaaam.” It’s come out as almost a complaint but the Olo’eyktan’s joy is not diminished. His tails coils and flickers at the sound of your wrecked voice. 

“Good girl.” That praise wraps around you, head lulling to rest against his palm. “Now come here and let me fuck your throat.” 

It shouldn’t turn you on. The crude words are the furthest thing from what you should want but Neteyam’s accented voice purrs them like a lullaby. So dark, smooth and alluring that you find your mouth opening on its own accord. 

Neteyam’s grins wider than the night that he first saw you tied up with that pretty bow. You push the implications of what you have just done to the back of your head.

Despite his satisfaction, Neteyam doesn’t take it easy on you. The length of him can never fully make it down your throat but that doesn’t stop him from trying. An obscene wet sound is made every time he thrusts back in and you can feel him shiver. 

“Aww so pretty like this tiyawn. Wish you could see yourself right now.” His head throws back for a second when your  airpipe contracts around him again. “Crying so sweetly for me.”

His gentle tone is a great contrast to the way his cock bullies itself into the tight space. So sweet in comparison to the way he fucks your throat like you’re his own personal fleshlight. 

“Maybe we will have to steal a mirror from Bridgehead soon. Let you see what a wrecked masterpiece you are.” 

Even as you struggle to breath and your throat aches, his dirty words burn the flames inside of you higher and higher. You will feel ashamed later, you know it, but for now you let him fill every crevice in your brain. It keeps the fear of Jeremy’s safety at bay. It keeps the reality of your situation from catching up with you. It keeps you as his pretty little pet that is doing oh such a good job. 

“Fuck! You feel so good around me, tiyawn. Good fucking girl!” Neteyam’s groan is gravely, muscles along his abdomen erratically flexing and you know what is coming before his warning ever reaches your ears. 

With a deep groan of your name, thick seed spurts down your throat. It’s too much to fully swallow but luckily Neteyam lets you off halfway through, the remnants painting your cheeks and lips. Your own thighs clench together as you watch him recover, his impressive physique inflating and deflating heavily with every breath. 

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you collapse against him, head nuzzled against his hip as you cling to his right thigh. Neteyam’s fingers fondly stroke through your tangled hair as he congratulates you on learning your lesson. 

You almost bite his finger when the next piece of meat passes your lips but this time it is by accident. Your habit of grinding your teeth together when nearing climax is becoming a problem. Three massive fingers tease and massage at that spongy spot inside of you as you drool around Neteyam’s fingers. 

The Olo’eyktan chuckles and plucks another piece of meat to feed you. 

“Remember to chew.” He says with a smirk when his thumb flicks over your clit and you almost choke. 

Perched in his lap, smothering his fingers with your juices as he hand feeds you, there is surely not a better picture of obedience one could paint. 

A picture that Neteyam cherishes. 

But a memory you vow to forget. 

I hope you enjoyed! Thank you all for your support and messages for this series especially! Hearing back from you all always makes me excited to write and update<3 Don't be afraid to let me know what you think

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[paulyenvol6]

Wedding Night

Daemon x Stark!Reader (OS)

Y/n Stark only knows the Rogue Prince from tales and can't help but fear her wedding night with the King's brother. But he turns out to be not only an attentive and gentle but also a passionate lover who starts a fire in her when she feels his hands on her for the first time.

Contains: detailed smut, fingering oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, kissing, breeding kink, praising, dirty talk, arranged marriage, soft!dom Daemon, virgin reader, inexperienced and nervous reader, angst

Wordcount: ~4.65k

Masterlist

You had your head lowered so you could only see the stone ground underneath you.

You felt a pain on your scalp as your handmaiden was undoing your braided hair but then she was done and your hair fell down your shoulders. You wanted to step away and preferably sit down but suddenly another servant girl started to unlace your dress in your back and you twitched.

"What are you doing?", you snapped and the girl looked terrified. You felt a little bad because you had scared her but you had bigger problems right now so your eyes flashed at her.

"A-Apologies, my lady.", she stummered and looked at you with big eyes. Your handmaiden, a warm woman of about thirty years old patted the young girl's shoulder and turned to you.

"Do you wish to leave your clothes on? So that your husband can remove them?" You looked stern and felt numb as the handmaiden observed you and didn't know what to say. You didn't know what to do either, seven hells, you didn't know about Targaryen tradition or anything about marriage or the act of bedding. You didn't even know your husband.

"I-I don't know.", you breathed and suddenly your new handmaiden looked pitiful. "It is tradition for the bride to take off her clothes before the ceremony, my lady. So she can wait in the bed for her husband to claim her maidenhead."

You nodded but had your head lowered and the maidens took it as a sign for them to slowly take off your gown. It fell down to the ground and you felt exposed and vulnerable under their gaze even though they were professional and didn't look at you a second longer than necessary. And then they were done. It happened so quickly, the servants curtseyed in front of you and then left the room and you truthfully would have wished for them to stay longer. Perhaps never leave because now all there was left for you to do was wait.

You stood naked in the middle of your new chambers and felt so horrible and cold that after a few moments you grabbed a night gown that laid on the table that the maiden had probably prepared for after the bedding ceremony. And though you feared that your husband wouldn't approve of what he might regard as a disrespect towards his family's customs you couldn't help yourself and wrapped the gown tightly around your body even though it didn't hid a lot of you.

Then you sat down on the bed and stared at the door, waiting for Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince. You had met him three days ago but the first words you had exchanged were your vows under the eyes of the sept. All you knew about him were the tales the small folk as well as the highborn ladies in court told about him. He was famous for sleeping around; you had heard that there wasn't a brothel in King's Landing that he hadn't visited. And he was known for being a warrior. The commander of the city watch who was as fine a knight as he was brutal and violant and was feared by his enemies. This you could say already: Your husband had seemed rather cold during the celebrations of your wedding and the feasts in the red keep.

And there was another thing: You had heard the rumours about the Rogue Prince and his niece, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. No details had reached your ears but they were supposedly more than only an uncle and niece to one another and even though that didn't shock you as the customs of House Targaryen weren't new to you, you still feared that your brown hair would not be to your husband's pleasing.

You were a Stark after all and couldn't look more different to Rhaenyra Targaryen. You had thick dark brown hair and greenish brown eyes and you just hoped that Daemon would be pleased with you. Because this far there hadn't been anything in his words or actions or even face expressions that hinted you that he was any more delighted by this marriage than you were.

You were torn from your thoughts when the door suddenly opened and there he was, your new husband who slowly walked into the room. You had expected him to be drunk as you had seen him sipping on his wine all night but he seemed to be sober when he approached you. His eyes met yours without saying anything and you immediately stood up.

"Husband.", you said and lowered your head. He chuckled which made you lift your gaze and his eyes looked curious while you tried to appear less nervous than you truthfully were. Your hands were shaking and you could feel your lower lip tremble with anxiety.

Daemon watched you for a moment, then turned away from you all of a sudden and your eyes followed his movement.

"You're nervous.", he spoke while slowly pouring some wine in a cup. You helplessly stood in the room with your bare feet beginning to feel cold and didn't know whether to follow him or climb on the bed so you remained in your position. The Rogue Prince turned once again and his eyes slowly traveled down your body.

"And you're still dressed." These words and the realization what was to happen now made your eyes teary and your face was drawn with fear. Your husband sighed and slowly approached you.

"Do you know what happens between man and wife in their wedding night?", he whispered. You nodded, that much knowledge you had. He raised his eyebrows and gently put his hand on your shoulder that was only covered by the thin gown.

"Are you scared of me?", Daemon asked softly and you didn't know if you were supposed to answer him truthfully or not. So you didn't answer at all and he smiled softly.

"I will not hurt you for telling me the truth, little girl." This gesture made you exhale slightly and you felt some of the heaviness on your heart vanish. You nodded, it was very slight and yet he noticed it.

"I will not harm you, you understand me?", he said and made sure the two of you had eye contact. You nodded again though the anxiety hadn't vanished entirely yet. Daemon sensed it too and sighed while gently caressing your shoulder with his thumb.

"What are you scared of, little one, mhm? Tell me." You gulped and slowly raised your gaze.

"That you don't like me.", you breathed. "And that it hurts too much. And that – that I won't know what to do and that you'll be angry." Daemon almost couldn't hear you because your voice had gotten so quietly and in the end you had lowered your head again. Tears threatened to fall onto your cheek and you bit your lip nervously.

"Shhh.", the Rogue Prince made and lifted your chin with his finger.

"I think worrying that I don't like you shouldn't be an issue.", he spoke and smirked slightly. "And I will be gentle with you, little one. I'll go slow and prepare you for me." His hand wandered up to caress your cheek and it felt surprisingly soft. "I willl help you, sweet girl. I will guide you and show you how to do it. Sit down.", he said and took his hand off you.

You stumbled towards the bed and sat on the edge of the bed. Daemon drank the remaining wine in his cup and then slowly put his cup on the table and walked towards you. He took his seat next to you and watched you mischieviously.

"What do you like to do? What are your passions?" You frowned, feeling surprised about the change in topics but smiled.

"I like to read. And I like to dance and listen to music." "What kind of books?" You thought about it for a second.

"I like to read about dragons. Targaryen history." Daemon's smirk intensed and he rested himself on his arms behind him. "Have you ever seen a dragon?"

"Only from the far.", you said shyly. "Well what a great coinicidence that I have a dragon."

You nodded excitedly. "I know. Caraxes. I've read all about him. And about the dragons of the Conquerer and his sisters. Balerion, Vhagar and Maraxes."

Daemon couldn't surpress a smirk seeing you finally showing another side of you and listened to you speaking about his ancestors, stories that he had heard a hundred times already. But then after the two of you had spoken a while about all sorts of things Daemon thought it was time to perform your marital duties. It was late already and the Rogue Prince and you couldn't spend the whole night talking. So he smirked at you and his eyes traveled down your body.

"Are you calm?", he whispered and you nodded slowly even though you didn't exactly know what he meant by asking this. You were still nervous obviously and though Daemon had proven to be a nice person this far you were still a little scared of him. Your husband leaned down to you and pressed his lips on yours. You tried your best to copy him and kissed him back as you felt his hands on your waist. It wasn't unpleasant actually; his lips felt soft on yours and you felt your heart beating a little slower.

But then Daemon slowly began to pull down your night gown and you tensed. He didn't notice your discomfort until you clung to the fabric and stopped him from exposing your body. He looked at you with a frown and your lip shivered.

"You don't want to take it off?", he whispered and you shook your head with teary eyes. "Why not?"

You just shrugged your shoulders. "Please.", you pleaded and the Rogue Prince nodded, different to what you had expected and just pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Eventually I'll see all of that but we can make it slow.", he whispered and you felt relieved. So his hands remained on your clothed body and he stroke your skin through the fabric in order to get you calm. After a while you relaxed and got used to his soft lips on yours and Daemon's hand wandered up a bit until he touched the underside of your breasts. It was a little odd at first but his touch was gentle and soothing so you let his thumb run over your body.

"Do you like that?", he mumbled against your mouth and you nodded. "Good."

Then you could feel his hands traveling further up to play with your breasts and nipples. But shortly after he grabbed your waist again while this time his mouth explored you and he kissed down to your neck. You liked what he was doing this far, at least you didn't feel disgusted or uncomfortable and you started to feel like this might not be the worst night of your life. And yet your heart was still beating loud as thunder and you feared you might do something wrong.

Now Daemon's hand pushed you towards the bed a little. "Lay down.", he whispered and you moved backwards to obey him. While you got comfortable, your husband took off his shirt and revealed his strong and muscular chest that was beautifully lid by the candle lights. You gulped and unconsciously bit your lips which didn't go unnoticed by Daemon. He slowly approached you and climbed on the bed to lay on top of you. He was careful not to press you into the bed with too much of his weight so he partly rested on his knee next to you. Daemon moved the hair out of your face and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

"I want this to be nice for you, my sweet Stark girl.", he whispered and his pretty eyes so close to you made you feel intimidated and you could feel yourself blush. "I won't hurt you.", he futhermore spoke and toyed with some strays of your brown hair.

And your husband's words actually helped your hasty heartbeat to come down and your tensed muscles relaxed a little. Seeing his face so close to yours, his weight on your body and his hand by the side of your face made you feel heated, almost as if the dragon lit a little fire in you. But that fire would increase highly in the next minutes as Daemon started to kiss your swolled lips again while his hands caressed your waist and breasts.

But soon he was eager for more and kissed his way down to your neck where he found great delight in nibbling at your skin and soothingly kissing it afterwards. You twitched a little when he pulled at your skin with his teeth and your husband smirked up to you. Then his journey led him farther south and soon his mouth brushed over your breasts though still covered by your night gown. Daemon looked up to you, questioningly perhaps, and now you decided to let him undress you. Not because you were convinced that he would love what hid underneath but rather because he seemed to be of gentle nature, different to what you had heard before in the tales told by the ladies in court. You kind of trusted that he would be kind to you and accept your body the way it was. So far he didn't seem like the kind of person to insult or complain, but was affectionate and caring.

But all your worries had been entirely unnecessary anyhow. After you had given him a small nod, the Rogue Prince pulled down your gown to reveal your bare chest. He looked down with a lustful glare in his darkened eyes and his mouth changed to a smirk.

"You most certainly didn't have to feel doubtful about this." You smiled and blushed and Daemon lowered his head to lick over your pearky nipples that looked so innocent and sweet to your husband. His tongue drew patterns over them and he took them into his mouth to suck on them. You grew more and more lustful and the fire in you became hotter. At some point you reached out to grab at the back of his head and Daemon smirked against your chest, noticing that you finally became a little bolder. Your fingers toyed with his hair and your breath went faster as well.

"Such sweet tits.", Daemon whispered and lifted his head again. His thumb ran over your chin and he smirked down to you. "You're very pretty, little one. There's no reason to feel frightened." You nodded and finally also opened your mouth.

"Yes.", you breathed and then your husband started to further pull down your night gown and you lifted your hips to help him. Once you laid entirely naked underneath him you pressed your thighs together feeling ashamed to be bare in front of him but Daemon wouldn't have this.

"Ugh uhm.", he made and pushed his knee between your legs. "Don't hide from me, sweet girl.", he whispered close to your ear which made you shiver. "I'm your husband now. And you shouldn't hide from your husband."

So you let Daemon run his hand down from your breasts to your belly and then between your legs. He cupped your sex which made your eyes widen at the new feeling and Daemon then ran his finger through your slit.

He was experienced, of course he was. At no point did you doubt the obscene stories about him visiting the brothels of King's Landing to fuck, celebrate and drink even at the young age of 15 years. He was older now, 24 to be exact, mayhaps too mature to live in this overflow and ecstasy and yet he had bedded countless of whores who each had contributed to his knowledge and skill. But of course your lack of inexperience didn't lead back to your younger age, 17, but the duty you had as a woman in this world. Your maidenhead was to be saved for your husband and this moment your deflowering grew closer and closer as your husband's finger ran from your hole up to… you didn't know what it was in truth.

His finger touched a spot that you hadn't know to exist but it sent shivers through your body. Daemon was content when he saw your reaction and pressed into that spot. "Uhmm.", you whined because it really was an indescripable feeling. He was beyond satisfied and watched your every facial expression as his finger drew circles and different patterns over your little pearl.

"I know, my sweet wife.", he whispered and kissed your cheek when you let out a particular loud cry. "I consider this little pearl to be holy.", he spoke with lifted eyebrows. "A holy gift by the mother, so sweet innocent maidens like yourself can be pleasured. Though I don't believe in the faith." Daemon smirked widely but you were too far gone in your desire to answer him.

Restlessly you shifted on your back but the weight of his body that pressed into you heavier the more you moved around didn't grant you a lot of space. You whimpered and sighed, panted and exhaled until his hand come to a stop and you immediately missed his touch. You were curious what he would do now and just wished he would continue but to your surprise Daemon kissed his way down on your body until he laid between your legs.

"What are you doing?", you asked breathlessly and your husband smirked. "I'm preparing you for me, little girl. And I'll give you pleasure that will have your soul leave your body.", he whispered and his words made your breath go faster. And yet you weren't convinced because what you believed he was about to do didn't seem… appropriate. And yes, he lowered his head and kissed right next to your pearl which made you grab his hair.

"But… With your mouth?", you breathed quietly and the Rogue Prince raised his eyebrows. "Yes. It is one of the finest arts, my sweet love. Just relax and you'll see how much you'll like it."

And he was right, it only took him a few twirls with his tongue around your little nub and you saw stars.

"Mhmm…", you moaned and your husband simply loved how responsive his new precious wife was to him. Daemon truly took your breath away and tears welled even up in your eyes as his tongue did magical things on your little pearl. It just felt so good, so overwhelmingly good that you never wanted it to stop. He grew even more lucious hearing your sweet noises and at the same time was motivated to let his tongue dance quicker on your nub.

His hands were on your hips, holding you down so you wouldn't be so restless and his eyes remained on you all the time. Sometimes Daemon demanded of you to keep your eyes on him and you tried your best to do as he said but every now and then you couldn't help but let your eyes roll back, so overwhelming was the pleasure. And yet so taunting… It felt as if you were being driven closer and closer to something you couldn't name. And you were eager to find out what it was.

"Daemon.", you whimpered and the Rogue Prince smirked, hearing you say his name. You were begging, pleading for him to get you there, to this place that felt close and yet so far away from you.

"Please, Daemon.", you whined and moved your head from one side to the other. "Please." He couldn't get the smirk out of his face and teasingly flicked your pearl.

"What is it, my sweet girl? What do you wish me to do?" You couldn't bring yourself to answer. You simply didn't have the power at this point and even if you did, no intelligent thought remained in your head. You just hoped that he would know what it was you desired without words and you were certain that he did but merely wanted to tease you.

But then he kissed right on your little pearl and drew tight circles with his tongue around it. "I know what you need, little one.", he whispered with his husky voice and this sound alone made you blush. It sounded filthy and obscene for some reason.

"I'm gonna get you there, love, I promise." And he did. His tongue didn't come to rest for a second and at the same time Daemon inserted a finger in you. It felt a little uncomfortable at first but you got used to it and after some time he even added a second. You couldn't say that you loved the feeling of it because it burned a little but Daemon made sure you were relaxed and calm by the movement with his tongue on your pearl and you were beyond soaked so his fingers could slide into you without problems.

Your sounds grew louder as well and you couldn't stay still. Without Daemon holding you down you probably would've fallen from the bed by now. And at the same time you felt getting closer and closer to the edge, everything inside of you tensed, a warm feeling spread throughout your body and then… the knot in your belly exploded. The feeling took away your breath and you widened your eyes in shock. This was something you had never felt before and you didn't even realize that you held your breath.

"Daemon.", you cried out and your hands had grabbed the bedsheets tightly. Your husband was still occupied by licking up every drop of your sweet juices but now soothingly caressed your thigh.

"Breathe, sweet girl.", he spoke against your cunt and you inhaled deeply. Slowly you felt your heartbeat slow down and enough air was entering your lungs again. And it seemed like Daemon was also done with savouring your cunt now because he licked up your slit one last time and then lifted his head. You were a little relieved because your pearl felt so swollen that his touch had made you twitch after you had reached your high. Daemon crawled up to lay on top of you and kissed you. You were able to taste yourself which made you blush.

"So sweet.", he hummed. "Never tasted a cunt sweet like yours, little wolf." His thumb ran over you lower lip and you shivered. Slowly your mind fully came back to you and when Daemon once again parted your legs with his knee you nervously bit your lip. You knew what would happen now. And you were scared of the pain. What if there was something wrong with your cunt and it just simply… wouldn't work? But the Rogue Prince caringly stroke your cheek and kissed you on your nose.

"It'll be fine. I'm gonna be gentle." With these words he removed his pants until you saw his cock that stood hard against his stomach. He looked so big and thick that you wondered how he was supposed to fit in your hole. But his cock was pretty though. You wanted to know what he felt like in your hand but that seemed to be a matter for another night because Daemon wrapped his hand around his cock and ran its tip through your fold stopping at your clit to rub against it.

You moaned and your eyes fluttered. And then after another few seconds the time had come. Your husband circled your entrance.

"Breathe in, love.", he whispered and watched your face for reactions. You obeyed and inhaled while you felt him thrust into you. There was a barrier and you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen which made you hiss out. The pain made tears well up in your eyes and you held on to Daemon's arms in an attempt to support yourself.

"Shhh.", he made and caressed your hair. "It's alright, I know it hurts." He didn't move yet and gave you time to get used to the feeling which you were thankful for because only slowly did the sorrow fade.

"Doing so well for me.", Daemon breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the tightness of your cunt. Your veins were pulsating and you panted uncontrolled trying to perceive your surroundings.

"It hurts.", you breathed and your husband immediately reached out to remove the tears from your face with his thumbs. He kissed your cheek while his hands soothingly caressed your shoulders.

"It'll be better in a moment. Just breathe." And you did, you inhaled and exhaled and after a time you started to feel better. It was such an odd feeling to be filled by his cock. Daemon now pulled out of you only to thrust back in and even though he was gentle, you once again whimpered at the pain.

"I'm sorry.", he mumbled against the crouch of your neck and your hands reached out to grab his hair. But this time it hurt less and soon your husband slowly thrusted in and out of your cunt. His eyes fluttered and it was clear to you that he received great pleasure from being buried in your cunt. By now the pain had also vanished almost entirely and yet you weren't stimulated as amazingly as you had been a few moments before when Daemon had used his mouth on you. Your husband panted heavily and kissed you hungrily while moving inside of you.

"Oh seven hells.", he moaned and held the side of your face. "Are you alright?", he asked and you nodded with big eyes. "Yes.", you breathed and your husband smirked while traveling his hand down between your bodies. You only knew what he was doing when you felt his hand on your pearl and your mouth formed an 'O'. He went around it in tight circles and you felt your knees getting weak. Together with his deep thrusts inside of you the stimulation was almost too much and your eyes rolled back. The two of you got closer and closer to the edge and his thrusts became sloppy.

"Look at me.", Daemon moaned when you closed your eyes. You did as he told you and tried to concentrate on his pretty face in front of you.

"Daemon. Please.", you whimpered and your hands helplessly clung to his back. "Yes, my sweet girl. I'll make you feel good. I'll fill you with my seed until you'll have my babes inside you. Now and every night from now on.", he whispered against your ear and it only enhanced your desire. The feeling in your tummy got more intense with each moment passing and then the two of you came simultaneously.

Daemon grunted deeply and collapsed on top of you while you arched your back and felt you legs shake in pleasure. His seed filled your cunt to the brim and then you laid with him on top and you both tried to catch your breath. Your heart was beating fast and sweat was covering your forehead. After a while Daemon lifted his head and looked at you. Your face was reddened, your eyes swollen from the crying and your hair was sticking to your forehead. You thought that you probably looked horrible but your husband had never seen a prettier sight so he smirked and kissed your lips.

"So sweet.", he grinned and you smiled weakly. "My little wolf. I can't believe this beautiful girl is mine now." You were too exhausted to answer him but your eyes glistened and it was answer enough for Daemon. As much as you had feared that night it had turned out to be one of the best of your life and you only hoped that many nights like this would follow.  

[vhagarys]

The Conquerer

brother!aegon x reader, sister!helaena x reader

summary: aegon decreed he’d take both his sisters for wives. luckily, you and helaena were already quite taken with each other.

warnings: smut, canon-typical incest, oral, breeding kink, oral fixation, voyeurism, licking?, reader LOVES her brother and sister <3

MDNI

Following in Aegon the Conqueror’s footsteps, your older brother Aegon decreed he would take both his sisters to be his wives.

This decision was not met joyfully by his mother nor the hand. However, his position warranted no argument and soon he exchanged vows and blood in the tradition of your house.

Luckily for him, you and Helaena had taken a fondness to each other from a young age. Practically tied at the hip, you two were rarely found without the other at their side.

As the years went by, that fondness began to morph into something deeper. A twisted desire for one another that never seemed to wither.

Behind closed doors you and your sister ravaged each other like men starved. Devouring each other body and soul, with an almost endearing desperation to please one another.

The two Targaryen girls each harbored the blood of dragons and fire, showing itself in their unwavering passions for one another.

This arrangement soon became common knowledge to the other members of your family. Your brothers Aemond and Aegon never batted an eye. Such incestuous endeavors had remained common practice in your house for generations.

Aegon knew any attempt to separate the pair of you would prove futile, thus wedding you both seemed a kindness on his part.

After a night of drink, feast, and revelry, the bedding ceremony was soon announced. With a faint blush to your cheeks, you and Helaena were both escorted to your shared chambers to prepare yourselves for your lord husband.

“You lucky bastard,” Ser Criston Cole slurred as he sat down next to the king.

Aegon smirked and lifted his goblet, “Given the title of king must come with some benefit, should it not?” he took a large swig of his wine.

“Who am I to marry now that you’ve stolen both of our sisters away,” his brother Aemond scowled at him, jealously etched all over his features.

“Perhaps a new tradition is in order, hm? I shall not only marry to my sisters, but i shall take my brother as a husband,” wine escaped through ser criston’s nostrils as he howled in laughter.

With a disdainful scoff, Aemond promptly stormed out of the room.

“I must take my leave to bed my two beautiful, blushing brides,” Aegon loudly announced before his made his way out of the room and towards his chambers.

As if the prospect of bedding you both did not excite him already, upon peeking through the doors he almost released in his trousers untouched.

You were completely bare, you lower body hanging off of the bed as your older sister held your hips with her mouth attached to your cunt.

You whimpered and wreathed beneath Helaena who aggressively licked and slurped at you like a man deprived of water for days.

A sheen of sweat appeared on your hairline as you held tightly onto your sisters silver tresses.

She reached up to pinch and pull at your nipples and your moans grew louder, whinier.

Seven hells, he gaped to himself.

He stood right at the doorway, though he knew neither of you had an inkling of his presence.

His mind blanked save for the scene before him. he stood frozen in place, immediately reaching to release his cock from its confines and began to stroke himself.

“Kostilus ivestragī issa māzigon jorrāelagon mandia,” you cried out. Your body beginning to spasm and chasing after your incoming peak. (please let me cum sister)

Offering no more than a hum, Helaena tightened her grip on your hips and pushed her face deeper between lips. Her harsh sucking on your clit sent you barreling into climax.

Aegon fared no better. He was hypnotized by the erotic scene, his wives caught in the throes of pleasure.

After a moment, your breathing began to steady and you sat up. A gasp escaped you as you registered your brother pleasuring himself, eyes feasting on the pair of you.

A low growl left him as he tugged at his dripping cock. You briefly met each others gaze and just as quickly you and your sister climbed from the bed and stalked over to him.

A cruel smirk graced your lips as you stood behind him and lightly pressed your nose to the sensitive spot of his neck.

“It seems our husband is quite the pervert, mandia. He’s been watching us,” your hand delicately pushed a lock of his hair behind his reddening ears. (sister)

Aegon couldn’t bring himself to stop. He stroked himself faster, aroused at the proximity of the two of you.

“I’d say he’s enjoying himself. Tell me, did you like watching me devour our little sister, lekia,” Helaena muttered in his ear as her nails scraped down his chest. (Brother)

“Gods,” Aegon practically whined as he felt both of your hands roaming over his body.

“Relieve yourself, husband. Let me see you make a mess of yourself,” you whispered with a hint of cruel delight in your tone.

With a final grunt, he spilled his spend all over his hand and trousers, knees on the verge of collapse after experiencing such a strong release.

Helaena grabbed his hand and led him to sit on the bed. With no more than a quick exchange in glance, the two of you kneeled between his parted legs, admiring his soaked clothes.

Your mouth began to water at the sight of your brothers spent cock. Helaena could see the hunger cloud your eyes and a wicked idea soon made its way out of her mouth.

“As his wife, it is your duty to clean your husband, sweet sister. You don’t wish for him to be uncomfortable, hm?” Helaena mused, a devilish grin consuming her features.

Already feeling a pool of arousal in your small clothes, you met Aegon’s exhausted yet wide eyed gaze.

“Of course, my king. I live to serve you,” and you leaned forward and began to hungrily lick his seed that began to stain through his trousers.

Never breaking eye contact, you moaned at the addictive taste of him. You could feel your slick began to seep through your small clothes and onto the floor.

You didn’t care, you were consumed with the need to please your brother and sister.

After you deemed his clothes cleaned, you immediately moved to his shaft, lapping up each drop like a kitten.

Aegon could feel himself hardening once more. He watched in sick delight at his baby sister, lost in the taste of him.

If only I knew what a slut for cock you were sooner, he thought.

Your sister couldn’t help but grow aroused at the depravity before her.

Grabbing you by the nape of your neck, she turned your head to face her.

“Show me,” helaena commanded. Ever the obedient sister, you stuck out your tongue and presented the sticky, white substance that coated your tongue.

Beyond impatient to taste, she surged forward and met your lips in a filthy swap of tongues. You groaned as you felt her wet muscle lap up the remaining seed in your mouth.

You both gripped onto each other for dear life, lost in the lustful moment.

Consumed with the need to claim both of his wives, Aegon pulled you away from one another.

“Desperate little things, aren’t you,” he cooed.

Both of you gazed up at him with ferocity. he almost came once again at the sight.

He watched a line of drool slip from your lips and promptly scooped it up with his thumb. without being told, you obediently opened your mouth and allowed Aegon to push his digit inside.

Eyes glossy, you suckled at his finger until clean and swallowed. Aegon couldn’t hide his fondness for your easy submission, knowing you’ll take whatever he gives you.

“This marriage must be consummated, and I must fulfill my duty as your husband and pump my seed into your little cunts until you swell with my heirs, hm?”

You both whined at the dirty words.

Extending his hand, he roughly pulled you both on the bed and began to tear through the layers of your sister’s gown. Exchanging in a ferocious kiss, you watched the two dragons battle for dominance.

Your brother reached down to rub his fingers through her wetness and soon your sister was reduced a whining mess beneath him.

You watched them consume each other, and when both pairs of eyes landed upon you, your cunt throbbed at the prospect of what was to come.

authors note: i need more helaena content !!!!! also, enjoy!

- alice +++

[aanxiousangel]

happy endings ༄ Portgas D Ace .MDNI. AANXIOUSANGEL ©

AANXIOUSANGEL © DO NOT FEED ANY OF MY WRITINGS TO AI PROGRAMS OF ANY SORTS; I DO NOT CONDONE THE USE OF AI. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

synopsis ༄ you saved ace that day but nearly lost yourself in the process content ༄ mentions of death, the war at marineford (pre-timeskip), mentions of kid!reader bullied, uh…semi-described smut(?),… wc ༄ 2.5k author's note ༄ this actually is another request on ao3! i love ace so much and i ended up sobbing because this sweet boy deserved to live. actually, crying over whitebeard rn too LMAO im very sensitive rn SORRY!

No one knew why you were a part of the crew. Not why Whitebeard kept you around. No one knew you were the captain’s blood daughter. His one and only. His dream come true. Well…mostly. It wasn’t all that complete once your mother had passed giving birth to you. He’d never say it, but that broke him inside. Just a little.

After he’d collected so many ‘brothers,’ you had lost track of who was who at some point. Mostly, you stuck around the fleet commanders, recognizing them with ease. Marco, Jozu, Thatch… The list goes on. Honestly, they were all pretty sensitive about your slight forgetfulness so you had resorted to calling everyone ‘bro.’

Years and years had passed when you’d met Ace. At first, you really didn’t like him. He kept trying to fight your father, attempting to kick his ass and get the jump on him.

It never worked of course.

And finally one evening, he quit. You were at Marco’s side, hand on your katana’s handle. He carried a bowl of fresh soup, still warm and steaming. And all alone, you saw it. Well, you saw him.

Ace sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, head low as he wallowed. You tensed and stayed just a few feet back as Marco walked over, setting the bowl beside him. For the first time, you heard this man’s voice low and serious.

“Tell me… Why does everyone on this ship call him Pops?”

“You don’t get it? Because he calls us ‘sons.’”

You watched Ace’s brows knit ever so slightly, staring at Marco.

“None of us have any family left. Hell, the whole world hates us.” Marco continues, still smiling, “So, it’s nice, right? I mean, I know it’s just a word… But it still feels nice.”

Ace doesn’t speak. He drops his head, clenching his teeth as he fights off tears. Marco walks over, kneeling before him. You sigh, stepping closer to the two.

“What’s the deal? Are you really gonna keep on doing this even after he spared your life? You can’t keep this up.”

Your voice is quiet and gentle, making Ace’s shoulders tense, “Hate to break it to ya, but you’re not strong enough to kill him.”

“You can either get off this ship and start over,” Marco sighs, “or you can stay here and wear the mark of Whitebeard on your back.”

From that night on, Ace changed. He was a bubbly, fiery spirit. You ended up learning more about him and becoming closer. He had this kid brother he was so insanely proud of. Luffy. He was strong and ruthless, all with a smile on his face.

Eventually, Ace was granted the title of Commander over the second division. The party and feast prepared for the night he accepted was magnificent, courtesy of Thatch and his division. Into the night, while everyone danced and drank, you got a moment alone with Ace.

“Congrats, Fire Fist,” you bump his hip with yours.

“Thanks, princess,” he chuckles, leaning back against the rail while your elbows rest on it.

“Think you can handle it?” You glance up at him, watching the way his head tilts to look at you.

“I can handle anything.” He smiles, his arms folded against his chest.

Your eyes roll, smiling as you let your eyes drift back to the sea, “Always so cocky.”

“Nah,” Ace chuckles quietly, still staring at you all googly-eyed. “Maybe I just wanna impress ya.”

“And if I told you that you do?” You prop your chin on your palm, looking over at him.

“I’d…” Ace’s cheeks grow warm, a pink hue dusting his skin. “I’d ask you out. Duh.”

“Hm, cute.”

You laugh under your breath. He was the most attractive man you’d ever seen on these seas, but that didn’t say much.

Most people you’d witnessed were old pirates and gross. You know, scurvy and whatnot. Guess they’d gotten tired of taking pride in more than their strength and egos.

The townies you met were just stuck to their islands. Families married with kids who always wanted to play with you, begging you to tell them all about your adventures. The people around your age were just scared because you were a part of the most infamous crew. Adults of the town were just as wary, not even wanting the town’s kids to look at a criminal.

And you? You wanted your own son or daughter one day. You wanted your own family just like your pops wanted all those years ago. Well, now you did anyway. You used to hate the families of the islands, their children a bunch of bullies when you’d come to town. They’d run with their tails tucked when your dad’s crew would come along, scaring them away.

“Don’t worry, kid! We’ll play whatever games ya want back on the ship!”

“Yeah, Y/N! We’re way cooler than those little brats!”

You didn’t let them know how much it actually hurt though. You were…all alone. No kids to hang out with, no mom to hold you and tell you it was okay, no sense of childhood endeavors. Just…a kid having to keep it a secret that her dad was truly her blood. Eventually, you gave up and trained with everyone else.

You trained until you couldn’t take it. Sometimes wiping you out for days at a time.

When Ace came along, you finally had someone your age. Someone who made you feel like you could breathe. Like you could be free.

That only made it so much worse when Ace left in search of Marshall D Teach. And you took it even harder when he was captured by the government and set to be executed at Marineford. But everyone banded together and your father had come through. You finally met Luffy and swore that you’d kill anyone who dared get in your way to help Ace. Luffy definitely took a liking to you for that.

Even more so when Ace was rescued rather than killed. You fought yourself into a coma before you could see his freedom though. For weeks, Ace was a wreck. Beaten and bruised, he stayed at your side, desperate for you to wake up.

After sixty-seven days, your hand twitched around his fingers, clenching. He nearly passed out from the excitement, burying his face in your stomach as he sobbed. Something in you realized it was time to finally give in to his antics. To stop teasing and dragging him along.

“I love you, Ace.”

Those were the first words you croaked, throat dry and sore.

“What?”

“I love you.”

A loud thud hit the floor, making the door burst open. Marco was right there, panic wide in his eyes. He looked at you, mouth hanging open, and then at Ace laying on the floor.

“What the fuck happened?” Marco pointed to the male groaning on the ground.

“He fainted,” you wince as you speak, reaching for the glass pitcher on the nightstand.

“You’re awake…” Marco breathes out, walking over to you.

Marco called in a nurse, getting her to check on your vitals. Meanwhile, he helped Ace back into a chair, making sure his bandages weren’t off of his healing wounds. You watched Ace, watching him rub his head. His hat… His necklace… They were gone… You didn’t like that. His signature looks stolen by the war raging on. It wasn’t even close to over.

“Is…is Luffy okay?” You ask quietly, brows pinched in worry.

“He’s okay. Little brat is more resilient than anything,” Ace smiles softly, looking over at you.

Marco grinned, “Runs in the family, huh?”

You relax, finally getting cleared by the nurse. She gave Ace a quick once over before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her. You dip your toes to the floor, finding your footing. Ace got up quickly as you stood, clearing the path with two steps. His arms find their way around you, holding you close.

“My girl,” he breathes against your hair. “My pretty girl. Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again. Ya hear me?”

“I hear you,” you laugh against his chest, wrapping your arms around him weakly.

Eventually, the night falls, leaving you and Ace encased in the dark room. He cradles you almost all night, playing with the ends of your hair. You trace little patterns against his chest softly, listening to his breathing even out.

“I love you,” Ace says quietly and you hear his heartbeat speed up in his chest.

“I love you more,” you smile, moving to look at him.

The moonlight casts a soft glow across his bruised face, softening his features under the gentle light. He seems so peaceful even if only for a night. You find yourself hoping for this to last forever.

“I’m sorry…about your dad,” he brushes a strand from your face, frowning softly.

“He didn’t die in vain,” you whisper, swallowing thickly.

“He was your real dad though,” Ace murmurs, finally having learned about the bloodline.

“All those years… He taught me family is more than just blood,” your hand reaches up, brushing through his hair. “He loved us all more than anything.”

“I love you more than anything.”

His voice, quiet and timid, trembles ever so slightly. He meant it with all of his heart. Ace had nearly lost you, terrified half to death on that battlefield. Too much had already been lost in his life. You? He wasn’t letting go without all hell breaking loose.

“I want to live.”

Those words send a bone-chilling ache throughout your entire being, eyes widening.

“You mean it?”

“I do.”

“...I’ll hold you to that, you know. I won’t ever let you die.”

“Promise?”

His grin makes you roll your eyes, swatting at him softly. Ace can’t stop the laugh that slips past his lips and grabs your wrist to press a swift kiss to your palm. The kisses don’t stop, continuing along your arm until he reaches all the way to your jaw. He hesitates, breathing heavily against your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Ace breathes out, screwing his eyes shut.

“Mhm?” You murmur, head tilted back.

“Can I kiss you?” His teeth scrape softly against your skin, desperate and fighting the urge to capture your lips without permission.

“I could never say no to you, could I?” You murmur, reaching under his chin to tilt his head.

Your lips meet, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. He straddles you, cupping your face like he couldn’t get enough. The kiss turned from something innocent and sweet to carnal and desperate. You claw at his shoulders, noises escaping you as your thighs tighten.

“Ace, please,” you mumble against his lips.

Ace grins against you, pulling away for a moment, “I’ll never get tired of your voice, you know that?”

“Don’t start being all cute,” you murmur, looking up at him.

“I can’t help it,” he pecks your lips through a laugh. “It’s just natural.”

“You’re so lame,” you grin, pulling him back to you.

Deeper into the night, he took his time with you, slow and patient. Ace pressed against you after his movements slowed, growing uneven from his rhythm. You were in tears, sweat coating the both of you when you felt something drip onto your cheek.

He hovered over you, panting. You weren’t expecting to see tears in his eyes.

“Ace? What’s wrong?” You rasp, reaching to cup his face.

“I didn’t think…” He sniffles, looking down at you, “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to be with you. I was so scared…”

“You don’t think I’d go out so easily, huh?” You smile, wiping his tears.

“I wouldn’t let you,” he leans down, resting his forehead against yours.

What would he do without you? His pretty girl. His other half. Thinking about it was the last thing he needed at this moment. He couldn’t let your first time go to waste now, could he?

Ace pressed a kiss to your dampened skin, rolling his hips against yours. Your breath hitched at the contact. Goddamn, he loved this side of you. One that belonged to him and him alone. How could he ever let you go?

Once he graced that weak spot that blew stars behind your eyes, he repeated it over and over and over. With half-lidded eyes, he watched your reactions to keep his movements in rhythm, careful and methodical.

But at this rate, he wasn’t going to last much longer. Not with the way your walls were squeezing the life out of him.

“A-Ace, I-”

“I know,” he grunts, his teeth sinking into your shoulder.

Your legs found their way around his hips, locking at your ankles. Your teeth sink into the flesh of his shoulder, somehow keeping you tethered to the earth. His hips stutter again with a grunt before he…

“F-fuck!” Ace buries his face into the crook of your neck, hands grasping at your plush hips.

It wasn’t immediately obvious to you, but he buried himself so deep within you that you didn’t stand a chance to avoid this new future. You blinked, panting as he collapsed on top of you.

“Did you…”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs tiredly against your skin, taking the time to catch his breath. “Promise I’ll make it up to ya.”

And you, poor thing, were so exhausted that you didn’t give a damn about any repercussions that might come of this. You turn your head, pressing a kiss to his temple before passing out.

Several years later

“Uncle Luffy!”

“Rouge!”

“Rouge! Don’t run off like that!”

Your sweet little girl giggled as her uncle snatched her up, spinning her. You shake your head, smiling at their antics. Ace stuck by your side, arm always wrapped around you as the two of you walk over to the Strawhat crew.

“She gets that from you, you know,” you nudge Ace’s side.

He grins, ruffling your hair, “Yeah, yeah, so she’s a little rebellious. You sayin’ you weren’t a troublemaker back in the day?”

“Not what I’m saying,” you roll your eyes but still can’t help the smile ghosting your lips. “I’m saying that neither of you listen.”

“Just wait,” he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, “she’ll give that damn government a run for their money.”

Rouge gets all the attention from her ‘aunts and uncles,’ telling them all about your last little trip to Sphinx. You take your time, greeting everyone almost in tears. It felt far too long since the last time you saw everyone. Since you saw your family.

“Can’t believe you’re already three! You’re growing up so fast, Rouge!” Nami squished her cheek just as Sanji was bringing out a cake, decorated with pink hibiscus flowers.

“Happy birthday, Rouge!”

Ace held you from behind, chin resting atop your head. He thought back to all those years ago, to the battlefield where he nearly lost you and himself in the process. His sweet girls, safe and sound once again… He wouldn’t trade this for the world. Not now, not ever.

author's note ༄ sorry, gotta yap more rq! uh idk why i added in that tidbit about it being 'secret' you were the blood daughter of whitebeard and am now realizing that was probably dumb LMAO

dividers used: sister-lucifer. cafekitsune. anitalenia.

op masterlist

[crushmeeren]

Hello there , I read your “things Astarion would say” and my soul left my body. I was wondering if you could do similar thing for Halsin maybe??

Thank you!!

♡ I’m so glad you enjoyed Astarion’s filthy mouth. As soon as you mentioned Halsin, I knew I immediately had to write for him as well. In a loving way, I hope this makes your soul leave your body. ♡

✾ For some reason I picture Halsin really enjoying tits so….yeah.

❧ ☙ Halsin / Fem Reader

♡ Master List Link

❧ My precious little bear, I’m beyond grateful we’ve been provided with a quiet moment alone. I’ve had the urge to devour you entirely since the sun rose.

❧ Oak Father, my eyes feast upon you naked as the day you were born. Your beauty transcends nature, breasts so supple I hunger for a taste.

❧ One day when your belly is swollen with our offspring, I’ll drink my fill of the honeyed milk that’ll flow from your sweet nipples.

❧ Be still and stay standing, my heart. Rest upon the tree and let me lavish your soft cunt to my hearts desire.

❧ Careful now, my dove. Go as slow as need be, I promise we’ll get that wicked mouth of yours to fit around my cock.

❧ So eager for me little one. I’ll take care of you, just allow me to prepare you a bit more before we go further.

❧ My gorgeous girl, being absolutely perfect for me. You open up so beautifully.

❧ Take a breath love, I’ve got you. I know my cock is rather large but we’ll take it inch by inch until I’m fully buried inside your cunt.

❧ Gods, I’m enthralled with how your warmth grips me so tightly. Please, allow me to worship your body for the goddess you are.

❧ Forgive me, but your cunt swallows me too well. It’s simply euphoria, I may not be able to stop myself from taking you too vigorously.

❧ Oak father have mercy on me. You know I can’t tame the beast inside when the word daddy falls from your lips.

❧ Naughty little bear, so sublime, the way you present for me. It’s a bewitching sight that would have any man falling to his knees.

❧ Your breasts are ravishing. I could be mesmerized, watching them bounce for hours.

❧ Oh hells. There you go, my pretty dove. You’re doing so wonderful, allowing me to feel the crest and swells of your sweet pleasure.

❧ My heart, you were crafted by nature just for me. I’m going to spill inside you, breed you until you’re round and glowing with our child.

❧ Don’t you dare let a drop of my seed spill from your womb.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

First, love the dark Lucifer Vampire story! And I love how treats Adam like a pet. So, here's what I have you:

Prince! Adam x Warlord! Lucifer (yes he would be dark and treat Adam like a glorified pet. Adam would grow to like it but at first, he's embarrassed as hell. He's given to Lucifer as his prisoner to stop him from attacking the kingdom of Heaven. Adam tries to fight it but he's forced into it by his mother, Sera, against his will. Lilith will be dead in this, died during childbirth, and Charlotte is just as ruthless as her father. Lucifer sees Adam as his pet for the most part but later on, decides he'd make a good bride. He's submissive and does what he's told. Perfect. Adam slowly falls in love with him and Lucifer will follow slowly after. Adam's personality would basically be shy but easily moved to tears due to his low self-esteem. Sera treats him like a waste of space and much prefers her daughter, Emily.)

XxX

Prince Adam couldn't believe what he was hearing from his own mother. He had been dragged from his room by guards, no yelling would get them to stop, and he was brought before his mother, Queen Sera of the kingdom of Heaven. She looked down at him with a glare like she normally would.

"Adam. The invaders have come to a decision." Adam had a bad feeling about this. Emily refused to look at him but she did look bored to be here. She was always bored, even when their mother was hurting Adam. But, this whole situation leaves Adam with a bad taste in his mouth and the guards forcing him to kneel didn't help either.

"Adam, you will go with them as...collateral to keep them away from our borders. They've requested a prisoner and me and Emily certainly couldn't leave Heaven to its own devices. That leaves you."

No. No! This couldn't be happening! Adam was to be a prisoner?! To some tyrant, they call The Devil?! He felt tears fall onto the floor as he begged, "Please! There has to be—"

Sera simply scoffed. "Cease you're crying. Honestly, a man shouldn't be crying this much but I guess you never met the criteria of a man, did you?" Adam flinched, hurt once more by her words. Emily let out a chuckle but she didn't say much of anything. She never did. She saw Adam like one would a fly. Annoying but completely forgotten when out of the room.

He was bound in chains and gagged before being put in the dungeons to wait until after the kingdom celebrated getting out of war. They would throw a feast for the tyrant and his daughter, they would take their prisoner and leave. The war over and Adam gone. Two birds with one stone.

Queen Sera prepared the most magnificent feast they could and just in time. The Warlord and his daughter were here. He walked in like owned the place, his regal cape flooding behind him. His daughter, taller than him by a head, walked beside him, her cold eyes gazing at everything in disgust. Their palace was much better.

"Ah, if isn't the Queen." The Warlord said, smirking at her. There was a reason they called him The Devil. The birth name given to him was Lucifer. His daughter, Charlotte Morningstar, looked just smug, her red eyes dancing with mirth at the fact everyone seemed afraid of them.

She was known to keep a plethora of women at her side that she used as her pleasure. She took care of them in her opinion and they all loved being her pets, but it was amusing to see all of them, especially the women, terrified that she would seduce them and use them like a pet.

They weren't worthy of that.

"Shall we eat?"

I love all of this so much!! @beef-brisket @fanofstuff01 @kittenfangirl20 I need of rp of this yesterday lmao

-

Adam sat down in the cell, his eyes wet as he couldn't stop silently crying as he could hear the celebration going on upstairs. They were celebrating him being given to a ruthless Warlord as a pet, a slave in every sense of the word.

He was supposed to be a Prince, yet he was treated no better than the dead rat in the corner that was rotting away. Soon that would be him, The Devil will likely torture him for the rest of his days and use him any way possible.

Adam felt another tear fall from his eyes, he was a virgin so the thought of the only time he'd be having sex........ It broke his heart that he would never be loved by anyone.

His father loved him before he passed away from being sick. Adam wished he was still alive, surely he wouldn't let his mother do this.

His mother didn't love him, Adams not sure she ever did. His sister seemed indifferent towards him. He didn't know what he did to make them not want or love him.

No one loved him, no one ever would. Adam was never going to be happy ever again.

His eyes stayed locked down on his bound hands. Was this what awaited him down South in the car country of Hell? To be thrown in the dungeon, bound and gagged, only to be fed enough to live. To know only pain and suffering from this day on. Maybe the Warlord will take pity and make Adams death quick and painless.

And maybe Adam will grow wings and fly away.

[alotofrandomfangirling]

Dating Roronoa Zoro would include (liveaction!Zoro x female!reader headcanons)

Tw: slight cursing, a bit suggestive towards the end, mentions of sword fighting

A/n: okay so i decided to give it a try myself lol this is completely based off the live action (i haven't watched the anime nor read the manga). I hope you like it, i'm so in love with our green haired baby 🥰 also forgive me for any mistakes, english is not my first language 🙏🏻

• First things first,we gotta make it clear: Zoro acts tough and all but deep down he is a big softie akslajskak

• The thing is, because of his past, he isn't very used to being treated kindly

• So when he found you it was like his world completely changed

• He cherished every little act of care you did for him

• He loooved when you ran your fingers through his hair

• He would close his eyes and enjoy it with a small smile on his lips

• Or when you caressed the back of his neck when you kissed him

• It drove him crazyyy

• He loved these little delicate touches that made his heart do a backflip

• And how about when you grabbed his face, looked deep into his eyes and kissed the tip of his nose?

• Boy would blush like hell

• "You're so cute when you blush" - you'd tease him with another kiss on the cheek

• "No, i'm not" - he said frowning and trying to brush that off, which only made you giggle and kiss him again

• You would always make sure to let him know how much you loved him

• And even though he wasn't the best in expressing his feelings, you could feel how grateful he was for that

• He would always look at you with the most passionate eyes and that's when you knew he loved you just as much

• And he would show it too

• Hell he would do anything for you

• Once he made Sanji prepare a whole feast for you (with him helping ajdkajskaj) because you accidentally let slip you missed food from home

• Or that time he secretly bought you a cute bracelet he saw you staring at when you stopped by at a village

• That's how much he loved you and wanted to make you happy

• And the straw hats would always tease you guys about it

• Except poor Luffy who didn't understand anything that was going on lol

• But he saw how happy you both were and, if his crew was happy, he was happy too

• Now Zoro wasn't much of PDA

• But he made sure to show everyone you belonged to each other

• He would usually put his arm around your waist or around your shoulders

• (When he did the latter one, you liked to intertwine your fingers with his which he thought was super cute ajskajskja)

• You on the other hand liked to hook your arm with his when he had his hand in his pocket

• Let's be honest you loved feeling the strong muscles of his arms

• Yeah, his physique was something you admired a lot

• You loved to watch him practice his sword fighting

• The way his strong arms moved

• That pretty face he did when he was concentrated

• The way his fingers moved on the sword

• Him all sweaty...

• okay let's stop over there

• He noticed you watching and one day he had a brilliant idea (or so he thought)

• You were a very skilled fighter, but you had never tried fighting with a weapon

• So he decided to teach you how to fight with his swords

• Ngl it was tough

• But you were very decided to try your best

• But actually the best part turned out to be being extra close to him

• "Hey, you have to position your arms like this" - he said as he gently lift your arms with a touch so soft it gave you butterflies

• He stood behind you as he helped you correctly hold the sword, putting his hands in yours (yeah like a big cliche move lol)

• He was so close you could feel his breath on the back of your neck

• Which only made you even more distracted and had you get the move wrong again

• "Zoro, love, let's be honest, i can't do it. You are the greatest swordsman i know and i'll never be any close to that, so let's just give up" - you said, frustrated

• "What? No. (Y/N), you are the most determined and dedicated person i've ever known and i'm sure you can do anything you want" - he said, holding your hand and looking at you lovingly - "just... try it one more time. For me?" - he said with puppy eyes and you couldn't say no to the man you loved so much

• You grabbed the sword again and to your surprised you nailed the movement

• "I did it! Oh my gosh, Zoro, i did it!" - you said smiling from ear to ear

• He was as surprised and happy as you, with that pretty smile he didn't show often but that you loved so much

• He grabbed you and spun you around as you both laughed

• "I knew you could do it" - he said as he put you on the ground again - "i'm so proud of my girl" - he kissed your cheek

• And now it was your time to blush as he ruffled your hair

• (Needless to say, Usopp and Sanji were watching the whole thing and started making fun of you two, which only made you blush even harder lmaooo)

• Okay so we all know and love his deep voice, right?

• Now imagine his morning voice 💀

• After spending a ahem very good night together you'd wake up next to each other in the morning

• "Morning, Zoro" - you'd say still sleepy

• "Morning, babe. D'you sleep well?" - he asked in that deep, raspy voice that gave you all the butterflies

• Damnnnn

• You'd get weak in the knees all over again lmao

• And that could lead to something else 👀

• But that's a whole another story ajdkajskaj

• And speaking of his voice

• He wasn't much of talking, but he slowly started opening up to you

• Sharing his thoughts, fears and stories from his past

• You saw through him and broke down his walls, so he felt 100% comfortable around you

• You'd lay down together and talk about everything

• That was such a special and intimate moment for you

• You loved being there with him, taking in his scent and listening to his voice while he traced circles down your back

• He would tell you stories about Kuina and the promise he made

• You swear you had never seen him that vulnerable

• But you were glad he felt safe enough to share that with you

• In the end you just hugged and reassured him

• "I know you will keep your promise, and i'll be here supporting you until the end" - you said, gently cupping his cheek

• "Thank you, (Y/N)" - he said softly, and you could see the warmth in his eyes - "now i have another reason to believe i can make it"

• "What is it?" - you asked, a bit confused

• "Having you by my side" - he said in his low voice, laying down and closing his eyes

• Your heart fluttered at that 😭

• "It's my pleasure, Roronoa Zoro" - you said smiling and cuddling him as you both fell asleep <3

[shorthaltsjester]

obsessed with the fact that bell's hells won that fight explicitly because of their reliance on the gods. imogen and laudna both vocally saying 'thank you matron' at the beginnings of that combat as they use new skills or spells they've refreshed, orym wielding his sword, braius wielding his divine power, the entire party instilled with a hero's feast prepared by a cleric of the wildmother, imogen using power granted by the arch heart to bring down predathos -- an entity that has been described as welcoming her home, offering a womb she has longed to return to, her as its kin -- in imagery evoking the moment where the gods too decided to turn their backs on their home when faced with the monstrosity they were tied to, that they'd help bring about (something something, the arch heart gave mortals magic and imogen gave predathos its vessel). and the fact that bell's hells has slowly grown more reliant on the idea that predathos does not hunger for mortals -- something they in fact scoffed at when it came from liliana and ludinus' mouths -- predathos took several of them in his maw and tried to consume them.

viewing the story as one of a group of people predominantly blinded to the reality of their situations by the fog of their traumatized feelings -- as i've chosen to do for the sake of my sanity listening to them go on and on about gods that never gave them a lick in the same breath that they complain that the gods have too much power -- it is so extremely poetic that orym cut down ludinus with a sword blessed by the wild mother only for bell's hells to retread the path ludinus set up for himself. it is extremely ironic for a group of people who have implicitly raised complaints about the inherent manipulation that comes with the god's existence to come up with a plan that is explicit manipulation, demanding the gods become mortal or die [which to be clear, extremely interesting plan with interesting consequences that would be compelling to see! absolutely dogshit reasoning skills and moral assessment. but it is continually ASTOUNDING to me that a campaign that gets treated by some as the height of critical role's sociopolitical philosophical exploration features so many PCs who struggle (and not in the fruitful, developmental way but in the head-in-hands, can this student talk to the prof during office hours so I don't have to feel the second hand embarrassment of them making it obvious they haven't ever attended a previous lecture or done the class readings way) with ideas found in any first year philosophy course].

and to be clear this is not me devaluing the role of bell's hells in actually fighting the fight -- but all they've done is the same thing the gods were already doing, keeping predathos sealed, except now its in a volatile-at-best mortal who is on borrowed time re: being lost once again to its power. the only suggestion the hells have that this might be a justified and right course of action is the support of two gods -- one who has proven themself to be okay with the idea of death until it actually arrives before and the other one who is the only being on record who actually chose to be a deity -- out of a much larger pantheon, and their personal inclinations to agree with the ideology of a man who they have claimed to ardently disagree with but it turns out that was just because of his methods, I guess. scattershotting catalysts for change and hoping that change results in a Better World just. on its own (almost like. idk. fate) that you haven't even suggested practical (I'd even take theoretical ones atp) methods to achieve beyond Get Rid of a bunch of beings who are involved in actually extreme amounts of metaphysical and magical infrastructure isn't actually a course of action, its a course of chaos, and that is in fact worse than things staying the way they are if 'the way things are' that you keep referring to has only been shown to, currently, be that you and your friends feel sad and a little miffed that the gods you haven't offered anything to are only willing to do things for you when you serve them. unlike you, a group notorious for the way you do things for people you don't know without asking anything in return (this is sarcasm, if that wasn't clear).

anyway, I will continue to be frustrated by the lack of grounding for either (a) bell's hells having actually incisive and contextualized criticisms of the gods (either their own or from the actual mouths of the 'little guys' they are allegedly fighting for) or (b) more engagement with the fact that bell's hells as a party are not interested in making the morally right choice, they are at Best looking for a morally neutral choice. that said, if I ignore the actual story c3 has portrayed, the last few episodes have been a great wrap-up to a story about how singleminded trauma can make you and how that can lead you to place where there's no longer any Good choices to make, only potentially satisfying ones, where the question of who to satisfy takes the reigns over what is best.

[lazyjellyfish300]

merriment shrine 🎄⛩️

synopsis: you're the newest concubine in Lord Sukuna's household and the object of his unrelenting ruminations (or is it desire?). When Uraume tasks you with being in charge of the Christmas festivities while Sukuna is away, you can only hope you'll deliver. What could go wrong? 🎄 largely inspired by this fic by @/sttoru 💕 words: 7.5k

cw: minors dni, x FEM!READER(Yuri), concubines, smut(p in v, double penetration(not too detailed), monster sex? I guess bc true form!Sukuna sex is not normal sex, oral f and m receiving, titty fucking, degradation, creampie(not too detailed), cum eating), violence, blood, Sukuna is a warning on his own, true form!Sukuna, SUKUNA HAS BEEF WITH BABY JESUS. MOCKING OF RELIGION/BLASPHEMY (PLS DONT READ IF THAT BOTHERS YOU. IT'S SUKUNA FFS) decapitation, bullying, heian era but it's all over the place historically and NOT accurate. angst, fluff, crack

a/n: For the secret Santa fic exchange event by @nanamiscocksleeve written for @heian-era-housewife ! I deeply apologize for the late entry! I was very intimidated writing for him for the first time but I hope you like it. 😩🎅🏽🎄💕 Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!✨

my holiday smut masterlist 🎄

dividers by @/saradika-graphics. pics from pinterest

You mused peacefully as you took in the gentle dance of snowflakes outside your chamber windows, thinking if you squinted hard enough you could make out the intricate shape of each one before they landed silently on the thin dusty layer of those that fell before on the undisturbed gardens.

You hugged your kimono a little tighter around you as you sipped your tea you had laced with some ginger and cinnamon, much to the confusion of the cooks in the kitchen. The distant glare of the fireplace bestowed a soothing warmth that kept you locked in place.

Since you arrived, it quickly became no secret that you, the newest concubine to join the harem under the formidable king of curses, brought with you a peculiarity. Certain quirks that endeared you to the servants and annoyed the other concubines.

You emitted a humble air about you like the shades of aqua and seafoam green you gravitated towards. You often opted for untouched corners of the garden next to the pond and the library where you could read and write in solitude that became mistaken for arrogance by the others.

And for whatever reason or another, you insisted on this...holiday business or whatever the hell you called it, gently humming those insufferable tunes under your breath that carried though the marble hallways and adorning your room in makeshift tinsel and boughs of holly you strung together from stray pieces of greenery you found by the koi pond.

It was a very frustrating type of conundrum Sukuna didn't appreciate that was causing ripples in his vast household, especially now, as he studies you from his neighboring window on the opposite side of the estate, stroking his chin, eyes narrowed.

"My Lord." Uraume bows as their smaller frame appears in his doorway.

"Speak." Sukuna responds, not tearing those eyes of a deep rose away from where you were perched in your window, a pointed black claw gently scratching the sharp ridge of his jaw in deep thought.

"I need to know of your plans for the winter feast preparations."

"What of it?" Sukuna answers coldly.

Uraume doesn't flinch, being all too familiar with Sukuna's temperament. They knew he would rather fork out his eyeballs than waste time with frivolous matters like festive planning. Too reminiscent of the folly those disgusting humans preoccupied themselves with.

But, Uraume also knew the blind fury that would await them should they make arrangements for anything impacting the routine functions of Sukuna's household without his knowledge.

"A proposal, my lord." Uraume continues calmly. "Since we are not expecting your grace's presence until the 24th, perhaps we leave the bulk of the planning to someone else?"

Sukuna scoffed. "And who would that be?"

"One of the concubines."

"Who? He asks, slight incredulity now mixed in his sternness. "Her?"

"She...brings a new set of traditions."

"I am aware, I was not born yesterday."

"...I thought his majesty would appreciate-"

"Appreciate? Uraume, do not speak foolishly." Sukuna scolded, now fully turned to face them, his two upper muscular arms folded across his body.

Uraume merely stayed where they were, silent, undemonstrative of any reaction which they knew Sukuna preferred while he strode about the room, beginning to pace.

Finally, Sukuna came to a stop. "So be it. As long as I am not to be trifled with such matters again until my return, I do not care what the little brat does."

He paused, his expression unmoving as he addresses them one more time. "I have the most trust in your judgement, Uraume. Do not disappoint me."

"Yes, my Lord." Uraume bows again as Sukuna takes his leave, but not before eyeing you one more lingering glance before he departs, a shred of annoyance when he realizes despite the distance, he wouldn't be rid of you from his thoughts anytime soon.

-----

"My lady." Uraume addresses you from your doorway and you stand abruptly, bowing in acknowledgement.

"Uraume, good to see you."

"Thank you." Uraume answers pleasantly, a slight inflection in their tone carrying a fondness at your usual kindness towards them.

Although you were aloof, odd, and provided more than an earful that Uraume had to bear witness to from the other concubines, at least you treated them respectfully, unlike them.

"Lord Sukuna has departed on business with no plans to return until the 24th."

You stood up slowly, quirking a curious brow at the unexpected news.

"It is tradition that his grace hosts a feast for the winter solstice." Uraume explains. "To usher in the cold season and provide festivities. But, due to his absence, we are in need of someone to make arrangements..." Uraume clears their throat, clearly a little nervous at what your response will be, since the success of it was mostly riding on your willingness to participate.

"Would you be willing to lead the preparations, my lady?"

Silence hangs in mid air before you speak. "Me?"

"Of course." Uraume hums. "I don't doubt you'll be more than capable. I, along with many others, have noticed you celebrating this-Christmas? You call it?"

"Yes, that's right." You straighten up a little. "I mean, I'd love throw a celebration for Lord Sukuna. But, why me?"

"Well, my lady. As I said before, you are very capable. I noticed you seem to have an eye for these kinds of details between your drawings, writings, and your.." Their fuschia eyes flicker briefly to the parchment ornaments adorning a potted plant in the corner. "...creations." Their lip curls upward in a meek grin.

"Between you and I, I have never cared much for the traditions, either. Too overwhelming. But, I am curious about yours. You've caused quite a stir among the ladies of the house and, if I may speak openly..." Uraume gulps and looks at the walls nervously as if they had eyes into the conversation before lowering their voice.

"You are the first in a long while whom I have been able to tolerate, and who has treated me kindly unlike so many before you."

You give Uraume a sympathetic glance, now determined to deliver on your promise of a celebration worth waiting for.

"We'll start tomorrow."

----

The shrine slowly transformed day by day. The halls became lined with pine needles accented by soft candles that emitted a heavenly glow. As the snow piled up, you recruited the help of the servants, smiling at their bewildered expressions that turned to pure joy as they touched snow for the first time, constructing an army of snowmen with various hats, scarves, and other accessories they could find around the estate, complete with carrot noses provided by the kitchen.

You, Uraume, and a team of gardeners from the palace ventured into the woods and hand selected multiple spruce trees, and, with their help, chopped them down, strapping them with ropes and dragging them back so the shrine could have its own assortment of Christmas trees, complete with what seemed to be nearly hundreds of crochet and parchment snowflake ornaments.

You had fashioned them with Uraume and some of the other ladies in waiting during craft hours in the evenings. Presents wrapped in scarlet ribbons and offerings to Sukuna began to encircle the bottom of the largest tree in the grand hall.

Across the way, however, the group of other concubines avoided the spreading merriment with disdain and scowls on their faces, not even touching or wandering in the vicinity of the Christmas trappings as though it contained a plague.

You began hosting caroling rehearsals and only you, Uraume, and a few other members of the kitchens staff had joined while your bitter cohorts tried their best to drown out the noise on the far side of the shrine, the leader of the group shooting a fiery glare at one of her minions when she began to blindly hum the catchy tune.

As Christmas Eve drew closer, the warm baked goodies become more innumerable as they popped out of the kitchen and the bakers perfected their abilities to whip up treats worthy of the season. The shrine had adopted a permanent scent of gingerbread, cinnamon, pine and peppermint that followed and clung to your robes.

----

On the 23rd, the day before Christmas Eve, you and Uraume were baking and laughing with flour stained faces,

"To think, we did all this in just a few weeks' time." Uraume mused as they squished the gingerbread dough between their fingers. "Lord Sukuna will be pleased. Yes, very pleased with you indeed."

The sentiment left you with a very healthy dose of fluster as you grinned at the thought of his majesty marveling at all the work you did just for him, possibly rewarding you with something much better than you could imagine as those eyes of deep rose bestowed you subtle admiration that had not graced anyone else.

Unknown to you, an eavesdropping ear belonging to one of the concubines catches wind of this statement and skitters away quickly to spread her message to the others.

----

"Spit it out already!" The cruel eyed leader of the concubines hisses to the messenger.

"I overheard that Lord Sukuna chose her specifically to lead this Christmas tradition and intends to reward her and place her higher above the rest of us, earning his grace's favor so that we might be cast out into the streets!"

Shock, fury, outrage, and blind jealousy erupted among the other concubines.

"What shall we do?" "That goddamn slut, I knew she was no good." "She needs to go!"

"Silence!!" The leader screeched over the others. "She will be dealt with. We must take matters into our own hands so Lord Sukuna is displeased and has no option but to execute her. Listen to me, I have a plan..."

And the other concubines huddled around her eagerly as they plotted your downfall.

----

Everything was ready for the elaborate Christmas Eve homecoming feast for Lord Sukuna.

The finest beast was being roasted on a spit over fiery coals under careful supervision by Uraume. In the kitchen, the chefs were hard at work chopping vegetables they had culled from the winter harvest. Puddings and treats were being whipped up and presented beautifully in festive arrangements on fine platters.

The smell of Christmas cooking overwhelmed you as you stood in the great hall, clad in a new royal jade kimono with golden ornate leaves woven in your hair that never made you appear more elegant than on this Christmas Eve of festivities.

You thought of Sukuna and what he might think when his powerful presence graced these halls again. An odd mixture of fear and admiration you harbored for him that inspired you to want to please him. Feelings about him you couldn't quite place ever since he selected you to live in his shrine even though your head had not yet graced the silk of his bedsheets.

Lord Sukuna's carnal appetites were of no mystery to you. You had heard plenty of rumors about how rough and relentless he could be. His preferences seemed to be both selective, yet apathetic if that even made sense.

You had heard the screams and loud noises of primality from behind his sealed oak doors that echoed into late hours. Though all of his concubines would walk away with their own satisfaction eventually, his copulation apparently came with scars and rough treatment.

Seldom, if ever would his fucking deviate into lovemaking territory, much less tenderness and intimacy. That is where his selectiveness came in. The gentle sighs, gasps of mind melting pleasure, soul binding thrusts, consuming kisses dotted lovingly all along your nape, breasts, and inner thighs while being brought to the pedestals of pleasure you craved to know one day from the touch of a man you were deeply in love with, seemed to be reserved for someone of an unattainable caliber to Sukuna.

Until he met someone worthy, his concubines were nothing more than warm vessels of temporary satisfaction until his thirst returned.

But, here you were daydreaming that you could be the recipient of such love from him despite all odds.

----

"Whore, we're trying to speak to you!"

An indignant voice rips you out of your thoughts and you turn around, jarred at the sight of the head concubine with her supporters close by. You were outnumbered one to many. A piece of meat left to the wolves. Subtle panic slithered in and wrapped around your throat when Uraume was nowhere to be found.

The leader's scowl melted from her face into a honeyed grin, her long nails outstretching and wrapping around a delicate glass reindeer from a gorgeous wintery scene Sukuna's craftspeople had spent countless hours on.

"P-please be careful-" You raise a shaky hand.

The leader hisses at you, stealing the reindeer out of reach, her icy stare renders you speechless again. Her expression then morphs back into a sugary tone, a snake's venomous fangs concealed behind her pretty face.

"Tell me, darling. Does Lord Sukuna know you've been defiling his shrine this entire time he's been gone?" She asks as she turns the reindeer in between her graceful fingers.

"Defiling...?" You choke out, perplexed.

"Yes, defiling. With these, disgusting-"

You jump in alarm as she abruptly hurls the glass deer to the ground, watching it explode into shards as soon as it meets the unforgiving marble.

"filthy-" she reaches this time for a wreath of holly, casting it onto one of the glowing candles, setting it ablaze.

"pathetic-" the others have now joined in, breaking and trashing all your beloved Christmas decorations, hours of hard work and care being ripped, torn, shredded, and cast into the fire one after another.

"Stop, stop, please!!!" You cry and shriek, voice drowned in anguish but when you raise your hand to stop her, she turns on you immediately, the others coming to her aid, ripping and tearing at your gorgeous kimono.

"You think Lord Sukuna gives a shit about you and your stupid little Christmas traditions?" She snarls as her and the others claw the golden leaves out of your hair and they clutter on the floor, your robes now nearly in tatters. "You're just another slut. A weak, useless, ugly-"

You cower and brace for the worst, but your insides turn when you hear a warm squelch as blood splattered against the walls. A shudder runs through you at the unmistakable sound of dismantle and cleave; the King of Curses had returned.

You look up and you see him first, averting your gaze immediately and kneeling for fear of losing your head next. You're not sure how many of the concubines or servants within the vicinity were slain, but you're guessing a lot, if not all, based on the sea of blood on either side of where you were crouched.

"We'll have no more of that." Sukuna tsk'd. Those stern eyes raked over the scene, seething in annoyance at the mess in front of him. His eyes land on you and he squints as he draws closer, sensing the tremble of your frame as you didn't dare move from your spot.

"Breathe, for gods' sakes, human." He commands. "Stand up, now. Don't keep me waiting."

You rise on shaky knees, keeping your gaze downwards until you straighten up completely, looking into the formidable face of your lord and unexpected savior.

"My Lord."

"Tch." Sukuna clicks his teeth, looking over you. "This is what you call a celebration for the King of Curses?"

"I-..." You shake your head, the lump in your throat obstructing both the oxygen and words in your brain. "I can explain..."

"I do not require an answer." He growled, and you shut your lips, gaze averted downward once again in fearful shame. "You are a mess." His eyes appraise you in scrutinizing pity.

He had seen enough to know this fiasco wasn't entirely your fault. But still, the irritation he felt towards you prior for sticking out so prominently in his brain was rearing its ugly head. It was unlike Sukuna to ruminate, to toil in his mind for hours, especially over a human like you, no less.

He will deal with that later. For now, he still expects a proper feast and celebration after his lengthy travels.

"Uraume." His voice reverberates off the stony walls and Uraume is immediately at his side, their pupils dilating slightly at you in alarm at the devastating state of the grand hall that was beautifully adorned and decorated less than an hour before.

"Clean her up immediately and bring her to my chambers. In the meantime, have any available servants scrub up this mess."

"Right away, my Lord."

----

A while later, you walk slowly towards Sukuna who's standing by his window. You're dressed in fresh robes chosen by him specifically of a bleeding garnet like his eyes. You take in the grand sight of him, the way the darkened shadows would bend at his back and wrap around whatever he was facing, nearly suffocating them with his presence that commanded reverence, humility, but most of all, fear. His broad shoulders, back, and booming voice with a majesty likened to the powerful mountain range that surrounded his shrine.

Even now, as he turns to face you with his monstrous appearance in his full glory with those four eyes, his harshness he exudes stirs a suppressed part of you that never desired to be removed from him. A forbidden kind of beauty not obvious to many that brimmed underneath that thick shell you were only barely skimming the surface.

"Better." Sukuna remarks, seemingly pleased with this new ensemble. "Now..."

He took a step towards you and you held your breath, preparing for the moment where you would inevitably be forced to give yourself to him and be at his non-existent mercy for whatever plans he had next. However, he surprises you.

"Are you just going to stand there, or will you join me for dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"I do not intend for my winter feast to go to waste." Sukuna frowns. "Seeing as my entire harem is now dead except for you, I have no choice but to rely on you to remedy this."

You look at him, dumbfounded. That wide gleam in your eyes that was brought out by the light hitting your irises whenever you had to crane your head to look at him(which was every time) almost pulls at him, for a moment. Almost.

"My Lord?"

"You may start from the beginning." Sukuna instructs, the top pair of arms folding seriously across his chest with the second pair on either side of his thick, muscular waist.

"Use this opportunity to prove yourself worthy and show me these ridiculous Christmas traditions you insisted on imposing on me before I change my mind, brat. "

----

"These are called snowmen, my Lord." Your teeth chatter slightly as you two come to a stop in front of the wall of snowmen you, Uraume, and the servants had constructed over several weeks in the courtyard.

Sukuna stares boredly, a rush of annoyance bubbling inside him as he lays eyes on their pebble smiles, goofy hats, and multi colored scarves.

But, his eyes widen ever so slightly when he takes notice of the biggest snowman that stood out towards the back. This one towered over the others with four sticks for arms instead of two, meeting Sukuna directly at his eye level. It had four sets of pebble eyes on its face with carefully carved markings, eerily similar to someone he knew...

"What is this?"

You gulp. "It is you, my Lord."

Sukuna stares, silent. "What is the purpose of this?"

"For visual display." You answer, slowly. "Personal enjoyment. Sculpting them and playing in the snow is half the fun."

"I care little for that." Sukuna waved his hand. He studied his snowman some more. "I suppose I will allow my likeness to be erected into snow. This is supposed to represent myself and my subjects?" His eyebrow raises slightly as his pair of undereyes flicker back to look at the dozens of other, smaller snowmen in front.

You nod, slightly encouraged by this reaction that wasn't all good, but wasn't all bad either. "Yes my Lord, it is."

"Hmph." Sukuna shoots air out of his nostrils in disapproval. Then, without warning he raises his arm. You duck quickly, and simultaneously each head of each snowman besides his own is sliced off and goes flying, shooting in the air and then landing and exploding like mashed pumpkins back onto the ground.

Sukuna looks with pride at his handiwork, his glorious snowman standing tall over his now decapitated army of snowy subjects.

"Now, it is perfect."

He joins his hands behind his back and walks off with a hum back towards the shrine, leaving you both endeared and confounded.

-----

Next tradition.

"Alright, my Lord." You wring your clammy hands nervously as you stand in front of Sukuna, who's opted to take a seat at the head of his banquet table.

He was stuffing his face with the roast beast that was at least spared by Uraume, his stomach mouth's comical tongue wagging in anticipation with drool before he tossed a couple bones for it to gnaw on obnoxiously like a crazed animal.

"I wish to share with you the legend known as Santa Claus. Otherwise known as Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, among others."

Luckily, the feast seemed to make Sukuna more receptive, if that was even possible. Perhaps some of the restlessness (since he couldn't exactly experience hangry-ness that was exclusive to humans) was resolved by the smoked meat, giving his stomach mouth something to preoccupy him besides nagging Sukuna relentlessly.

"If you must." Sukuna rolls his eyes at you and then at the dopey expression his second mouth gives him while it's utterly high off the fresh bones it was chomping on.

"Well, this Christmas Eve night, he is said to fly and deliver presents around the world to all good children, spreading cheer and climbing into chimneys to leave presents under Christmas trees."

Sukuna's eyes narrow. "I will slaughter anyone who dares enter my household without permission." His stomach mouth gave a little belch. "I do not care for this Santa Claus you speak of."

This was true Sukuna fashion. Normally, you'd be mortified at his dramatics but by now, you had to do your best to stifle a giggle. "My Lord, it's merely a legend."

"That does not matter. If this Santa Claus you speak of attempts to enter my home, he will lose his head." Sukuna vows as he takes a hefty sip of wine before turning his glass to his stomach mouth. "Tell me about something else besides this ridiculous Santa Claus legend."

"Well..." You think for a moment then snap your fingers. "His grace might appreciate the legend of Krampus instead?"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, corners of his mouth still turned downward in displeasure.

You clear your throat, "Krampus is a legend, like Santa Claus except he is a half goat, half demon monster who punishes naughty children. As opposed to Saint Nick whom delivers gifts, Krampus will appear and punish children who misbehave with bundles of branches, or by eating them or taking them to hell... Erm, oh! He looks like this!" You grab a piece of parchment and ink brush, pausing for a moment to make a quick sketch of Krampus.

Sukuna leans back, folding his arms, as he watches you, patiently, expectantly for this new Christmas tradition you spoke of to be better than the dreaded Santa Claus. When you're done painting Krampus, you turn your makeshift masterpiece in Sukuna's direction.

To your delight, a rare, smug expression of satisfaction tugs at the corners of his mouth when he lays eyes on Krampus for the first time.

"This is much better. I will absorb all of this Krampus's cursed energy when he appears tonight. He would be very useful to me, indeed."

You don't have the heart, or bravery to remind Sukuna that Krampus also is just a myth. Sukuna folds his arms, signalling he's done with his dinner.

"This Krampus can stay. Now, on to the rest of your silly traditions, brat."

-----

As the night continues on, you demonstrate more traditions for Sukuna, slowly bringing him into your world of decked out halls and yuletide merriment, albeit with his own, Sukuna-esque spin on things.

Needless to say, he loathed most of them.

"These are what are known as Christmas trees, my Lord." You gestured to the dozens of pines you and Uraume and the servants spent so much time decorating, shortly before Sukuna lit them all on fire.

Your jaw fell open and he stood there proud as the orange flames engulfed the trees in a mini forest fire within the shrine as the glow did a dance in his pupils. Sukuna inhaled, savoring the smoky wood against the releasing smell of the burning spruce.

"A much better way to enjoy the trees." He insisted.

---

Slowly, the Christmas you thought was nearly ruined was salvaged little by little as you entertained the King of Curses.

He spat out all of the overly sweet Christmas goodies immediately. However, his stomach mouth couldn't seem to get enough. Sukuna rolled his eyes as the pair of chompers devoured cookie after cookie that he fed it steadily with his lower pair of hands while his free hands rubbed his temples in defeat.

"I suppose these will do."

---

He liked the Christmas presents and offerings, but not because of the origin story behind it.

"So you see, my Lord, the tradition of gift giving on Christmas came from the nativity story, of the three wise men who delivered presents to the infant Jesus, who was believed to be the son of God."

"Hmph." Sukuna sneered. "How boring. An infant? I would smite him with ease." He looked at the pile of presents. "Tch, we will continue the gift giving tradition, but only for the King of Curses, for I am the most powerful being in this realm, not a newborn baby."

You smile and bow. "Yes, my lord."

----

And when it came to the Christmas carols, he quickly nipped those in the bud.

"Enough!" He groaned, covering his ears when you and Uraume didn't even make it through the first verse of O Holy Night.

"Who is this Savior you speak of in the lyrics?" He glared as he glanced over the sheet music. "Is this about that damn infant again? How pitiful. Change it. I can barely tolerate these insufferable ballads."

Sukuna seemed to come around, but only slightly when the lyrics were more modified to his tastes:

"O holy night! the stars are brightly shining;

It is the night of the mighty Lord Sukuna's return.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,

Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope- the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!

O night divine, O night when Lord Sukuna returns!

O night, O holy night, O night divine!"

"An improvement." Sukuna frowns again, scratching his jaw. "But I cannot stand either one of your voices."

In short, Christmas carols didn't make the cut.

----

Many of the servants had retired for the night at Sukuna's request to give you and him some space alone. The fires were nearly extinguished, lingering smoke and pine permeated the air with the faint brush of cinnamon and gingerbread. The embers of the fire are boiling in a low cackle as you stand in front of your king who now sits atop his throne slightly above you.

"This last tradition is called mistletoe..." You tried to disguise your shyness as you reached in the pocket of your robes and showed him the small bundle, wrapped up in a red bow. "The leaves and white berries are actually considered poisonous." You explain, which catches Sukuna's interest immediately.

"And? What is the significance?"

"In a Norse legend, the goddess of love, Frigg, promised to kiss anyone who passed underneath it.

The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe was born shortly after in an ancient festival in Greece."

A faint glint of mischief dances in Sukuna's eyes as he leans forward with a smirk.

"That so?"

His gaze roams over you, this realization of several hours that have passed between you and the mystique surrounding his lack of physical contact with you fuels his intrigue that was beginning to simmer alongside the exhausted flames.

"And what else happens after you humans kiss one another under this tradition?" His voice now drips with honey, a contrast you were not expecting from him.

"Well, I suppose that is up to the participants. Surely, things can become a bit, intimate, I suppose."

"Hm." Sukuna outstretched a large veiny hand, taking the mistletoe from you and hanging it from the ceiling above where he was perched on his throne. He leans a hand on his chin, while one of his lower arms comes to cup you around your waist.

"Demonstrate."

He waits, and your eyes spread slightly in alarm as you were brought closer to him than you have been in the entire time you've known him.

Your lips part hesitantly, laced wetly by your wine ladden tongue. Sukuna does not budge, however his hand pressed against your back a little more urgently, his black nails lightly puncturing the garnet threads of your kimono as though he were requesting not to be kept waiting a moment longer.

Your eyes glance upwards at the arrangement of mistletoe dangling perfectly over your heads, then directly at his supple lips that part in seething wait, before leaning in and pressing yours against them without another word.

Sukuna's mouth is warm and rough, just like every last inch of him you discover shortly after when both of his lower arms bring you in between his enormous thighs, so that you are directly up against pure muscle.

His skin is heated, and practically hot to the touch between all of the formidable strength that lay encased in his looming form. Sukuna wastes no time deepening the kiss. As his mouth opens against yours, you feel as though you are being swallowed directly by rays of sun on a sweltering day, the very opposite of the present chilly night bogged with snow that now covered every inch of the land surrounding the quiet shrine.

The delicious and precise slither of his tongue in between your lips causes you to release the most beautiful gasp into his mouth. Sukuna exhales deeply,

"More."

And his lips move feverishly, low grunts escaping the opening space between them as his tongue slides against yours. Aroused, scorched by this ethereal being as he kissed you as though he were the kindling catching alight and you were the flame instead.

Your hands bravely slide up both sides of his expansive neck, your nails entangling themselves in the unruly locks of orchid. The King of Curses shudders, seemingly offput by a mortal touching him so boldly, but every passionate grind of you against him allows him to ignore it for now, as that insatiable thirst bubbles deep in his belly and begs to be relieved.

"Ahh..." A breathy moan peels softly at first then snaps as he rips the ending from your throat with a harsh gnash of his teeth to your bottom lip, as one his hands immediately snaked into the opening of your robes.

His touch is molten, but his stare is unmoving as he forces your gaze to stay captured underneath his as his hand works quickly to part your thighs, riding the hem of your kimono up your legs, cold air tickling your pussy which he's more than pleased to discover is already bare, shiny with slick underneath.

"Closer, and do not stop looking at me." He mutters. All four of his heavily hooded eyes greedily drink in the way your expression liquefies to silk when you feel that first long, languid, warm stroke between both lips of your sensitive cunt.

"I said, look at me." Sukuna growls, a clawed hand coming up to cup your cheeks, both of them pinched between his thumb on one side and the rest of his fingers on the other. He runs his tongue over his lips, a slow sneer spreading out at your gradual fucked out expression as his tongue from his belly slowly licks, savors, and swirls against your dripping entrance.

High pitched whimpers flood past your lips, the corners of your eyes begin to prick with tears as profound warmth blooms upwards from the epicenter of unrelenting pleasure Sukuna's second mouth is wringing from your swollen clit. The tongue begins to slowly curl inside of you, each groove of its wet, meaty surface gliding against the soaking velvet of your tight walls, while the upper lip encircles and sucks over your soft pearl.

"Good." Sukuna whispers, stifling a groan when he feels you involuntarily pulse around his tongue, leading to a greedy string of juices dribbling down the second throat. "Who's your king? Tell me, pet."

He tauts his abs as he maneuvers you around his stomach slightly, still keeping you locked in an iron grip but allowing you to lightly bob as he guides you to ride his tongue, his other pair of hands coming to knead your breasts, his eyes tearing into your soul.

"You, Sukuna..." You managed to sigh, as you felt the soaking warmth linger over a tried and true spot, before Sukuna promptly removes it, irritated at your unsolicited use of his name.

"Tch." He grins wolfishly at the abrupt whimper that followed when you mourned the loss. "Do not get greedy with me, brat. You will feel only what I allow you to, understood?"

He breathes out as he lowers you back onto his awaiting open mouth on his belly. "And you will only address me as your Lord, woman, understood?"

"Yes, my Lord..."

"Mm."

And you continue to feel his tongue's meticulous exploration of you with your thighs parted on either side of his large waist, however it only became more agonizing as it coaxed and only teased around all the spots that amplified euphoria, dangling that peak of arousal frustratingly out of reach.

"My Lord, p-please, I wish to cum..." your nails dig into the hollows of his chest and he glances down briefly, internally bemused at the needy mess he was turning you into, thin trails of your juices softly dribbling down the soft meat of your inner thighs.

Your eyelids flutter and the intonations of your voice begin to quiver as his second tongue began to wetly prod your sweetest spot.

Sukuna glowered briefly at his second mouth that had a mind of his own, displeased at its less sadistic nature than his and its determination to drive you off the edge whereas he was in the middle of enjoying your desperate state. He cannot place it, but this idiosyncrasy between him and the rest of his body was betraying him.

Perhaps it was due to this question that was slowly being answered in his mind of just how soft you'd be for him in the throes of pleasure, silencing his ruminations of you at long last. As you knew, he cared little about the appearance of the concubines he chose to feed his ravenous sexual appetites.

He had rarely encountered a pretty face, and, for the first time, the King of Curses felt compelled to worship.

"Hmph. Cum for me then, brat." He croons harshly to disguise his waning willpower. "Be a good mistress and cum for your king. Don't you dare hide your eyes from me..."

And the dam quickly burst and you soaked his lap, tears releasing in your eyes as well, your blurry gaze burning as you obeyed Sukuna's command to keep your eyes on him.

The second mouth panted as it worked to clean you up, guzzling your arousal like it was nectar as it stuck to its lips and Sukuna's powerful torso in a shiny sopping coat of sheen.

"Good." Sukuna praised, pulling you off him as he undid the remainder of his robes, the subtle sound of the garment hitting the floor causes you to clench your thighs, even more so as you saw him, completely bare in front of you for the first time.

If you were any other whore, he would not have stopped after you finally came, if he had let you cum at all. Sukuna delighted in denying his partners their utmost release until it was practically unbearable, then would push them well over the threshold of normal stimulation, until he sunk his teeth in their shoulder and fucked them roughly with his dual cocks.

Now, as he tears off his robes, allowing the element of anticipation to linger with the promise of what was to come next, and the heat to smolder lying in wait, he realizes this first time with you would be much, much different. With you, things were unhurried and slow.

His black markings continued below where his dark robes previously concealed, all along his sculpted collarbones, pecs and chest. His muscles were rigid with the tension you were slowly building up in him this entire time. He possessed burly thighs that were covered with small forests of hair, as well as on his arms with sinewy veins and lightly flushed pink skin.

But, what stood out most of all were two staggering, meaty cocks that bloomed red at both tips that flopped against his belly. Veins adorned both sides, running purplish blue, a very large, plump, taut set of balls dangled in a flesh colored sack underneath.

You couldn't help but get on your knees, entranced as you slowly sank to the floor. Your mouth began to salivate as you took in the bulbous tips that had to pass for almost three of your fingers alone, mind fuzzy with both excitement and intimidation as you wondered how you could possibly accommodate both.

"My Lord, m-may I?" You lick your lips, whimpering as the throb of your clit begins to pulse as your warm pussy squeezes around nothing. You were still worked up from your orgasm, however having already been brought to heaven and back, you were eager to please Sukuna. After all, as you were repeatedly coached in your trainings as a concubine, a good one always pleases her Lord.

"Excuse me?" Sukuna frowns, ice in his tone.

"P-please my Lord? I wish you pleasure you, to suck your cocks..." You swallow, the blinders of arousal causing all shame to disappear out the window.

Sukuna scoffs pridefully. "Really? And why would I let you do something like that, brat? You think I require your mouth so badly?"

He taunts, noticing the way your pussy still bore no shortage of wetness. As a matter of fact, it was trickling even more as the thoughts of taking Sukuna's cocks in your mouth only aroused you to nearly primal levels.

"Please, please my Lord..." You breathe slowly as your teeth brushed your bottom lip, his hands coming to undo the knot of your kimono, allowing the garment to slide in a sensual display down your shoulders like seafoam receding over a shoreline, until all of your bareness lay exposed to his hungry eyes.

Sukuna stared at you, wrestling internally at the hazy feelings the sight in front of him was conjuring up. You were so desperate, panting and waiting. The smell from your soaked heat was earthy yet sweet, an aphrodisiac to his nostrils. You were so needy, so eager to allow you a taste of him, the way you tilted your head so sweetly as you begged permission.

"Very well..." Sukuna's jaw slackened just a tad before running his thumb along your glossy bottom lip, the pointed edge of his nail and thumb just barely poking your tongue, which you indulged him and slowly licked it into your mouth.

"Fuck, such a needy little thing, you. God, such a whore..."

He presses his thumb onto the middle of your tongue. "Open..." He pumped one of his shafts with the other, as you gently opened your lovely lips, gradually and steadily feeding you his cock, twinkling eyes peeking through your lashes.

"Fuck..."

The utter groan he lets out is music to your years, and you meet him more than halfway immediately, stuffing his cock quickly into your mouth and almost hitting the back of your throat.

Sukuna grits his teeth as you accept him so greedily. His size was such that the entire thing didn't quite fit, filling up such a pretty mouth and throat until your eyes watered, the stretch eased by how much you ached for him, and how delicious his heated skin tasted in your mouth. So warm and rigid as you feel him pulse with life with the faintest trace of salt from the blooming precum.

Your eyes roll back and you begin to bob your head, squeaking with surprise when Sukuna pushes your head, relishing the glistening coat of drool you leak every time the heavy shaft withdraws from your reddened lips. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you up and down his cock.

Sukuna panted and grunted, falling backwards on his throne with you at his feet, his hips rippling as he couldn't help but fuck himself into your plush, silky, mouth. His other cock aches for attention as well, and he gets an idea.

"Your breasts..." He rasped. "Touch yourself, present them to me."

Mouth still stuffed with cock, you innocently batted your lashes as both your hands came to grip your tender globes, lifting them slightly as you gently pushed them together, creating the perfect, sinful little valley for Sukuna to slide his second cock.

Using the mixture of slick and spit and sweat from his other cock, he coats the second one with his hand and throws his head back as it meets that slippery canal, squished in between your two yummy tits.

You groan loudly, hugging the velvety length between your breasts as you continued to slobber all over the other. You cooed and whined sweetly, rubbing your thighs together, a practical second orgasm almost inevitable from watching this being, this king, this God, so wanton and so aroused.

"I'm going to cum. Don't stop, don't stop gazing at me like that, my goddess..."

He looked down at you, his lovely little slut, so filthy and carnal. This alluring, sexual siren he awakened that was concealed beneath a pair of glittering shy eyes and quiet exterior this whole time. You were a treasure to be guarded, a goddess of Earth and flesh, worthy of his devotion, of his love, and he finally snaps.

Both cocks ooze generous spurts of silvery white cum. It paints both of your supple tits like jelly. It's warm and thick as it coats the inside of your throat and mouth. Sukuna marvels at this masterpiece he's made out of this celestial canvas of you, slowly drawing out his slick, sticky cock and tracing your puffy lips with the milky gloss.

"My Lord..." You purred.

"Mine." He whispered before he yanked you against his lips again, greedily and messily tasting himself off of you, both hands nearly covering both sides of your face as he drank the breath from your lungs.

-----

Sukuna's bed is warm just like the heat that runs rampant throughout his body. His pillows and linens bend to accept you and embrace you like you have always belonged there despite this being the very first time you did.

A galaxy is born in that moment when both heads of his cock begin to rub and slowly push inside both of your holes, stretching you in a way no other man or being for that matter has ever done before.

"Look at me..." Sukuna commands again. His booming voice is reverent and his gaze is eternal as he bites back more groans that simmer at the back of his throat. You grip the sheets, sweetly calling his name.

"Sukuna..."

And he doesn't correct you this time. His face softens and the callouses of his hands run and squeeze over the expanse of your thighs as he becomes one with you over and over again.

"My queen." He utters at last as your heart sings and blooms within your ribcage.

The world shifted that night as the King of Curses irrevocably bound himself to you.

And when the exhaustion had claimed you, when you could no longer be flooded, filled, and fucked, when the sheets felt like silk and your tired limbs and his wove together like emerald leaves of holly, as his seed gushed inside your womb and buried a mixture of each other so deep and raw and new in a way that could not be conceived again.

The nighttime was quickly forgotten as you fell asleep to the King of Curses' heartbeat, the dawning hours of Christmas morning ushering in a gentle wave of steadfast snow.