#and it should have that should have been the only outfit he wore the entire game

[todayisafridaynight]

i think what anon means is drawing them as runaway brides in those big dramatic wedding dresses

Omg runaway brides with the big dramatic wedding dresses……

[suiana]

✎ yandere! dilf headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― obsessiveness, possessiveness, manipulation(?), mentions of violence, implicated stalking and stealing, legal age gap, breeding kink 💀, etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! oc)

✎ yandere! dilf who hired you as his son's tutor. he's just so worried that his darling son won't be able to keep up with school :( as a result you were hired to tutor him :D he actually doesn't know how you look like yet, but guessing from your profile picture you're a granny..?

✎ yandere! dilf who couldn't help but be enamoured with you the second you stepped inside his house. wait why were you so cute? didn't he hire an old- huh?! oh that was a picture of your grandma... oh well, he shouldn't have guessed. how else is he supposed to calm his boner now?

✎ yandere! dilf who's watering at your innocence. oh you're such a sweet thing! bright eyes sparkling with the desire to teach his son! your future son! he's so glad he's divorced... he's dead set on making you his beloved little thing. and you can't do anything to change it~!

✎ yandere! dilf who falls for you more and more with each tuition session. oh you just look so adorable! and that outfit you wore last session! it was so cute! he really had a hard time holding himself back you know? he's imagining tearing apart your outfit while marking you up now-!

✎ yandere! dilf who is older than you. I mean, he literally has a 15 year old son so it would be expected that he's old. but... he's still handsome! so you can consider him... right? oh please give him a chance! he'd hate to have to break you down completely :( yes he's that in love with you to the point where he won't mind breaking you down and rebuilding you to how he wants you to be ♡

✎ yandere! dilf who's extremely flirty and embraces his dilf-ness. rolling up his sleeves to expose his veiny forearms, unbuttoning his top two buttons to expose his defined chest, subtly flirting with you every time he sees you... just two tuition sessions ago he stood so close to you to the point where you could smell his cologne and see his man boobs?! you had to spend that entire tuition session clenching your fists just to focus. oh those sexy man boobs! his cleavage ! why is his body so sexy?! don't worry, if you wanted to touch he'll be more than happy to let you feel him up :)

✎ yandere! dilf who can't stop thinking about bashing in the heads of anyone who's glanced in you. no one should be taking in your divine self except for him and his son. those trash can't worship and love you like he does. hm... maybe he should just kidnap you? keep you all to himself. yeah, that sounds like a good plan.

✎ yandere! dilf who has a little shrine dedicated to you in his study. aw, how cute! it's just a small picture of you and a flower- wait is that your missing underwear? and is that your lost diary?! why's your entire schedule noted down with lots of hearts scribbled on it?! how'd he- there's no way he stalked you... right?

✎ yandere! dilf who gets his son to talk to you about how he's so lonely and wants another parent desperately... you're smart so you'll get what he means, won't you? after all, can you resist those watery eyes and the slight sniffling his son is doing? and he's sure you don't have any other tutees due to how much he's paying you already... so it's alright to be his, no?

✎ yandere! dilf who wants to breed you. it doesn't matter whether or not you can actually have children, he'll still want to breed you. imagining you round and full with his children... it just turns him on oh so much.

✎ yandere! dilf who really wouldn't mind a new addition to his family. I mean, for the past... 11 years it's only been him and his son :( and he finds it so lonely in his big mansion without anyone to accompany him... you understand what he's saying right? don't worry, you'll never have to lift a finger again should you accept his offer. he's rich after all :)

✎ "hn? oh my son did good, huh? should I reward you for being an amazing tutor? I know just how to thank you after all..."

[pombeom]

okay never rlly done this before but here me out, txt fic inspired by "guess" by charli xcx and billie eilish. i dont have a member preference but i based it on tae (›´ω`‹ ) HERE ME OUT roomatetyunx reader. txt and reader's friend group decide to go out for dinner/clubbing. reader has secretly been liking tae for a WHILE, and THIS WAS THE NIGHT. and reader puts on a very VERY short skirt/dress (they know what they were doing) and purposely leans down when tae is behind them *evil laughs*

(also imagined it as afab but idrc)

sorry i dont have anything else to add but you now have the reins (๑˘ꇴ˘๑)

guess | taehyun fic (nsfw)

nsfw, mdni!

pairings: domroommate!taehyun x subtease!reader

warnings: soobin present at the start, lots of mentions of underwear, teasing, fingering, scissoring, wall sex, creampie, squirting, messy sex, taehyun is kinda kinky, panty stuffing, mentions of exhibitionism, they both have sex while standing up, taehyun gives orders and reader follows, nicknames (baby, slut), unprotected sex, lots of dirty talking, am i forgetting something??

a/n: thank you so much for your request! decided to go with taehyun cos i could envision your request so clearly. you guys are such teases istg but im all here for it 🤧

Being Taehyun’s roommate isn’t for the weak. The way he’s come back after his daily workouts in his compression shirts with his hair pushed back made your knees quiver every time he would walk in through the door. You swore it was a secret you guarded with your life but everyone around you seemed to know of your little crush. Your friends managed to catch on as soon as they witnessed your head swivel whenever he’d walk past, staring a little too longingly in his direction. 

“Y/n you should just tell him at this point. I can’t watch you drool over him any longer, it’s gross,” Soobin advises you on your way out from class. 

“No but what if doesn’t feel the same way?” 

“Trust me. He does. And if he doesn’t then that’s his loss. I’ll bag you up if he doesn’t want you,” his wink had you reacting with a disgusted scowl.

“Anyway, we’re meeting up for dinner this Saturday. One of our friends has had to cancel last minute so there’s an extra space in the reservation. Wanna come? Taehyun’s coming too you know. Maybe you can finally tell him how you feel.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Oh come on. We’re heading the the club after. It’ll be fun.” 

“Fine. Only because you insisted.” 

“You don’t need to lie to me. I know you’re only coming cos Taehyun’s coming.” 

“Shut up.” 

By the time Saturday evening rolls up, you had planned your outfit and gone through your confession speech multiple times. You finished your hair and makeup and slipped into a black mini dress that was slightly too short but it hugged your figure so well that you wanted to show off as much as you can. You pair it with a black kitten heel, preparing for your time at the club later that night. But most importantly, your needy cunt was exposed through the black lace underwear you wore under your tiny dress. 

Feeling a sense of feigned confidence, you step out of your room, heading into your shared living space where Taehyun was waiting. He’s sat sprawled across the armchair, taking up the entire seat as he manspread whilst scrolling through his phone. Upon hearing the clacking of your heels, his head jolts up taking in your presence. He eyes your naked thighs, feeling the sharpness of his gaze lasering through your legs making your knees go weak. 

“You look nice,” his compliment has your confidence crumbling as you instantly resort back to your usual shyness. 

“Thank you,” your voice comes out more strained than you wanted but this was a reaction to the current wetness building up in your folds as you begin to notice the way his shirt clings to his body, looking almost see-through under his brown jacket. 

“You ready to go?” 

He follows you to the door when suddenly you pause.

“Hang on. Just need to fix my heels. The strap is a little loose.” 

You arch forward, bending down to reach your shoes as the back of your dress rides up. You felt exposed as your underwear was evidently wet but you sought the thrill of provoking a reaction from the man behind you. Even as you were still bent down fumbling with your straps, you felt his gaze staring heavily into your core, past the black lace fabric. 

“Ok, I’m done. We can go now.” 

You hand barely reaches the doorknob before you’re being pulled back into his chest. 

“You think it’s funny to tease me like that?”

“Mhm?? What do you mean?” 

“Playing dumb won’t work on me.” 

“I don’t get it. What are you talking about?” You kept egging him on with your masquerade of innocence, each step getting him a little further to your desired goal. 

“You’re still gonna keep going with that? Even after you flashed your underwear to me?”

“What? I did that? Really? I bet you don’t even know the colour of my underwear.”

“Oh baby, I don’t even have to guess. I saw that black lace with my very own eyes. That little bow was cute too.” 

You hadn’t noticed until you felt his breath against your neck but he has inched closer to you, his arms slowly crawling up your legs, grabbing onto your waist. Your cheeks burned from the closeness you had been longing for. 

“You wanna tell me you did that on purpose or are you gonna keep pretending that you flashed me by accident?” His voice grumbled, echoing through the chambers of your mind. 

Your breath was shaky and unstable as you managed to answer his question, “It was on purpose, Taehyun.”

Before you knew it, his lips came crashing onto your, sucking the life out of you. The lustful kiss had you moaning into his mouth as his tongue darts into yours, claiming you for himself. 

“I knew it. Now take those panties off.” 

Lifting your dress up, you slip your underwear down, letting it fall to the ground as the wetness begins dripping down your legs.

“Shit, look at you. Fucking drenched already. Bet you’ve been dreaming of this: wanting to strip naked in front of me just so I can get a look at how much of a slut you are for me. Am I right?” 

“You’re righ- ahh!” 

His fingers circle your entrance before you get then chance to finish, teasing your hole. Before long, he pushes in 2 long fingers, struggling to keep going in your tight, clenched pussy. 

“God, are you a virgin? You’re so fucking tight.” He groans as he manages to get his fingers deep into your core, feeling the tightness squeeze his digits. 

“Mhmm… I am. Wanted your cock to be the first inside me.” 

“Fucking hell. You’ve been waiting for me all this time huh? Guess I’ll have to give you everything you’ve dreamed of.” 

His fingers scissor you walls, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. The way your muscles are pulled sends shock waves running down your leg, almost losing sensation in them as you’re on the verge of collapsing, gripping onto Taehyun’s shoulders for support. 

“I want your dick in me. Now!” You demand. 

“Why so desperate? You’ve been such a tease and you won’t even let me finger your cunt. But ok, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t expect me to go easy.” 

He unzips his trousers, pulling them down along with his boxers in one go. He strips himself of his jacket, remaining only in his white form-fitting t-shirt. 

His cock springs up onto his stomach. The tip is red while his length is girthy and long beyond average, the veins matching the ones that run up his forearms. He teases your hole by pumping just the tip in making you grind against him, hips rolling as you force yourself onto him. 

He pushes your back up against the wall, controlling your movement before slamming straight into your gummy walls, your moans shrieking out from surprise. 

“Fuck Taehyun! Keep going like that!”

His movements are controlled and precise, making sure to hit the g-spot with each pump. Your moans become uncontrollable with the increase in speed, crying as he slams into your repeatedly, abusing your cunt. 

He then lifts up your thigh, holding it against his waist, allowing him to hit different angles making your mind feel fuzzy at the new sensation. 

“Fuck. If you keep clenching round my cock like that, I might cum already.” His grunts are disheveled and all over the place as he begins to lose control over his speed, rutting into you like some dog. 

“I’m gonna cum too. Please. Please come in me.” Your whispers are the only sound that comes out you as your voice has cracked with all the screams you let out.

He spills his spurts inside you, coating your walls in white as you feel his dick throbbing inside your trembling pussy. Your orgasm hit like the ocean onto the rocks, the speed at which you came leading to a spray of liquid to shoot out. Your eyes instantly shut, feeling exhausted from being fucked out to your climax. 

“You squirted?” 

“I guess I did.” 

After letting your body cool down from the intensity, you pick up your panties, getting ready to slip them back on, when Taehyun’s voice hisses at you, grabbing your underwear from your hands before shoving them up your stretched hole, pushing it in deeper and deeper until it remains stuck in your sobbing cunt.

“Let’s see how you tease everyone else looking like this.” 

“But Taehyun, it was only meant for you. I can’t go out like this. Let me out them back on, please” 

“Only for me huh? You only want me to see you in this state?” 

You nod frantically, “You’re the one I like Taehyun.” 

“The little brat likes me. Well I like you too. Your pussy was made for my cock and you take it so well. But you still deserved to be punished for teasing me like that. Keep the underwear stuffed in your pussy and go put on another pair.”

Following his orders, you head back to your room, picking out some pink panties, feeling the black lace slipping out. You push it back in and secure it in place by hitching the pink pair up high. You waddle back to Taehyun who was now fully dressed again. Your legs feel uncomfortably shaky as you walk but his arms hold your waist, supporting you. He bends down checking that you’ve followed his orders, grinning with satisfaction as he catches a glimpse of the pinkx

“Good girl. Now no one can guess what you have going on under there but me.” 

[shirefantasies]

hii! love your writings, I was wondering if you could do a reader x fellowship (plus eowyn and arwen) where reader is usually seen in armor and unkempt garments + dirty hair but then one day they show up (probably for an event) in beautiful fancy clothes, hair did and everything? Thanks!!!!

scREAMS I LOVE THIS YES. Warning: minor blood mention in two

LoTR Characters Seeing You Dressed Up For the First Time

Aragorn

Both of you had only borne witness to the other in times of battle and survival, not exactly the most formal of circumstances, but such had never even occurred to you until the night of celebration in Rohan. King Theoden invited you to the company of his family, offering his niece or nephew to take you to a bathhouse and present you with a new outfit. Aragorn turned your way the moment you stepped out, eyes positively glowing with reverent awe focused entirely on your form, your smile as your gazes met. He said nothing, simply drew closer until you could feel his warmth upon you. "The people of Rohan have been good to us," he said. "Yes," you agreed with a nod, "I wish we can give as much back. But perhaps we should start by enjoying their hospitality, hm?” “Indeed. Let us keep this night for ourselves. I fear if I stray too far, though, I may get lost in you.” “Don’t worry,” you whispered, lips quirking upward as you pulled Aragorn into the fray of dancers, “I’ll be here to pull you back, too.”

Legolas

Legolas managed to seem dressed up in nearly anything he wore, a feat you certainly envied! Your travels left you feeling like a drowned rat half the time or else just dirty and bedraggled. When the elves of Lothlórien offered you housing, bathing, even food and dancing for two nights, no had fled your vocabulary entirely. Taking their hands, you were swept off into a river of luxury, emerging clean and smiling and draped in the finest fabrics. An elf on either side, you made your way down to the lower flet upon which your hospitality lie, the way Legolas turned his head not once but twice unable to escape your notice. "What?" You teased, aware at least of his shock to see you clad so differently. "You didn't know what I looked like beneath my helmet?" "I didn't know you looked so nice beneath it," He conceded with a smile, stepping closer, "Perhaps we ought not to return it after this night."

Boromir

Had someone asked him, Boromir would never have said he wanted someone with blood under their nails and sword in hand. That was him, that was his job. And yet he felt something different when he clapped a hand to your shoulder after you saved him in combat. When you emerged at the party dressed up, though? His heart swelled five sizes. He should have known- you could do anything. “Putting everyone to shame here, aren’t we?” “What do you mean?” You asked, gaze flitting deliciously down to the hand Boromir laud upon your shoulder, all but challenging him. Accepting it, he rested the other on your hip, urging you out into a dance. “Looking better than them in both mail and finery.” “I suppose I’m just lucky.” “No, I am,” Boromir shot back, “For I am the one who gets to have you in my arms.”

Gimli

To use Gimli's words, around each other you two tend to remain "fully armed and filthy". It is Lord Elrond, of course, who offers an alternative state upon your entry to his homely-house, granting you the reprieve of your first bath in far too many days and even a new outfit. Elvish craftsmanship was like nothing else, delicately embroidered and soft and light unlike anything that has ever graced your skin. Reactions were something you hadn’t considered in the slightest, but as soon as you emerged you found yourself giggling at Gimli’s parted lips and removal of his helmet as if in some reverence you had not earned. “Now this,” he nodded with a smile of approval as he swept an arm over your entire form, “This is the one thing the elves have gotten right.”

Frodo

The tailors’ shop was busy this morning. Bilbo needed a new set of threads to replace some tugged-off buttons, but every working hobbit was rushing around before Frodo could even ask if they had a spool of forest green to spare. What were they- “Frodo!” He would recognize that voice anywhere. Turning, he caught sight of you in the middle of a fitting, the tailors having been flitting about your form as they worked on quite a fine outfit for you. “What do you think?” Spinning around and then striking a joking pose, you fixed him right in the eyes, and it was like an arrow struck him, taking the very breath from his lungs. Finally Frodo’s sense and words returned to him, bringing a smile to his lips. “It’s perfect.”

Sam

You had worked with Sam plenty of times in the gardens, so he had seen you countless times in things like overalls or pinafores or aprons and thought you looked fit for any king and castle. But then came Fatty Bolger’s birthday party, a bash all his friends were invited to…and plenty of other hobbits would find themselves at anyway. One such was you, and knowing you’d be dancing you got cleaned up quite nice, standing at the edges of the lantern-hung floor hoping you might be noticed. And noticed you were, for you caught Samwise Gamgee as he controlled his gaping expression and shook his head out before he approached you, asking if you’d honor him with a dance.

Merry

Gimli was teasing you as Merry entered the room, feeling his heart shoot into his throat at a mere glimpse. He caught a few spare words from the dwarf, including him asking you if you had someone you’d like to impress. “Hush,” you chastised him, “What if he hears you?” At that, Merry couldn’t resist stepping forward. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress,” he told you, eyes full of wonder, “But he’s an absolute fool if it doesn’t work.” “You really think so?” Your tone, your hopeful look, those beautiful eyes Merry could drown in. “I know so.” “Well,” you glanced away, “That’s good. Very good, since it was you.”

Pippin

Tired and bedraggled, you all but fell into the arms of the elves of Lothlórien, blissfully bathing and shyly accepting the fine garb they offered you. Tugging it into place, you emerged through the doorway, unaware the rest of your fellowship waited beyond the threshold. Soon as his eyes fell upon you, Pippin's jaw dropped, his lips slowly curling upward into a wide smile that had you mirroring it, gaze dropping from his. “Wow," Pippin breathed as you drew closer still, hands hovering in front of him in the space between your bodies, "You- you look- Wow. They’ve certainly given you a fine…wow.”

Faramir

On the battlefield you had fought side by side, faces obscured by steel and focus. Soldiers from two armies melded as one. Yet here you were simply citizens, representatives of your people. Diplomats even on the dance floor. All thoughts of such relations fled from Faramir’s mind, though, as your form filled his vision. “Never did I think I would be granted such a moment as this,” he confessed as you took his hand and gripped about his neck, body swaying against his.

Eomer

Theoden, Rohan's king, was giving a celebration all were to attend. Something of a victory revel, but you must confess that you just looked forward to the dancing. Stuffy as it may have been, it was also quite fun donning a nice outfit, your reflection beaming back at you. The expression carried on all the way into the great hall, shining into the hanging lights. You caught sight of a head turning the moment you emerged. A golden head. Eomer. With a wave, he dismissed the man he spoke to- a fellow soldier, you presumed- and strode before you. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" "To the same thing everyone else does, I suppose," you teased in response, "This revel." "Well, remind me to thank my uncle later," Eomer replied with a wide smile, extending a hand in a clear invitation to dance as his eyes traveled up and down over your form, "Shall we?"

Eowyn

She had worn a smile of surprise when you even removed your helmet for the first time in her presence, let alone donning your finest. When it came time for a celebration with her people, a far different garb hung from your body, all in gorgeous fabrics and colors perfectly complimenting your own hues. As soon as you stepped into the light of Rohan's hall, Eowyn positively grinned, her eyes of soft blue alight. Taking up a cup from the table by which she stood, she crossed over to stand before you and offer you a drink, which you accepted. "The garb of Rohan suits you perfectly," she complimented, "Do you plan on dancing?" It was worth seeing the progression of shock and speechlessness melting back into a grin when you extended a hand and replied, "If you will have me."

Haldir

Working side by side meant seeing each other in some of the worst moments, sleeves slashed and blood seeping from wounds. Armor caked with dirt and quivering devoid of arrows. Body carried to healers with reddening bandages hastily tied around limbs. And yet this, this is what shocks him. Haldir’s breath is utterly stolen, not of concern or fear this time, but in the manner of one first seeing the falling stars. “Stay still,” he breathes, almost pleading, “Let me take you in for a moment.”

Galadriel

You were a warrior by profession. In a way, at least. One such that mail was your garb far more often than any dress or robe. Thus, when you made to visit the elves of Lothlórien, you were shocked to see the fine things they'd lain out for you, pulled gently onto your body as if you deserved servants. In fact you had tried to protest, but they had simply smiled and shook their heads as fine jewels were hung about your neck. That you had earned an audience with the Lady Galadriel, was a testament to your service you would not soon take for granted. Thus, as you stood before them, you made first to lower yourself in reverence. Before you could fully adopt your posture, though, you felt the grip of a soft hand beneath your chin gently pulling you back up. Soon you were raised to meet Galadriel's eyes. "You need not bow to me. I confess I wished very much to see you like this. Come with me, if you please."

Elrond

Some might say the Lord of Rivendell should not look upon a soldier such as he did. Some of those same voices might have spoken up of the love of man and elf that had brought forth his ancestors. Not that he would not have understood. Yet as it was every time you removed your helmet something stirred in Elrond that had not done so for some years. And then one night came the celebration, a festival to which all in his counsel were invited, you included. It was that very night, in fact, that he realized how little he had seen of you outside the patrols you took together, and the same in which he would confess to you how he felt beneath the moonlight, finally spilling forth every word of your beauty you deserved.

Arwen

Had you asked her, she would have thought not at all of your dress. Your heart was what she loved, the way you cared and the way you smiled whenever you looked upon someone dear to you. Yet the day of her birthday, you draped yourself in your very finest, emerging in the view of an Arwen who could not bear tearing her eyes off of you. Grinning her beautiful grin, the elf took your hand and immediately twirled you, viewing you from every angle with her expression never faltering. “You look amazing,” she told you, "For a moment, I thought I was dreaming."

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[morinuu]

Hello!!!!

I’m so happy to see your requests are open I absolutely love your writing!!

Kyoya x fem reader where they have an arranged marriage because it will help both there parents companies, and Kyoya and reader start to actually have feelings for one another, even though they weren’t sure about marrying the other at first?? Just thought it would be super cute!!

Hope your day/night is going well!!

hiii im so glad u like my work! :3 added a wee bit of angst turnt fluff cus why not. its not exactly what u asked for but i hope u like it anyway!

❄｜kyouya x reader where you're both forced to marry under your families' order. 1.7k words. this doesn't follow the canon for the events after the ouran graduation.

the noiret paced around his room in uneasiness. he knew one day his freedom would be cut short, he'd been waiting for that day, but he also had learnt to have the slightest, stupidest hope that his father's newfound respect for him had changed things.

he wonders, however, how he of all people could have been so naïve.

outside, the fairies of the winter had been drawing pretty little drawings of ice on the edges of his windows, as if to try and distract his racing mind from the events that would unfold the second he got out of his room. he was used to the noise of social events, the people chatter and the pressure of socialising, so this should be nothing for him, right?

right.

he didn't understand this feeling. it wasn't that he necessarily hated an arrangement for marriage, life would go on whether or not it would happen.

looking at the fairies' drawings of comfort one last time, he took a deep breath and exited his room to leave for the wedding venue without a word.

the car ride was uncomfortable. his family had already arrived so they weren't there to talk his ear off and the bride would come some time after than he did as the tradition goes. he had time left to think and contemplate again and again.

he looked down at his tuxedo. the bride requested that if she wasn't able to marry of her own free will, that she at least get to have her dream wedding. not a bad deal, kyouya thought. their outfits had been in matching colours, and both were over-the-top decorated. he felt slightly embarrassed at the outfit, but it wasn't anything too extreme in comparison to what he wore in highschool. the only concern was that his whole family and many important people would be there, though he swallowed that as well, as he'd been doing the entire year of the wedding preparation.

he'd met his fiancée plenty of times in that year. the first time they met was at his university graduation. she was smiling brightly standing next to his sister who rushed to hug him and congratulate him. he remembers her bowing politely and introducing herself, before his father stepped in to explain the situation. he remembers the slight surprise on her face at the lack of comments about his sons' achievements.

the next time they met was at a museum. his sister had advised him to ask her on a date so they could get to know each other. she was intelligent, charismatic, and he couldn't deny her face was pleasant to look at. her interest in history was a plus - at least she had an interesting characteristic.

their second date was a dinner at a restaurant, only the best to serve the ootoris. she'd picked steak and juice - quickly explaining she doesn't drink at the slight raise of his eyebrow. he nodded and changed his own wine order to juice as well. 'you don't have to do that!' she rushed but he assured her he's just being considerate of his fiancée. he never forgot how to be a gentleman.

the fifth date she asked to meet at a commoners' shopping mall to show him around. kyouya wasn't surprised by this. he'd learnt early on from his investigation on potential wife that she'd been adopted into the l/n family due to some sort of an affair. despite it being well-known, the gossip around the situation wasn't very clear, so he decided to wait until she talked about it instead.

at some point down the road, the two had become something akin to friends, and although not very close, y/n claimed she was satisfied with the bond they'd created regardless of its strength.

nine months later, he now is at the altar, bouquet in hand, a performative smile for all the guests to admire - until a beautiful woman comes through with her arm linked to her father's.

the ceremony didn't last long, the after-party however? most guests had already left but the couples' friends continued to act like it was the last day of their lives. the bridesmaids' laughter and his friends' drunk dance moves tired kyouya, but he was having fun, so what's another night sleepless?

a tap in his shoulder by his wife.

"you okay? you seem tired. we can call it a night." she exclaimed into his ear through the music. he'd read enough women's blogs to understand what that meant.

even if he wasn't tired, she was, and that was a roundabout way of telling him. what sort of husband disobeys his wife?

the second they got to their new house, y/n rushed to the bed and flopped on it like a sack. she had no energy to get changed or move, instead asking kyouya 'if they could complete their duties the next day, nobody was rushing them anyway'. kyouya he helped her out of her dress and comatosed with her in peace.

the next morning, nobody bothered to wake the couple. soon they'd leave for their honeymoon anyway. everything happened way too quickly and kyouya didn't know how to handle it. the weeks passed, and he refused to communicate any issues to his wife that weren't work or family related. he felt conflicted, but he didn't know about what. the woman lying next to him was kind, beautiful, clever. what right did he have to complain?

i mean, what did it matter if he didn't feel any connection in bed? why would it matter if she had a disappointed look on her face whenever he had to cut their time short? would it make any difference if he had an heir later and ignored his parents' whines about it? it was a tough thing to do, but each time he failed to satisfy his wife, it felt like a stab in the chest wounding his male ego. so did it really matter that he was away for long periods of time? it was a marriage of convenience, after all, and she wasn't missing out on anything.

she claimed that whatever friendship they had felt like it was dissolving because he 'didn't make an effort'? him? when he's the one working hard to make sure his dad's company doesn't make the wrong decisions? what does she know when she sits at home all day getting princess treatment despite being illegitimate?

"you chose this, kyouya." what?

"you refuse to leave your father's shadow." that's not it.

"maybe if you stood up for yourself, half the issues you're complaining about would be gone!" you're wrong.

he doesn't have free will, he never did. since he was a kid his life had been dictated by those around him, and surely you under-

"you're nearing thirty, kyoya! i'm tired of your self-pity! do something! i'm sick of this!"

it felt like yesterday when he saw his wife in her wedding dress for the first time. back then, he didn't really understand the concept of forever.

yet it had already been seven years.

seven years of obedience. seven years of keeping his head down. seven years of neglecting his wife to dedicate his time to his work. seven years for him to realise he was serving the ootoris. he was never on an equal level.

the issue wasn't his father, it was him. and on his twenty-ninth birthday, a snowy day just like his wedding day, with the winter fairies for comfort, he announced to his old man his retirement from the company.

"i'm sorry, y/n. i'm sorry for everything. let's try again."

you took his hand and embraced him. you knew your husband was broken somewhere inside him. you'd known for years. you'd seen how his family treated him, how they took him for granted. but no matter what you did, how much you pressured him, he only let you see specific parts of himself, and you couldn't help but blame yourself.

you refused to leave his side, no matter how exhausting your marriage felt. you rarely went on dates anymore, he never made the move to touch you, it wasn't marriage, it felt like... a business transaction.

deep down, you knew that that's what it was. you'd considered divorce plenty of times but at the end of the day, even if not your lover, kyouya was your friend. the man whom you ate breakfast with and lied on the same bed with. the man you'd seen you at your worst and gave you strength, and you knew you had to support even if he refused to let go of what was familiar to him. even if he refused his own happiness.

the sobbing man in your arms reminded you of a younger version of him. years ago, on your third anniversary when he'd planned a trip to chongqing because he remembered you saying you always wanted to go. during your two week stay, he got wine tipsy at dinner and eventually drunk by nighttime, spilling feelings he'd kept to himself for years.

he'd kneeled in front of you, furiously crying in your lap as he held your legs tightly, begging you not to leave because he could feel himself changing and neglecting his personal life.

you'd carried him to bed and admired his face as he fell asleep, naïvely thinking that this was just a rough patch and he'd go back to putting effort in just like he did in chongqing.

but the years passed and he proved to you his fears were legitimate.

"sure, let's try again kyouya." you patted his back when he held you in even tighter. "but this time we're trying counselling, okay?" you giggled, trying to light up the mood.

he pulled back and gave a tiny smile when you wiped his cheek.

"whatever my wife says." he caressed your hair. "let's stay married, okay? i don't want to lose you."

he didn't say the three words, but that was okay. it didn't matter much. romance could wait, because you knew you loved him more than a woman in a cheesy romcom would. you loved his soul, and you wanted nothing more than to see him bloom.

"let's stay married, kyouya. happy birthday."

it was a new beginning for the both of you and you had nothing but time on the horizon.

[cauliflowercounty]

Knives Dance (Part III)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

Summary: It was hard to have a prose summary so here are some bullets of what’s happening in part 3

Baron Feyd missing you + heartfelt reunion 

Feyd being totally infatuated with you

SCIENCE!!! and POLITICS!!!

Rabban being pitiful

Reader being a badass

Feyd vs Paul on Arrakis (what will happen? You’ll never knowww… [unless you read this chapter **wink, wink, wink**]

Warnings: Violence, blood, death (woohoo)

Word Count: 10.3k (whoops… I went typey-type)

A/N: I wanted to say a sincere thanks to everyone who's read Knives Dance up to this point. This series is some of the most fun I've had writing in a long, long time. Sending lots of love your way :)

Part I | Part II | Part III

--

Stirring gently in his bed, Feyd recoils slightly as the light from Giedi Prime’s black sun hits his eye line through the wall of windows that separate his bedroom from the private balcony that overlooks the cityscape.  He extends his arm to your side of the bed and runs his hand languidly across the surface, feeling the cool, silky sheets under his fingertips. His heart feels heavy in his chest, and he lets out a low growl of frustration into his pillow. It has been a long three weeks without you.  

You’ve been off-world on a visit to Youra to see your father and bring back equipment for the laboratory you’re constructing on Giedi Prime. He knows that he doesn’t have to worry about your safety because he insisted on a full Harkonnen security detail accompanying you, which should have put his mind at ease, but he’s laid awake each night since your departure, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think of disasters befalling you during your travels. One night it’s asteroids colliding with your ship, tearing gaping holes in the walls, and sucking you into the vacuum of space. Another, it’s an ambush by an undiscovered society, hellbent on killing alien peoples for sport. Perhaps a novel virus wiping out the entire population of Youra and you with it in a matter of days?  No farfetched scenarios were off limits when Feyd allowed his mind to wander.

The foreign feeling of loss due to your absence has not only plagued him with anxiety, but allowed Feyd to slip into a state of abject melancholia. None of his old vices have come close to fulfilling him, let alone make him feel much of anything.  Watching his servants cower in fear or making foreign ambassadors quake in their seats wasn’t giving him the same gratification as it once had.  Even hearing the roar of the crowds in the arena didn't given him any satisfaction. Everything had felt unbearably pedestrian. The only thing that brought a smile to his face was the thought of having the other half of his bed full again and listening to your tranquil voice. With every passing moment, he’s yearned for the life you had built together on Giedi Prime to resume.

Your mornings together were simple and easy. They were a time when he could always experience a drop of serenity within the political quagmire he’d gotten himself into since assuming the title of Baron. He’d wake up with you already in his embrace, your head laid delicately on his chest. He'd listen to your soft breathing and savor the way your limbs would entangle with his. The image of you blinking your eyes open to look at him with the special glimmer of affection reserved just for him never failed to make his heart flutter. 

Overtime, Feyd noticed you had been taking very well to Harkonnen dresses, which you now wore more often than not. He had the best seamstresses on Giedi Prime make and tailor custom outfits for you, though he didn’t expect you to always wear them, knowing how important your heritage was for you.  Nevertheless, you continued to grab one of the black gowns from your shared closet for your daily tasks and tell him with a smile “I’m Baroness Harkonnen now.  Shouldn’t I dress the part?”

Before leaving your quarters each day, Feyd always took the opportunity to take your hand in his and bring you in front of the floor length mirror in your shared closet. With his hands around your waist, he would pepper gentle kisses from your cheeks down your neck, whispering in your ear “you are a vision today, my Baroness.” You'd always smile and blush bashfully in return, returning his kisses in kind. Moments like those when it was just the two of you had become one of his favorite parts of the day.

You made the meetings, filled with diplomats groveling to win his favor, bearable. How he loved to watch you as you sat on the grand Harkonnen throne beside him. You never failed to command the room with your head held high. Power and dignity seemed to drip off of your being and fill every room you entered. You were truly worthy of the title of Baroness, and with every passing day and every interaction, there was more and more for Feyd to admire about you.

In private, you took to training together, where he would bask in your shared might. With every blow he endured from you, all he could think about was that he, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, was the only person alive to witness you so animated with ferocity and passion from battle, as all others who have seen you this way have been slain and buried. Sparring sessions between the two of you almost always ended with you both on the floor, limbs entwined and chests heaving after one of you would get the best of the other and take the opportunity to pin the other to the floor. 

At the end of the day, you'd always assume your position on the balcony in a flowy, white nightgown. With a gentle gesture, you’d beckon him to accompany you while you observe your shared domain, watching the shuttles flying through the gaps in the dark architecture and the stark white floodlights passing over the cityscape.  He’d hold you close by your waist and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you start to shiver from the evening chill, at which point he’d tug at your waist to take you back to the bedroom to retire for the night. Every day, Feyd was falling deeper and deeper into you, and he’s loved every moment. 

Bringing himself upright, Feyd stretches his arms and stands up, walking over to the closet. Across from his sets of Harkonnen formalwear and battle gear, your gowns are neatly hung. Half of them are the sleek, black Harkonnen designs he had made for you. The other half are gorgeously vibrant Youran gowns. He sighs, imagining sharing one of your moments again in front of the mirror like always, but alas, you are not beside him. Once he’s dressed, he emerges from his quarters and is met with a nameless servant.

“Good morning, Baron,” the servant says, bowing deeply and trying not to give Feyd an excuse to kill him. “I am here to inform you that we have received a signal from the Baroness’s craft.  Her arrival is imminent.”

Hearing those words, Feyd turns on his heel toward the landing docks, dismissing the servant who heaves a sigh of relief because his head is thankfully still connected to the rest of his body. As Feyd walks the halls, his pace quickens, feeling the anticipation rise in his chest. People bow and salute him in the hallways, but he doesn’t pay them any attention. He’s too preoccupied with his thoughts of you; he can already smell the aroma of rainforest flowers you carry around with you. The thought that he’s so close to having you near again nearly drives him mad. 

When he arrives at the landing docks, the fleet of Harkonnen vessels is already touching down. As he hears the machinery’s loud whirring die, the ramps of all the crafts to meet the floor. Lines of Harkonnen soldiers file out first, each soldier with weapons in arms. The steady pulse of their synchronized footsteps echoes through the space with perfect adherence to Harkonnen military standards is satisfactory for Feyd. The commander in front barks orders, and the guards immediately step into formation, making an aisle that extends between Feyd and the craft closest to him. 

He is at a loss for words when he sees you walk down the ramp. You are undeniably gorgeous in Harkonnen clothes, but you look positively ethereal in the Youran gown and golden headdress that adorn your body today. Instead of shrouding yourself in the cloak you’ve worn in the past to hide your weaponry, you’re wearing a traditional dress reserved only for Youra’s utmost nobility. Layers of sheer, olive and cerulean fabric flare behind you to create your dress’s skirt out from under a ribbed bronze and mahogany corset.  Seeing how it’s cinched your waist and accented your silhouette, all Feyd wants to do is hold you and drag his fingers up and down the length of your figure.

Through the abundance of delicate golden chains that are symmetrically draped over your exposed shoulders and chest, Feyd can see how the corset and the off the shoulder neckline cradles your breasts in a way that makes him feel lightheaded. The entire skirt of the dress is decorated in dazzling embellishments and the characteristic Youran golden thread that Feyd has come to love on you. The fabric of the train seems to flow like water behind you as you walk.  

The high front hemline of the gown that ends at your upper thighs gives Feyd a good look at your legs, the lengths of which are delicately wrapped in the thin, tan ribbons from your sandals. The crosshatched pattern of the ribbons allows him to see just how beautifully your legs are sculpted from years of training and exploration. The sight makes his mouth water. He is truly breathless gazing upon you, his Baroness.

You return his affectionate gaze and call his name excitedly, reaching down and bunching up your skirt in your grasp before breaking into a run between the lines of Harkonnen guards. Your footsteps are the only noise reverberating throughout the area. Before he even realizes it, Feyd’s running for you, too. As you approach each other, he extends his arms out to you, and you leap into them, wrapping your legs around his waist. As he lifts you up into his arms, he spins you both around as you nuzzle yourself deeper into his hold.

Your grips on each other are desperate. Without a moment to waste, he cups your cheek with one hand as the other holds you tightly by the small of your back. A tear threatens to fall from his eyes as he considers saying that he hopes that you’ve missed him, but the look in your eyes already tells him the answer. This is truly happiness like he’s never experienced before. It washes over him when you finally bring your lips to meet his. His breath is warm against yours as he exhales into the kiss in satisfaction. He feels your hands come up to clutch the back of his head to deepen your kiss and growls hungrily, quickly losing himself in your embrace while attempting to resist the urge to devour you on the spot. His brow furrows when you finally break for air.

“Hello, my love,” you whisper softly, pressing your forehead against his, as if what you’re saying is a secret meant for only his ears. He grins at the pet name you’ve picked for him.  “How have things been at home?” Your words make Feyd pause. Were you calling Giedi Prime “home?” 

“Everything has been adequate,” Feyd says, kissing you again. “But I do prefer it when my Baroness is beside me.”

“I guess you’re in luck then,” you smile at his words. You rest your hands on his chest, feeling his prominent pectoral muscles underneath his shirt which makes him sigh in satisfaction. You swiftly squash the temptation to kiss him again as you meet his gaze because if you do, you’d never want to stop. Feyd sets you down, even though he’d gladly carry you all day wherever you want. 

“My father sends his regards. He’s very pleased with House Harkonnen. He also sends his condolences at your uncle’s passing,” you say, which makes Feyd scoff silently to himself. “I’ve also gathered all I need for the laboratory.  I hope I didn’t bring too much back with me. I hope it’s not a burden…” you trail off.

“You could never be a burden. We have plenty of servants. They can handle the labor,” Feyd assures as he turns to one of the closest guards. “Start unloading the Baroness’s things. You know where to take them. Don’t you dare damage any of it. There will be repercussions if anything is found broken.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the guard responds before beginning to bark orders to the others. One by one, the guards disappear into the vessel, and emerge moments later, carrying large wooden crates by the bronze colored handles attached to the sides of each. They all file out and disappear into the fortress, headed for your lab. 

“So,” Feyd says, turning back to you. “Home is Giedi Prime now? I wouldn’t have expected you to call anywhere but Youra home. It’s not that I’m unsatisfied that you’ve found comfort on Giedi Prime, but I was surprised to hear you say those words.”

You smile and glance down at the ground before looking back to him, responding. “Younger me would have agreed with you. Youra is my first home and will forever be such. However, my feelings have changed. Home is wherever you are,” you explain, intertwining your fingers with his. At your words, Feyd pulls you in again by the waist for another quick kiss, and he wonders what he did to deserve a wife like you as you both turn to follow your belongings. 

Weeks ago, you and Feyd had set aside the largest of Baron Vladimir’s personal recreation spaces to be converted to a laboratory for you on Giedi Prime. You both had celebrated the initiation of the transformation by gathering all the Baron’s belongings and smashing them to smithereens, which was quite cathartic for the both of you. In particular, you loved bashing Vladimir’s pipe and ripping his bathtubs apart piece by piece. The day of eradicating every trace of Vladimir, except for his portrait in the hallway, culminated in you both basking in the warmth of a glorious bonfire, fed by what remained of the Baron’s belongings. 

You both arrive at your laboratory. The Harkonnen workers have been very efficient installing the necessary infrastructure in the time you have been away. The room that was stripped to the bones the day you left for Youra is now a proper lab, outfitted with fireproof surfaces, chemical hoods, gas lines, and plenty of storage cabinets.  

“Wow, Feyd,” you say. “This is amazing. I can’t believe this got done in the time I was gone.”

“Only the best for you, my love,” he replies as more servants arrive, and you begin to instruct them how to unpack your belongings. Feyd stands back on the sidelines and watches you, seeing the sparkle in your eyes now that you’re able to bring part of your life from Youra to Giedi Prime. Many of the instruments and objects he sees being unpacked are unfamiliar to him, but you seem unphased, perhaps even comforted, by the diversity of items. He marvels at your proficiency with handling all of them. With the help of the servants, you quickly have all the crates unloaded and the items put away and organized. You dismiss all the workers promptly, so you and Feyd can be alone. Once the doors are closed, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Is the space to your liking?” Feyd asks, coming to your side and slipping his arm firmly around your waist.

“It’s perfect,” you reply, looking around with elation in your eyes. You reach into a drawer in front of you and take out a jar. Inside, he sees it’s full of the iridescent indigo scales of the fish you had shown him the night you were attacked on Youra. “I wanted to wait until I got back to Giedi Prime to do the extraction on the scales for your batch of the elixir. …Would you like to stay while it happens?” 

Feyd nods without hesitation. He knows that watching you work is something only the people closest to you ever get to see. “Of course, my love.  It would be my pleasure,” he says. You smile at him, delighted at his interest. You point to a little door in the corner and tell him to wait for you before disappearing into it. A few minutes later, you emerge having shed your gown and jewels for a tan lab coat. When you smooth your hands over the new coat, Feyd thinks to himself how put together you look. You seem even more at ease now that you’ve changed. In your arms, he sees another coat and two pairs of safety glasses. 

“To protect your clothes and eyes,” you say, walking over and handing him the other coat and one of the pairs of glasses.  Inside the coat, he sees “Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen” delicately stitched in with golden lettering.  As he puts it on, he realizes it’s been tailored to his measurements perfectly at your behest. His heart swells once again. Your foresight is obvious to him. Beside him, you take out a mortar and pestle and pour a few of the scales into the mortar. He hears the scales clatter like pebbles against one another as they fall. 

Over your shoulder, Feyd can finally get a closer look at the scales from the fish you had shown him. The scales are shaped like rounded trapezoids and glimmer even in the artificial indoor lighting. Through the striking coloration, he can see delicate silver ribs that flare out from the narrower end of the scales, making each scale look like a pocket of moonlight rays shining through an inky night sky.  Feyd thinks how it’s truly a wonder how nature produced such a creature that bears such beauty.

You grasp the pestle in your hand and start striking the scales with firm, downward motions. Upon impact, the scales fracture at the ribs. Little by little, the scales become smaller, and you change your technique, beginning to roll the pestle around the bottom and up the sides of the mortar. You reverse the direction of the circle every few times. Because of your expert hand, the scales are soon reduced to a fine powder in the bottom of the mortar.  The dust glistens beautifully as you pick up the mortar and tip it around in a rolling motion, observing the results of your grinding.

“It’s time to perform the extraction and then the purification. Hopefully the crystals will be well formed,” you say to him, taking the mortar over to the fume hood behind the two of you and flipping the on switch to the hood.  “Have you ever watched any of your scientists work before?”

Feyd shakes his head as he follows you, memories of his childhood passing through his mind. “My uncle always instructed me to remain in the arena and the training grounds growing up. The laboratories on Giedi Prime were never our places to be. Our scientists would always come and report to us rather than us going to them. It has always been that way. Everyone in House Harkonnen works for the Baron. Everything they do is in service to him. It is inappropriate by our standards for him to go to them.”

You nod at his words, reaching for the glass sash that separates you and Feyd from the compartment of the fume hood. “Unsurprisingly, it’s the opposite on Youra,” you say, putting the mortar with the powdered scales inside before lowering the sash again until it’s almost closed, leaving gap a couple inches tall for continued access. “Yes, all workers serve my father and me, but we are all colleagues, in a way. They are the workers and my father is the hub for all of the departments on Youra. Much of my father’s success is tied to them, so he would often visit our workers to acknowledge their efforts and dedication. He always wanted to see their work for himself, too. He’s always been the curious type. My father had me follow him to the laboratories as soon as I was old enough to understand safety protocol. I’m sure if it wasn’t for regulations, he’d have brought me into the labs in a baby sling.”

The image of young you in a laboratory, holding your father’s hand as Youran chemists show you both what they’re working on comes into Feyd’s mind.  Even though he didn’t know of you when you were children, he can imagine you then, much shorter with a rounder face but with the same bright eyes brimming with curiosity.  The idea makes his heart warm and a smile tugs at his lips.

“I’m sure those laboratory visits were most influential for you,” Feyd says. You nod in return as you put on a pair of gloves and reach under the sash to grab an amber bottle containing a clear liquid from the side of the hood.  

“Absolutely,” you reply as you transfer all the powdered scales into a glass Erlenmeyer flask and add enough of the liquid to cover the solids. You move the flask onto a raised plate in the hood and press a few buttons to begin the heating process.  “I loved watching them do their work. They knew so much about our world, but were still determined to know more.  The way they moved in the lab was like a dance. I desperately wanted to be a part of that, so I began working with them when I was fourteen…”

As Feyd listens to you talk about your past as you work, his admiration of you grows. Your determination and tenacity through failed experiments and stalled projects are astounding to him, and the fact you’ve been able to become a swordswoman on the side this is truly a marvel. Your skill and years of training are evident today, as your body seems to know this process by memory. This in front of him is the product of all those years of effort.

The liquid in the vessel begins to bubble gently. As the moments go by, the liquid takes on the iridescent nature of the scales and becomes a vibrant blue. Removing it from the heat, you strain the liquid through fine mesh into another container, removing all the powdered scales from the mixture.  Looking at the collected solids, Feyd can see the scales have lost their original coloration and turned a chalky off-white. You smile to yourself, knowing that the extraction was effective while you prepare a large volume of a different liquid, also clear and colorless, in a large beaker. 

“Are you ready for the recrystallization?” you ask him, grabbing a syringe and drawing up some of the extract into the barrel. You return to the beaker of liquid and gently tip it sideways with one hand while pointing the tip of the needle at the side of the beaker. Carefully, you begin to squeeze the syringe and the indigo liquid begins to drip out the needle’s tip and trickle down the side of the beaker. As the extract hits the surface of the clear liquid, deep purple crystals seem to flutter out from the point of impact into the liquid instantaneously. Feyds lips part in amazement, unable to tear his gaze away from the process

“How does it work?” he asks, watching as a batch of thin, needle-like crystals start to gather at the bottom of the beaker while the bulk liquid remains colorless. It’s as if all the color of the extract has been contained within the crystals. 

“I use the first liquid to remove the compound from the scales and make a concentrated extract. I then add the extract to a bulk solvent which our compound of interest is insoluble in. The compound forms crystals when the liquids meet because the second liquid is in great excess compared to the first,” you explain, drawing up more extract and adding it to the beaker in the same way. Once you’re out of extract, you squat down to bring your eye level to that of the beaker. “It’s perfect. I don’t think the crystallization has ever gone that well.” 

You’re absolutely beaming as you swirl the crystals suspended in the liquid, admiring how they twinkle in the light. He can’t deny that your excitement is contagious. You collect the crystals by filtering the mix through another filter and spread out the crystals on a metal sheet to allow them to dry before removing your safety glasses, and Feyd follows suit.

“This is the compound I was referring to that night at the Pools of Ashora,” you say to Feyd.  “If we dissolve the crystals in water and drink it, it allows people to retain their body’s water content and reduced the frequency at which people needed to drink water.”

“Fascinating…,” Feyd trails off, staring at the delicate crystals scattered across the surface inside the fume hood. 

“When I was on Youra, I tested the elixir myself,” you say. Hearing you say that you’ve done that, a bolt of fear goes to his heart at the thought of you just drinking a novel chemical. Feyd’s eyes quickly lock onto you, and his neck stiffens. His mind swirls with distress at the possibility of you getting hurt. You may look okay now, but was the elixir difficult for you to stomach? Did it hurt you in the moment?

Looking at him, you’re immediately in tune with his reaction, and you lift your hand up to rest on his arm to calm his nerves. At your touch, he immediately relaxes. “Don’t worry, Feyd. I am alright. There’s nothing to be worried about. We’ve done plenty of trials since I first introduced this fish to you. I assure you it’s safe. I’ve had all of my best scientists on this project, and I had the best doctors in Youra monitor my vitals for two days after the fact.” Feyd nods, knowing if anyone is competent enough to keep you safe, it's yourself and the Youran doctors and researchers. “We still don’t know the exact mechanism of the compound in the body, but we do know there aren’t significant negative side effects on people. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Feyd replies, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your waist and pull you close enough that your lips are almost touching and you’re both staring into each other’s eyes.  “I will always put my faith in you and your work.”

“I’m glad to hear,” you reply, your breath fanning out across his face, which sends shivers down his spine.  “That means a lot, Feyd, we’ve been working hard the last few weeks for this.” Grinning at you, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips your head up toward his, catching your lips in his.  You quickly take off your gloves and hold his cheeks in your palms, savoring the intimate moment. 

A knock at the door sounds through the room. Feyd grumbles in annoyance as the tension between you releases. You and Feyd look at each other before ending your embrace. You call out “Enter!” in the direction of the doors. A military advisor enters the lab in full uniform with his head low. He immediately drops to his knees in front of both of you to show his respect.

“Baron, Baroness,” he says. “I am deeply sorry for interrupting you both, but I bring critical news from Arrakis.”

“Very well,” Feyd says, straightening up and peering down at the man kneeling before him. “Out with it.”

“There has been an attack by the Fremen. They destroyed eighty percent of the most recent spice crop.” You can tell by the way the man shivers that he is afraid. Nobody ever wanted to be the one to break bad news to Feyd-Rautha. “Count Rabban attempted a counterattack.”

“‘Attempted?’ What happened?” Feyd growls, his eyes flashing in dissatisfaction. You catch Feyd’s hand in your palm as it flies in the direction of the knife he keeps on his person. You shake your head. You tell him there is no use in killing this man because it would be a waste with just a look.  

“Y-Yes, my Lord,” the man says, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. You can hear him beginning to hyperventilate despite his best attempts to steady his breath. “Rabban went after the Fremen, but the dust and debris from Rabban’s initial artillery attack made the visibility so poor on the battlefield that only Count Rabban and a few others survived. They were ambushed in the haze; it was a massacre with a casualty rate of seventy two percent and climbing.”

“Over half?!” you gasp, your own fists beginning to clench at Rabban’s blunder.

“Rabban says he saw the Fremen prophet, Muad'dib, on the battlefield before he fled. The Fremen… they are dedicated to him. They kill for him, Baron. Our spice operation is in jeopardy. We await your command.” 

Feyd stiffens, a vein threatening to pop on his temple. He sucks in air through his teeth, infuriated at Rabban’s continued incompetency. The advisor recoils at the noise, shuffling backward toward the door.

“You are dismissed,” you call to him with a huff.  A wave of relief washes over the man as he bows and thanks you before slipping out the door.

“Rabban is a damned fool!” Feyd shouts once you’re alone. “He has had every chance to rectify his mistakes on Arrakis, but he seems to leave his brain behind when he makes decisions and lets this Muad'dib win every time! And now I hear news of abandoning the battlefield at the sight of this prophet? He is a coward! An absolute imbecile! If something doesn’t change soon, the Emperor will take Arrakis from us!” 

You reach your arm out and rest it on his shoulder. In moments, you’ve quelled Feyd’s initial outburst until he’s only seething with fury instead of being on the verge of trashing the entire lab. “I think it’s time to relieve my brother of his duties,” Feyd says after he takes a deep breath. “We shall go to Arrakis to do it. I want to see the look on his face and the hope drain from his eyes when he knows he’s failed. I will take over the operation on Arrakis.  We will do what my brother was incapable of.”

“In that case…,” you say, preparing two glasses of water, adding a pinch of the crystals to each.  The water immediately turns a luminous indigo, and you hand Feyd one of the glasses, which he gladly takes.  You raise your glass in the air. “To victory and to House Harkonnen.”

“To victory and House Harkonnen,” he replies, connecting the rims of your glasses and drinking the entire glass in one go.  The elixir is salty and rich on his tongue as if he’s drinking the essence of the tropical ocean. As the elixir flows into him, he feels a warmth pulsate throughout his body.  He isn’t sure if this is truly the effects of the elixir or just a placebo, but Feyd feels powerful, like he could slaughter a thousand men and still have a hunger for more.  As he meets your gaze, you give him a knowing look. You feel the energy, too. You both shed your laboratory coats and leave the room to prepare for your journey to Arrakis. 

--

The preparations before and journey to Arrakis went without a hitch. You had opted to choose Harkonnen battle gear over your own, but you and Feyd still agreed on concealing your knives under a black Harkonnen dress cloak, still not eager to let anyone know of your true nature. Arriving in Arrakeen, you notice the striking architecture, made up of geometric slabs of tan stone layered to create a fortress to protect its inhabitants.  This time on Arrakis, Feyd doesn’t feel the heat like he used to. It’s as if his body is fighting back against the harsh environment on the desert planet. You feel it, too. You were initially concerned because you had only tested the elixir during the dry months on Youra, which paled in hostility in comparison to Arrakis, but seems the elixir’s protection is more than sufficient.

You and Feyd walk the halls of the fortress side by side, heading to the room where all of the Harkonnen strategists and military officials are. You see them gathered around a digital map projected by a computer in the middle of the room, which shows the locations of all the Harkonnen forces in the north of Arrakis.  Upon seeing their Baron and Baroness side by side, they all freeze and bow.

“Welcome to Arrakis, Baron, Baroness” one of them says. He opens his mouth to continue but Fed cuts him off. 

“Enough,” Feyd hisses at him. “I have orders for you. You are no longer to follow the word of Count Rabban. As of today, he is relieved of his duty as Planetary Governor of Arrakis. You will report directly to and receive orders only from me and your Baroness.”

The room of men immediately shout “Yes, My Lord!” in response. A smirk forms on Feyd's lips at their responsiveness, and he instructs them to hit the Fremen with old-fashioned artillery. As the orders are executed by the Harkonnen military, you watch the map intently as the targets on the map turn green, indicating the Fremen bases are hit successfully. All of the military advisors’ eyes widen in surprise at the genius of Feyd’s strategy as the reports of complete annihilation from the ground forces roll in. 

They all begin to applaud Feyd and as their chants fill the room, your heart fills with pride.  Feyd has finally proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was always meant to be the leader of House Harkonnen.  As the applause continues, you see Rabban appear in the doorway, a look of surprise disgust on his face. You notice he’s still wearing his nightclothes, and your eyes flash between him and Feyd as Rabban approaches Feyd, Rabban’s legs still stiff from sleep. 

“Leave us,” Feyd instructs the others in the room, who promptly file out. They keep their eyes on the floor, not daring to look at Rabban. They know people who end up alone in a room with Feyd after repeated blunders usually don’t exit the room outside of a body bag. 

“What are you doing here?” Rabban growls at Feyd.

“It’s early morning.  What are you doing here?” Feyd quips back.  Rabban lets out a frustrated huff.

“You can’t just waltz in here,” Rabban says through gritted teeth.  “And how can you bring that woman into the inner sanctum?”  

“How dare you refer to your Baroness like that!” Feyd roars, grabbing Rabban by his collar.  “If you have forgotten, dear Brother, I am Baron now.  I will do as I please and take my wife wherever I wish!” 

Feyd throws Rabban back and he falls on his back hard. In desperation, Rabban tries to scramble to his feet again, but as soon as he’s almost upright, he feels his knees buckle from under him as you kick the backside of his knees in. Rabban’s forehead collides with the stone floor with a visceral crack, and he feels his arm caught in your grip behind him. He groans as you push his arm to the verge of overextension. On his neck, Rabban feels the cool tip of a blade threatening to pierce his skin, which sends a chill down his spine, his head still spinning from impact.

“You should learn to respect your superiors,” you whisper to him as Feyd’s gaze is fixated on you.  The picture before him has a fire rising within him. His breath turns thick and heavy, seeing you over Rabban, your blade on his neck and your foot on his back with a fiendish smile on your lips.  “I would have expected more from my brother-in-law… You are a disgrace to House Harkonen,” you drawl, pressing your dagger’s tip into Rabban’s neck enough to draw blood. Dark crimson blood trickles down Rabban’s neck and he squirms. You remove your foot from his back and step forward to place your shoe by his face. You take the opportunity to kick his cheek in a little with the toe of your shoe before the heel of your combat boot hits the floor by Rabban’s face with a firm thunk. “Kiss my feet, and I may spare your life.”

Rabban quivers under your hold, his palms spread over the stone floor. He considers trying to escape. He could try to press his body up and avoid the blade on his neck and try to sweep your legs out from under you, but he quickly realizes that you are in control. Any movement like that would end with your knife in his chest, back, or neck. Despite his position being compromised, he hesitates to kiss your foot  How could he, Glossu Rabban, kiss a woman’s shoe in submission?

“You heard her, Brother,” Feyd hisses, stepping toward you both as he basks in his brother’s terror.  Feyd stops in front of his brother and squats down to look at him. “Kiss her feet.  Now.” 

After a moment, Rabban quivers and presses his lips against the leather of your shoes. As he does, you see how miserable and pathetic this man below you is. It's truly a shock that this oaf is the brother of your Feyd, who is confident, domineering, and skillful in every way.  

“You made a good decision obeying, Rabban,” you say, releasing the blade on his neck. “I would have wasted a perfectly sharpened knife slitting your throat if you hadn’t cooperated.” You step back from him as he clambers into an upright position. His hand flies to his neck, feeling the blood trickle down his neck and seep into his nightshirt. 

“You are hereby relieved of your duties as Planetary Governor of Arrakis,” Feyd grins at the pitiful sight before him. “You will return to your quarters in the meantime and wait for future instruction.”

Rabban leaves in defeat. Once the doors shut behind him, you and Feyd smirk at each other, and Feyd rushes to you giving you a tender kiss.  “I love you, Baroness,” he murmurs, completely infatuated with you.  

--

A few days later, you stare up into the atmosphere of Arrakis. The Emperor’s craft has just entered the atmosphere. You and Feyd share incredulous looks and you immediately make your way to where the emperor will be docking.  

“What could the emperor want?” you ask Feyd as you walk..  “We restored spice production. It’s never been more efficient.”

Feyd shakes his head, deep in thought.  “I do not know, my love.”  

“I don’t like this, Feyd.” you whisper to him, trying not to let anyone else hear and Feyd nods in return.  “What could have summoned the emperor to Arrakis?”

“We shall see,” he replies. Rabban arrives and bows to you both, which makes you frown. Rabban hasn’t been involved in House Harkonnen’s operations since he was removed. Nevertheless, he still proceeds into the throne room before Feyd or you can dismiss him.   

Inside the throne room, the emperor is perched on a large throne up a large flight of stairs with his daughter and a Bene Gesserit standing by him.  Your eyes narrow seeing the witch’s presence, knowing they have tricks they are not afraid of using to manipulate the great houses. You, Feyd, and Rabban kneel in front of them, bowing your heads.  Before any of you speak, the emperor’s voice rings out. 

“I am sure you are curious as to why I have come to Arrakis,” he begins.  “What do you know of the prophet Muad'dib?”  Rabban speaks up first, saying that Muad'dib is a madman.

“Mad?!” the emperor says.

“All Fremen are mad!” Rabban counters, and the Emperor’s fist clenches around the arm of his throne. You and Feyd shoot daggers at Rabban, and he closes his mouth immediately, putting his head down again which casts his face in shadow.

“We apologize for my brother speaking out of turn,” Feyd says to the Emperor. “Rabban has had no part in the latest work of House Harkonnen. He is not a reliable source of information.  We know Muad'dib is a figure of the Fremen, and they follow his command.”

“Yes,” you say. “He organizes their forces, and they have been effective in battle against many of our forces by hiding in the sands and staging ambushes.  They’ve been effective at destroying our spice harvesters in the past, but we’ve been able to successfully retaliate.” The Bene Gesserit flashes some hand signs at the emperor. She must be able to tell if people are lying or not. 

“What of the prophet’s whereabouts?” the Emperor asks, his voice darkening with frustration at your lack of knowledge.  The emperor’s suggested scorn directed at House Harkonnen is sour on your tongue, and you grit your teeth.  

“We control the north of Arrakis and spice production, Emperor,” you reply, keeping yourself collected.  “We believe Muad'dib has fled to the south to hide in the storms after my husband’s last military tactic was successful in neutralizing their northern bases.” 

As you utter those words, you feel a tremendous boom propagate through the air, causing the building to shudder. Everyone in the room looks up. Some of the diplomats that have accompanied the emperor swallow thickly. You and Feyd exchange knowing glances. Something isn’t right. The Sardaukar forces, who have come to protect the emperor, raise their weapons and get into formation with one line in front of the emperor, who has abandoned the throne in favor of shelter. 

The other line of Sardaukar forms a line opposite the entrance way, as more explosions can be heard beyond the walls. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rabban slip away, ever the coward. You feel Feyd’s touch on your arm as he beckons you to position yourself behind the defenses with the other diplomats. From your shared position, you both wait and listen intently. The others in the room are paralyzed in a cold sweat, but you and Feyd are silently watching, waiting, and listening, already gathering information on the situation to calculate your next move.

Dust fills the room as another bang resonates throughout the room and the barrier breaks down. The frontline of the Sardaukar advance, weapons at the ready. As they disappear into the dust, you know they aren’t coming back. The room is almost entirely quiet, but through the haze you hear the barely audible but familiar sound of daggers piercing armor, slitting throats, and tearing flesh. The remaining Sardaukar dig their heels in as a figure emerges through the orange debris, wrapped in tan fabrics caked in others’ blood. His face is concealed by a scarf, and the only flesh of his you see are his eyes, blue from spice. He is accompanied by an army. Judging by the amount of noise they made on their arrival, you and Feyd know there are probably hundreds of them. Fighting your way out is not an option. This must be the prophet Muad'dib.

Muad'dib looks around with his blade drawn, seemingly searching for someone as he enters the room.  You see him and Feyd make eye contact. Feyd’s eyes narrow at him in curiosity. When Muad'dib does not find who he is looking for, he turns the crowd of people behind the Sardaukar guards. Most of the diplomats instinctively take a step back. He makes eye contact with the emperor before turning to his own forces and hissing something in a foreign tongue which you presume to be Chakobsa, Fremen language. He exits the room back into the crowd of Fremen who chant for him, waving their war banners.  You see they bear the hawk insignias of House Atreides. The son of Duke Leto Atreides is alive. 

The Fremen advance, easily slaying the last remaining Sardaukar. Many of the diplomats shudder and jump in surprise as the Fremen plunge their daggers into the Sardaukar warriors, who are powerless to stop them. Once they are all dead and their blood is spread across the floor in crimson red pools, the Fremen start grabbing the rest of you by your arms, and you are all dragged away one by one. You are being taken prisoner. You look to Feyd, who gives you a subtle nod as if to say “go along with it,” and you do.

--

You’ve laid low all in the confinement the Fremen have kept you in all night, not eager to give any of them a reason to kill you. Silently, you’ve been analyzing your situation, trying to figure out a way to achieve an optimal outcome, which you feel is slipping through your fingers. Since you have been taken prisoner, you can only presume that the rest of the Sardaukar and the Harkonnen army have been slaughtered and their bodies burned before daybreak. You and Feyd are likely the last living Harkonnens on Arrakis.  

After sunrise, you are called upon by a faceless Fremen, who orders all of the prisoners to follow. You are reunited with Feyd, who takes your hand, careful not to let the Fremen see this gesture of affection as to not allow them any leverage. His touch automatically makes you as at ease you can be, given that you are both captives without allies. 

Arriving in a room with the other prisoners, you see the surviving Fremen mingling and congratulating one another. The man from before stands in the clearing of the room without his face covering, his black wavy hair framing his face. Feyd turns to you and mouths “Atreides.” You nod in understanding, and watch as Paul Atreides addresses the Emperor, challenging him for the throne. Looking out the window, you see warships in the distant sky.  The other great houses have arrived and Paul Atreides threatens to destroy all the spice fields if the houses intervene. 

“Stand yourself or choose your champion,” he orders the Emperor, who turns to Feyd.  

“I select Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” the emperor declares. “Get him a blade.” You inhale sharply, knowing this means Feyd must fight to the death against a man who has already slain many in battle and emerged victorious from the bloodbath of the previous night. You trust Feyd’s skill, but you know not to underestimate Paul Atreides. Feyd’s eyes flicker toward you. He knows what you’re thinking and gives you a slight nod as if to promise he will fight his hardest, not for the emperor, but for you. He is presented with a blade by one of the members of the emperor’s council. To your surprise, Feyd pushes it away and turns to you. Coming to stand in front of you, he gestures downward toward your legs, where your daggers are still strapped to your thighs out of sight.

“Feyd, are you sure?” you say to him, your voice small. 

“I want to use your blade. Please let me fight for you,” Feyd whispers. You nod and reach down to fulfill his request, drawing one of your Youran weapons from your garters. When you hand it to him, Feyd feels the familiar heft of your dagger in his hand, which makes him grin. Just as he remembers, it’s expertly balanced and perfectly crafted, its pointed tip shining in the low orange light of the room. He smiles, recalling the night you handed him the same blade, the first time he saw your true nature. He twirls the knife in his grip with a flourish of his wrist as he stands opposite Paul Atreides. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, cousin,” Paul says.

“Cousin…” Feyd says, continuing to evaluate Paul for his weaknesses. “You wouldn’t be the first family member I’ve killed.”

His words don’t phase you. You’re well aware of Feyd’s family history. You clasp your hands in each other in front of your chest, willing Feyd to be the victor. Paul Atreides straightens himself and salutes Feyd. “May thy knife chip and shatter,” Paul says with a gruff tone, lowering himself into a battle stance and pointing his knife at Feyd. Feyd smirks, raising your weapon. The sight of it in his hand is gratifying for Feyd. Despite standing alone against Paul, it’s as if you are both in this fight together with him wielding your weapon. 

“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Feyd returns and within moments, they're after each other, having an all out brawl in the middle of the room. They each swipe at each other with reaction times like lightning.  The sounds of blades crashing against one another, the low smacks of their bodies colliding, and their grunts of exertion fill the room. You have to admit, Paul Atreides is an impressive fighter. He’s quick on his feet and swiftly dodges and counters many of Feyd’s attacks, but it is obvious that Feyd is the one with strength on his side. The only way for Atreides to win is if he is able to find a way to use that strength against Feyd.

You’re barely breathing at this point. Your facade of stoicism threatens to crumble when you see Paul Atreides’ forehead connect firmly with your husband’s nose. To your surprise, you don’t see any blood on Feyd’s face. Paul Atreides’ head is thrown back after almost bouncing off of Feyd’s nose. Paul’s head seems to be spinning as he stumbles backward on uneven footing.  Feyd recognizes Paul’s debilitated state is fleeting, and takes advantage of the moment, striking Paul again. The tangle of limbs is intense, but in the blink of an eye, you see Feyd disarm Paul, taking Paul’s knife for his own.  

As they break away from one another, Paul Atreides is heaving, struggling to breathe as the leather bound hilt of your dagger protrudes from his abdomen. He’s wheezing as his own blood seeps into his battle gear. His allies gaze upon the sight in shock, some wincing in second-hand pain.

Feyd approaches him promptly, and grabs Paul by the scruff of his neck, raising Paul’s own knife at him. Paul Atreides uses his own gloved hand to grab the blade, trying to push it away, but Feyd leans in, forcing the blade to slip further into Paul’s grip, cutting the flesh of Paul’s hand open with a sickening noise, the tip of the knife getting closer to piercing Paul’s neck.

The next moment, you feel like screaming. The dagger, once poised to slice open Paul Atreides’ neck, is no longer in the air visible to you. Paul Atreides has used his grip on Feyd’s blade to redirect the tip toward the stomach of your husband. Your hands fly to your mouth, tears threatening to spill.  The force Feyd puts behind his blade at that proximity is fatal. 

The memories of meeting Feyd on Youra, fighting by his side against Ozran, plotting into the early hours to kill his despicable uncle, your wedding ceremony in front of House Harkonnen, and the moments of tenderness and affection he’s given you in private flash through your mind. Your stomach writhes, and your heart shrivels into itself, and your mind begins to confront the idea that you now must mourn the life you and Feyd had assembled. Another thought flashes through your mind. You’ll likely be killed after this with the rest of the prisoners in this room, and die alone without your husband, lightyears away from your people on Youra and Giedi Prime. You’ve failed.

Through your tears, you stare at the scene as the air and the people surrounding you are completely still.  However, something gives you pause. You hear something hit the floor look down to the area under Feyd and Paul’s feet. You spy fragments of metal, broken into uneven shards, scattered across the floor. However, there is no blood to be seen.  Your eyes shoot to Feyd, who is also looking down to where they both hold the hilt of the broken knife. 

Without a second to spare, Feyd’s hand flies to your knife in Paul’s side, ripping it out of him. Paul cries out in agony, the removal of the knife causing a blood curdling squelch of skin and muscle ripping. The next moment, Feyd slits Paul Atreides’ throat with a grand swing of his arm, sending blood splatter fanning across the floor. The pregnant woman seated in the wooden throne bearing the Atreides crest lets out a high pitched shriek, and she begins to wail, seeing the light from her son’s eyes fade as his body crumples to the floor. A Fremen woman across from you lets out a shaky breath, her lip quivering and tears pool near her bright blue eyes as Paul Atreides’ fresh blood collects in a puddle on the stone floor under the gaping hole in his neck.

Feyd turns back to you, bloody blade in hand and lets out a deep exhale, allowing the tension in his own chest to dissipate. He had thought he was dead, too, but no. He is alive. He is victorious, and he gets to look into your eyes again, knowing that he has done his job for you.

Kneeling, Feyd presents the emperor with the soiled blade. The emperor smiles and pronounces Paul Atreides, the prophet Muad'dib, to be dead and Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen as the victor. In defeat, the ally of Paul, identified as Gurney Halleck, relays a message to the great houses of the outcome of the fight.  The emperor’s reign shall continue, and your husband is alive. You push your way past the others in the crowd and throw yourself at Feyd, who cradles you in his arms, running his fingers through your hair, whispering to you “Please don’t shed any more tears, my love. I am still here… I wouldn’t leave you that easily.”

“I thought I lost you,” you choke out and Feyd shakes his head, using his thumb to wipe away the tear stains on your cheeks. 

“You haven’t and you won’t,” he replies, his hands holding your body steady. “Let’s go home.”

—

Holding your knees to your chest, you sit in a private chamber on the Emperor’s vessel as it leaves the atmosphere of Arrakis to take you and Feyd back to Giedi Prime, which was the least the emperor could do given that Feyd nearly died for him. One of Feyd’s hands rests on your waist, holding you firmly in his grip while the other rubs gentle circles on your shoulder with his thumb.  Feyd watches as your eyes dart side to side, which happens when you’re deep in though. 

“What is on your mind, my love?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.  

“I’m thinking about your battle with Paul Atreides,” you reply. “The knife broke when he tried to turn the tables on you, didn’t it?” Feyd nods, bringing his hand down to the spot on his abdomen where the knife was. “May I see where it was?” you ask and Feyd obliges, creating a small bit of distance between the two of you so that you can get a good look at his torso.  

You bring your hand to where Feyd’s armor has been sliced open by the blade. Bringing the other hand to his body, you gently spread the layers of fabric and leather apart to look through the hole. Underneath, you see Feyd’s familiar pale skin and his chiseled abdominal muscles that you’ve always loved to drag your fingers across. His skin appears to be absolutely pristine without a single nick or bruise in sight. You bring your head closer to get a better look before saying, “There isn’t evidence of any damage to your skin, Feyd. Your body is like the battle never happened. There isn’t a trace of impact.” As soon as you utter the last word in the sentence, you freeze and your lips part ever so lightly as your mind races to connect the dots. He knows that look on you, and he sees the gears turning in your mind. 

“Impact…,” you mumble to yourself. Your eyes shoot up to Feyd’s  “During the battle there was a moment when Paul Atreides’ head collided with your nose.” Your hand flies to his cheek to steady his head. You examine his nose, using your hand to tilt his head side to side. Everything about his face is unchanged, which shouldn’t be the case, especially after a fight like that and the headbutt he endured from Paul. You tip his head back. Again, there is no blood or breakage. 

Your mind begins to race as you return your hands to your husband’s torso. Your hands fumble as you attempt to remove the layers of armor in between you and Feyd’s skin. Feyd realizes what you’re doing and soon enough he’s shirtless in front of you. You extend your hand out and drag your hand over his stomach. You press your fingers firmly down onto his abdominal region and upper body repeatedly, changing the area you’re putting pressure on each time. He feels solid under your touch and not in the way you’re used to. Feyd has always been bulky and muscular, hardened from years of training, but something about this is different. It’s like his body has the durability of an alloy the researchers on Youra could only dream of engineering, but he’s still flesh and blood. Bring your fingers to your own stomach, pressing your fingers against your own front, and you gasp. “That’s it!” you exclaim.

“What is it?” he asks, knowing you are on the edge of an epiphany. 

“It’s the elixir!” you gasp, standing up and holding your head in disbelief  “It saved your life!”

 “I thought it was only to help the body retain water,” Feyd says as you get up and begin circling the room.

“Don’t you remember? That’s the end result of the elixir, but we were still unsure of the mechanism by which that happens!” you exclaim. “Remember the night I showed you the fish? I said that the fish sheds its scales at the beginning of the wet season. What I didn’t tell you is that the wet season is the only time of year we can get the scales off the fish because they fall off naturally. Our scientists have tried to get the scales before the transition of the seasons, but they've always been unable to pry the scales off or kill them because it was impossible to slice open the fish. No matter how much we sharpened the knives, we couldn’t cut them open!”

“That’s how the fish retain water in the dry season. The fish develop these scales with this compound that transforms their own bodies into a shield from the elements, so that water can’t escape. I’ve always wondered how a fish would be able to survive the whole dry season on a dried up lake bed.  This compound is why the fish species hasn’t gone extinct! When they’re sitting in their dried up ponds, no predators can eat them because their bodies are too tough to pierce,” you surmise, delight filling your complexion. “By drinking that compound, the same thing has happened to our bodies! You were able to survive the battle because your skin became this impenetrable barrier that lets you keep your water that just so happens to be impervious to outside attacks as well! That’s also why your nose didn’t break and why Paul Atreides was so disoriented after he struck you with his head. It was as if he rammed his head into a steel wall.  Researchers on Youra didn't catch this effect in the clinical trials because we don’t just go stabbing all of our test subjects with knives or subjecting them to blunt force trauma, especially not for a study about water retention!”

Feyd hardly believes what he’s hearing, but he knows it's true. Everything you’re saying makes perfect sense.  Memories from the battle flash in his mind.  He remembers his arm is suddenly bending toward himself, feeling the rough surface of the broken blade scrape against his abdomen, but the pain he had been trained to resist since childhood never hitting his senses. He brings himself to his feet and pulls you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can muster. “You are phenomenal, my dear,  I can’t believe you figured that out,” he murmurs to you. “Thank you.  I owe you my life.”

He lowers his lips to yours, kissing you like he’s never done before. You both cling to one another, relieved you are both alive and safe. Feyd holds the back of your head and runs his fingers through your locks tenderly, thinking about how far you both have come in this short amount of time. Mere months ago, you were a stranger he had the obligation to meet and marry. He knew he would have to enter a loveless relationship with you in the name of alliances. He tried to convince himself you were a woman he wanted to make a plaything out of.  Before, he was intent on manipulating, breaking, and exploiting you for his own amusement. Those ideas feel so foreign to Feyd now as he revels in your affections and caresses your cheek. 

Looking down at you, he sees you for what you are. You are the most beautiful being to ever exist.  Nothing past or present will ever compare to you, and it brings tears to his eyes, knowing you are his wife and he is your husband. You are the culmination of all House Ronen and House Harkonnen have worked for, a true representation of the union of your two houses, and the pinnacle of all Feyd has come to hold dear. You are where brain meets brawn, where tradition meets modernity, and the pride and joy of Feyd’s life. You are simply everything. 

-- 

Thanks for reading!  I can’t believe the series is over (but I'm also considering writing an epilogue, but I have some requests coming down the pipeline, so we'll see about that. lmk if that's something you might be interested in...). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed Knives Dance! :)

Also is it obvious I study chemistry yet?

Taglist:

@austinbutlerslovers @rougegenshin @itshype@woodland-mist @tian-monique @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @allthingsimagines @meetmeatyourworst @nyaaaaa008 @caroline334 @alana4610 @targaryen-madness

Tags that aren't working for some reason??? @roguegenshin @miaraises

[vampykween]

Second Chances (part 1)

i wanted to write about singledad!ghost x teacher!reader (which is so self indulgent as im a teacher hehe) and thus this was born summary: little poppy is simon riley's entire world and you've just had yours turned completely upside down. despite everything, it seems like everything falls into place when you're with each other. this is going to be a little series - i already have a few drabbles written and have l more ideas up my sleeve, but feel free to let me know all of yall's ideas too!! dedicated to @suimon since you love my dad!ghost so much hehe mwah

Simon is just short of pulling his hair out. He’s spent all morning wrestling with a five-year old who, last night was bouncing off the walls excited about her first day of school, but now is inconsolable and quite frankly working his last nerve.

“Poppy, love, please just get dressed. We don’t have all morning for you to mess about.”

Poppy shrugs her shoulders and blows a raspberry right in her father’s face. “Let me go, I’m not going to school,” the five-year old squirms in her father’s grasp, less than thrilled at the prospect of getting dressed for school.

Simon briefly considers whether he should invest any more energy into their morning battle or if he should just concede and let his daughter win this round. Despite her protests, he keeps his hold on Poppy and tries his best to calm her down enough to reason with her. Sometimes Simon couldn’t believe this was his life, he was tussling with his daughter about getting ready for school, when in a past life all he was ever worried about was backing his team throughout a mission. He used to be a trained killer now the only thing he’s an expert at is making silly voices for all the book characters at bedtime.

“You were so excited about school just last night, what happened lovie, what’s going on with you?”

Poppy just stares at him with her big doe eyes, the ones that look exactly like her mother’s, and makes Simon’s chest ache painfully. It’s moments like these that make him feel like the grief would never end.

After a drawn-out minute, she finally squeaks out, “What if I don’t like school? What if people are mean to me?” Simon’s heart breaks at his little girl’s admission, he, of course, worried about those things too; he wasn’t sure he even wanted to send her off for hours every day, but he also knew that Poppy could handle it.

Simon grasps both of her much smaller hands, “You’re the best girl I know, what’s not to love yeah? I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends, sweetheart.” Simon isn’t sure who he’s reassuring more at this point, but he’ll say anything to get them both through this day and all the ones that come.

Poppy sighs loudly and by something short of a miracle, she concedes with getting dressed; Simon let her pick out her own outfit, in hopes that it would rekindle her previous excitement. It helped, but only marginally.

Standing in the doorway of the classroom, is not the teacher Simon had been expecting. When he thought of teachers, he imagined either super strict, uptight older women or bright and bubbly young women fresh out of university. You were neither of those – you wore a bright smile that reached your eyes, and your voice had the most warm and comforting lilt to it. Contrastingly, you were dressed head to toe in an all-black outfit, but it didn’t make you look dark and dreary, no, on you it worked quite well. Poppy finally, but reluctantly revealed herself from behind her father’s legs, and stepped forward to greet her new teacher.

“Hi! What’s your name?” you were clearly not from anywhere near, and Poppy immediately comments on it.

“My name is Poppy, like the flower, and you talk very funny.”

Simon groaned, “Poppy, that’s not very polite, love.”

“No, no it’s alright. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that this morning,” you laugh breezily, not affronted by the little girl’s observation. The sound of your laugh is like a mirage in a desert, and Simon is taken aback at how much the sound affected him. You crouch down and introduce yourself to Poppy, then rise to greet Simon as well. You hold out your hand, clearly in an attempt to shake his, and he shakes his head to clear his stupor and takes your hand. Your hands are much smaller than his own, and much softer, not calloused from battlefields and the hardships of life.

❀

You hope you’re coming off as a well put together adult, one who’s supposed to be in charge of people’s most precious gifts. Threatening to ruin your façade is the fact that you’re shaking hands with quite possibly the hottest man you’ve seen since you upturned your life and moved to London a few months ago. This is your student’s dad, jesus get a grip, you hastily remind yourself. You can’t help yourself though, and your eyes are roaming over his massive hands searching for a wedding band. You’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not when you see there isn’t one. He’s hot, but he’s got a child, and you’ve just had your heart shattered into a million pieces this summer. The last thing you need is to be lusting after your student’s unreasonably hot father.

You’re not even sure you want to be here; nothing had gone the way you planned and now you’re a million miles away from your family – who had forewarned you that your ex maybe was not worth moving across the world for, but you were in love, you didn’t want to hear that.

Poppy, who seemingly gained some confidence, breezes past her father and finds her way easily into the classroom. You looked back up at her father, realizing you hadn’t caught his name – he tilts his head ever so slightly at you as if he’s trying to discreetly assess you and it makes your palms sweat.

“I didn’t catch your name, can’t call you Poppy’s dad all year now, can I?” you prod causally, laughing despite the stifling air that was forming between you two.

“You can call me Simon,” he replies elusively and suddenly you’re overcome with the feeling that there’s something mysterious about this man – and as attractive as he is, the revelation also makes you feel unnerved.

taglist: @happy-mushrooms @lunamoonbby

banners from @reveriesources and @cafekitsune pic creds: @ave661

[fierymiasma]

ꕥYou Look Better In Greenꕥ//Sebastian x MC

NOW WITH PART 2: And You Look Fetching in Yellow

Summary: In which Sebastian sees the new transfer student wearing someone else's scarf and proceeds to absolutely lose it.

Word Count: 1.5k

|| Masterlist || AO3 ||

Ever since the new 5th year joined Hogwarts and knocked Sebastian on his ass (while stealing his heart at the same time), Sebastian developed a new morning ritual.  He would arrive, as late as possible as usual, to breakfast, plop down on the empty spot that Ominis had so nicely saved for him, listen to Imelda prattle on about some boring Quidditch news, and sigh and longingly stare over at the Hufflepuff table.

It was always something different every day, much to Sebastian's delight.  Sometimes she would wear the most eccentric outfit, a clashing cacophony of mismatched colors that only she could pull off while being the most gorgeous witch in Hogwarts.  Sometimes she would arrive late, wiping the sleep from her eyes, tired from their shared late night misadventures.

This morning Sebastian was unlucky.  Sitting directly across from Poppy, she was obscured from Sebastian's gaze.

Even more unlucky, Imelda Reyes decided she had permission to sit next to him.

"Did you see what the new Hufflepuff was wearing today, Sebastian?"  Imelda teased.

Ugh.  "No, why should I care?  It's not like I spend my mornings just ogling her."

"Of course not."  Imelda said breezily.  "It's only been the talk of the entire school.  Surprised you were the last to hear about it, what with you practically drooling over her every morning."

Ominis snorted into his porridge.

"I have no idea what you're on about.  What she does doesn't concern me in the slightly."  Sebastian lied like the lying liar he was.

Imelda shrugged.  "Oh, that's a shame.  And here I was about to bring you the news that your favorite Hufflepuff is most definitely off the market now.  Looks like someone got to her before you did."

"WHAT?"  Sebastian bellowed.

Imelda grinned.  "See for yourself, pretty boy."

Playing right into her trap, Sebastian stood up, now blatantly searching for the Hufflepuff.  He was able to angle his view around Poppy.  A part of him was excited to see what ridiculous set outfit she was wearing today.  Sebastian didn't see what the fuss was all about.  Nothing unusual, her usual Hufflepuff robes, a grey sweater, and-

-And a Red and Yellow Gryffindor scarf.  

His mind went blank.  The usual bustling of voices in the Great Hall silenced themselves.  Sebastian could feel the heat erupt in the back of his eyes.  His wand shot dangerous hot sparks, itching for a fight.

Who, in Salazar Slytherin's name, gave her that?

She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf in front of the whole damn school.  Anyone who was anyone knew what that meant.  Why, it was practically a front page advertisement on the Daily Prophet!  Wearing another House's apparel meant you were seeing someone.  Off the market.  No longer available.  Every other day you would see a Ravenclaw girl wear a new black and yellow tie.  A Slytherin showing off their newly acquired blue coat.  It was a possessive silly schoolboy thing, but if you were an eligible bachelor or bachelorette, you wore your gifted scarf with pride.

Who in Merlin's name would claim what was rightfully his?  Who would be daft enough?

He didn't even register that his body was moving, until he was halfway across the Great Hall, making a beeline straight towards the Hufflepuff table.

"Morning."  He greeted Poppy and the new transfer student stiffly, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh Sebastian!  Good morning!  Did you have any of the strawberry tarts?  They're especially good today!"  She beamed behind the offending Gryffindor scarf that was around her neck.

"Who gave you that?"

"Oh, well, I'm pretty sure the House elves make the tarts from scratch and then they sort of apparate it up here.  I'm actually not quite sure how their magic-"

"Who gave you that tacky thing?  Was it Garreth?  Prewett?  I always knew that weasel was up to no good.  I should remind him o-"

She looked at him in alarmed confusion.  "What on earth are you talking about Sebastian?"

Sebastian felt his jaw clench.  So, she had no idea.  Of course she wouldn't.  She was a new transfer student, immensely popular and with half the school falling over themselves fawning over her.  It had to Prewett.  Only that sniveling bastard was underhanded enough to trick Sebastian's Hufflepuff into something so nefarious.  Practically broadcasting to the whole school that they were dating.  Gryffindor chivalry indeed, taking advantage of someone like that.  He bet all Prewett had to do is go up to her with his big, ugly nose and manipulate her into wearing that disgusting thing.

"Your scarf," he spat.  "Who gave it to you?"

Her eyes darted at Poppy who gave her a bewildered shrug.  She blinked in confusion, almost as if she forgot she was wearing it.  "Oh, this?  It's so cozy and warm, isn't it?  I think it really matches with my complexion!"

Sebastian could practically feel his back molar crack.

She continued, unaware of the inner storm brewing inside of Sebastian.  "Natty and I were out at Hogsmeade and got caught in the rain.  My poor scarf got soaked, and I haven't had a chance to learn the drying charm yet.  She was nice enough to lend me hers instead!"

He deflated, wand dropping into his pocket; fight forgotten.  "Ah…Natty…the other…transfer"  Of course.  It wasn't that long ago that Natty transferred and was learning all the nuances of the social intertwining of a different country much less Hogwarts social etiquette.  Probably thought all of this was silly anyway.

"Is something the matter, Sebastian?"  She leaned over placing her gentle hand on his forehead.  "You're awfully red.  You're practically burning up!"

Poppy tried to hide her laughter behind her hands.  

Sebastian's blush was so strong it practically hid all the freckles on his face.  Arms flapping around, he pushed away her hand from his forehead.  "Never mind me.  It's a miracle you didn't get sick wearing that silly thing.  If you really needed an extra scarf you should have come straight to me."

He started undoing his own warm green and silver scarf.  And with the most nonchalance and charm he could muster, he gently wrapped it around his Hufflepuff's neck.  Green and silver framed her rising blush so nicely.  Something deep in his stomach purred possessively in approval.

"There.  All better.  Those colors match you better anyway.  Red and yellow look awful on you."  He flushed.  "Not that you ever look awful.  You look fantastic.  One of-No, the best looking person at Hogwarts."  His ears burned as Poppy practically howled in laughter unable to hold herself back any longer.  "Um, best looking friend at Hogwarts.  Much better than that old Ominis anyhow."

His Hufflepuff blushed, trying to hide her smile behind her newly acquired gift.  The butterflies in her stomach were practically doing flips.  "Thank you, Sebastian.  Y-you're not so bad yourself, for a Slytherin."

He nodded stiffly.  "Well, if you ever need any more just ask me.  Slytherin is a good look on you."  He wasn't sure what to do now that his mission was complete.  "Um, don't ask Ominis though.  He…um…he hates it when people borrow his clothes.  Gets all particular about his things.  Just come to me whenever you need anything."

Her eyes swam in amusement, and she brought Sebastian's scarf closer to her face, inhaling the rich dark scent left behind.  A rich oak wood, some warm-scented cologne, and a slight musk that was undeniably Sebastian.  Her eyes never left his gaze as she gauged his reaction.  "Oh, how lucky, that I am friends with the most charitable Slytherin I know.  It's nice to know that my friends are so concerned about me."

Sebastian's knees felt weak.  He mustered up the energy to croak out, "Well, it's not all charity.  It's nice having friends in my debt."

She got closer to him, in the mood for something a bit more daring.  "Well, I would hate to always be in your debt.  There must be some way to repay you."

His mouth gaped open.  For once, the manipulative, charming Slytherin was at a lost for words.

"How about I treat my favorite Slytherin to some Butterbeer?  My treat?  I have to start paying back some of that debt somehow."

Sebastian's mouth was dry.  "If I have nothing better to do, I suppose I'll join you.  It's not like I'm doing anything."  (Ominis wouldn't mind getting ditched.)

"It's a date then."  Sebastian choked at her words.  "7'oclock.  Three Broomsticks.  I'll see you then."

Sebastian nodded stiffly and promptly marched himself to the Slytherin table, a bit bewildered as to what just occurred.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Poppy's laughter finally subsided, as she finally got a moment's rest to wipe the tears away from her eyes.  "Blimey, I can't believe that worked.  I knew borrowing Natty's scarf was a brilliant move."

The other girl smiled, gently packing away the old scarf borrowed from Natty back into her bags, right on top of her very own and very dry Yellow and black scarf that was secretly tucked away.  "What can I say Poppy?  Sometimes to catch a Slytherin you got to think like a Slytherin."

Part 2

AO3: fierymiasma

[monstas1ut]

Reprisal

ARMIN ARLERT x black!reader

Summary

__ armin seemed to always get the shorter end of the stick when it came to.. well.. everything. however, a new opportunity showed up right in front of his eyes when his black!crush had a falling out with her bf. maybe armin wouldn’t have recorded himself fucking her dumb if her bf didn’t bully him through kindergarten to college…

Content

__ black!reader, female reader, dom!armin, risk, dirty talk, crying out of pleasure, big dick armin, size diff(you’re bigger, not taller), pussy fingering, recording/videotape, squirting,

__ brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

Was it wrong for the blonde to admire how pretty those tears were? They fell over the russet color cheeks you possessed, showing no signs of stopping. The way your throat was closing up, your short breaths of helplessness never sounded so sweet. It was indeed wrong to think of your sadness as his victory, but Armin couldn’t help it.

That day, there was a twitch at the side of his lips that ached to smeer across his face, but Armin fought it. He wanted to smile so badly only because he knew he had gotten what he deserved. Armin could remember just how much his heart twanged and twisted when you started dating his own bully. There was no way he could catch up with you, not with his timid aura, his bulky glasses, and his attire.

Not to mention how geeky he was.

The posters in Armin’s room happened to be ‘women repellent’ as your boyfriend would call it. And Armin lacked any real style because his parent’s preferred him to wear button ups and slacks everyday. With his face stuck in books and his hand always holding some wooden pencil, he’d never have a girlfriend. Or, maybe those are just things your boyfriend packed in his head. Armin could’ve sworn he’d never have a girl to kiss, hug, or marry. That was another thing his bully preached to him.

But yet, his girlfriend was here in his geeky, woman repellent room filled with posters, books, and tiny machines. And your eyes were overflowing with desperate pleasuring tears.

And this time, Armin didn’t resist his tempting smirk.

The grey sheets of his bed had a formed wet spot that only largely grew over the orgasms. His lanky fingers were covered in that same wetness as his other hand held the device that witnessed the entire scene. As bad as it sounded, the both of you concluded that this was definitely something to be recorded. The way Armin understood your body so quickly and effortlessly, the way you’d already came over and over again. It’s been thirty minutes and the way Armin’s fingers wrinkled up from your wet hole made it even better. It felt so damn good.

“Armin~… I-… No more… Fuck~” your lustful voice made Armin’s cock hard. You in general made his cock hard. Your pretty face, your long eyelashes, glossy lips, your cute little two piece outfit. He would watch from afar how those skimpy cotton shorts matched the cropped top. It was white, and it made your skin flourish. Armin hated that your boyfriend had you all to himself.. but apparently that just wasn’t the case anymore.

“You said that a few minutes ago y/n but you’re still here with the wettest pussy ever…” you couldn’t see him because you had your e/c eyes closed from the slight embarrassment, but you could almost hear the cheeky smirk on his tongue. Armin was taller than you, but he was so puny at the same time. He was undoubtedly the nerdiest male in the school. He sucked at sports, wore glasses, kept his face in a book, and hated crowds. In his eyes, there was no way you’d fall in his arms, however that’s exactly what happened.

You and your boyfriend had a bit of a falling out, and Armin was in the hallway at the time. All you needed was some gentle care and you got exactly that… what he didn’t expect was for you to take it so much to heart. You didn’t let it go, and you even began staying around him more than you should.

Now you were spread on his bed and reaching another orgasm from just his fingers. How was he this experienced? You failed to understand, nor did you care right now. Your pussy was so achy that nothing made sense, only the sweet sensation of your insides being rubbed against.

“Right…Right there Armin.. ah-..shit.” Your moans were so pretty on camera, and Armin’s small chuckle added to the extreme hotness that displayed. “ I figured, I do understand your body more than you know..” Armin teased in a matter-of -fact type of manner. He wasn’t even surprised of the much louder moan that was released from you. He wasn’t even surprised by the way your pussy released the clear liquid on his fingers. It was fascinating how you squirted on his fingers, and the pure sound of it made him excited. That mixed with your whiny pleas were heaven sent, and it was obvious how much he loved it.

He moved his hand up to his mouth and eagerly licked up the juices that were dripping down from his fingers.

“Did that feel good? Cumming over and over again? Would you like me to bring you more pleasure?” Armin sounded like more of a cocky bastard than before, his head tilt only making you stare into his eyes with a type of hatred that meant nothing. You couldn’t hate him, right now you felt in love with him. Your pussy was in love with him, and his cock didn’t even make an appearance yet..

“Yes… Armin, please?” You whispered, almost begging with your eyes. The camera caught every emotion, every deep feeling from you which was going to anger your ex from head to toe. This video was going to break him, if not completely destroy him. It was the mere fact that you’ve done this with the boy he bullies, and the fact that he was much better at making you cum.

And the fact that his fucking dick was bigger.

The camera caught the undeniable lust from the both of you. Armin’s body only lacked his shirt while you were all spread out for everyone to see. Beautiful and brown with eyes begging for this nerd to absolutely slut you out.

“I’d like this position, just to show the camera how needy you are.” Armin muttered this to himself as he lifted you and moved you in the position of a reverse cowgirl. He was happily laid out with his blonde hair against his somewhat flat pillow. His hand kept a grip on the phone, pointing at your large, juicy brown ass that seemed to be overtaking his lower half. Armin was quite skinny, and your ass was far from that, as well as your thighs. So the picture was hot, just seeing how your thickness overlapped his body.

“Lean forward for me, pretty..” with another command, you leaned forward against his lower legs and your pussy opened up nicely for him and the camera. It was already nicely stretched from the constant use of his fingers. So, when Armin’s thick cock sprung out, it didn’t seem all that bad to imagine pushing inside of an insanely tight cunt.

“You are ethereal… an angel almost. That’s if you weren’t begging to be filled up.” With a tease, Armin let the camera capture his cock being slapped against your trembling lips. The scene captured his pc in the background, the screen projecting a computer game while a poster of Star Wars was up in front of you. Armin could already hear the wall punches coming from your ex’s room.. he couldn’t wait to send the video to him.. it excited the nerd so much that he had to be cocky about it…

Just once…

“Slip it inside yourself… see just how far a real cock can go.” Armin grumbled, knowing he was bigger than your ex. You indeed knew this too and his cock size kind of frightened you, but it made you wetter to think about. And without being a brat or being disobedient, you slowly grabbed Armin’s cock with a gentle hand before slowly aiming it towards your winking hole that was eager to be filled.

Your soft pants and moans didn’t go unrecognized as you slowly let his pink tip slip inside of you. The feeling was so overwhelming and it made your knees and arms all weak. Considering that, you were completely laying on Armin’s legs. His cock accidentally buried inside of you. It was so quick, but the feeling was undeniably strong.

“Fuckkk~… Y-You so fuckin big Armin~…”

It boosted his ego that he thought he never had, and he got it all on tape. The way you were starting to grind against him, the way you’d slightly lift your head to look back at him and the camera. All of it made him harder if that was even possible. “You love how it feels… You've never felt something as big as this in your pretty guts, now have you?” Armin asked teasingly as his hand moved to grip a handful of your ass cheek. He couldn’t help but make it jiggle and slap it with genuine love for it.

“No… no!… This the biggest dick I eva’ had…” you slurred, slowly beginning to rise your hips and drop them right back down. “Tell him that…” with a husky twang to his voice, Armin demanded you said this.. specifically towards your ex. His dominance really peeked through when saying those words, and you complied while slowly moving your lower body faster. Those musical juicy sounds started to get louder, and for some reason, Armin loved that even more than the skin slapping.

“Tell the camera.. how much better I am.. how much bigger I am than him… tell them, pretty..” Armin almost begged this, however it was overshadowed with his hostile dominance that made you tense up on his cock.. but those pretty cheeks didn’t stop jiggling on his pelvis.

“Armin~… y-your dick is-..fuck. Your dick is so much better than his… I love it so fucking much… I never felt Dick so far inside of me..” with a whiny tone, you moaned this out with struggle. The camera couldn’t help but catch the white precum on his cock, or that jiggling ass of yours that looked exactly like water. Your ass looked like you were suffocating Armin, but fuck could he tame it.

Smacking sounds came from exactly that, as well as your wet pussy being slammed against him. The rhythmic movements made it obvious it was good sex, and who knew Armin could take it? Who knew he was strong enough? This man could even keep the phone steady while being sucked in by your golden pussy. He was absolutely nerdy yet behind those glasses were dominant, lustful eyes that gained a hint of possession…

“That’s right, pretty… now surprise him by squirting on my cock.. he doesn’t even know you can do that..”

ⓒ Monstas1ut , Do not copy

[anashins]

hiii!!! i've been reading most of your works and i absolutely love them 😭 idk if you're accepting reqs but i've had this idea of a situationship/fwb jaehyun but he's secretly completely whipped for her and super soft w her. if you do end up making this a story thank you so much!! you're amazing 😌

Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Jaehyun gets hit on at a party, but he has his eyes on one girl only, even though he claims he doesn't do relationships.

A/N: Funny, someone requested this for Yongie too 😍 Thank you, I hope you like it 💗

Jaehyun stood in the corner of the room, a slight smile on his face. Not his usual smirk when he was lowkey judging with an underlying mocking expression, or his haughty grin when he found something funny, but not hilarious enough to actually laugh out loud about it. 

No, his smile was earnest, faint and emphasized a softness in his facial features that he rarely ever showed to anybody, a look simultaneously getting mirrored in his eyes that one needed to be very lucky to actually witness even once in their lifetime. 

Because it was an expression he had reserved for one girl only.

“What a lame party, hm?”

He hadn’t noticed how he had been approached by a girl he didn’t know. She had long, dyed hair and wore an outfit that indicated this party was not her last stop, but a club which she would still visit later on.

Jaehyun shrugged indifferently, turning his head back to where his attention had been before - his girl laughing and joking around with her friend group. “I don’t think so. It’s okay.”

“But you look lonely though,” she continued talking,”standing here all by yourself.”

He smirked now, judging her with an underlying mocking expression. “I promise you, I’m not lonely. I’m just enjoying my spare time away from the crowd.” 

It was the little, ordinary things that his girl was doing he was so intrigued with. If he could, he would stand in this corner the entire night as long as he could watch her enjoy herself. It made him happy too and he didn’t ask more of the night.

“Are you interested in going to a club?” She didn’t give up despite Jaehyun’s passive demeanor that he expressed through his folded arms and absent gaze. “My new acquaintance Johnny, who you’re also friends with, suggested that you should go with us. He said you liked that certain club.”

Jaehyun remembered how he used to party at that club every weekend, sometimes even on weekdays, not caring whether he’d show up to class still hungover or not attend at all. However, a few weeks ago, it all had changed with his girl.

“I pass.”

He already wanted to let out a sigh of relief as he thought the girl might go away after rejecting her offer, but she didn’t. Instead, Jaehyun felt her fingers on his skin, gripping onto his forearm. It wasn’t a particular strong or demanding touch, tender even. But it wasn’t by his girl, and he despised it because of that which was why he shook her off.

“I thought we could maybe get a few drinks, dance and…” She lowered her voice, not at all bothered by his withdrawal. “.. you know, when we decide to go home.”

Oh, he did know what kind of reputation he used to have. Which was why he was grinning haughtily now, entirely proud of himself to have left this exact reputation behind. Unofficially. “I pass.”

“What?” Getting rejected so straight-forwardly, the girl apparently hadn’t expected it. “You have a girlfriend or something? Johnny said you didn’t.” 

Damn that Johnny guy. He had provoked him on purpose after having lured out his true feelings one night. Of course Jaehyun didn’t have a girlfriend. He just didn’t do “girlfriends”. But he did “somethings”, although this “something” went further than any “something” he had ever had before.

Jaehyun wanted to deny before it dawned on him that it wouldn’t make his situation better without disclosing that there was one girl only he wanted to go home with tonight, and she certainly wasn’t his girlfriend. 

That was until something from the corner of his eyes caught his attention. His girl went for her fourth glass despite knowing that she didn’t tolerate more than three. She never learned. Silly.

“Excuse me.”

Leaving the girl who hit on him behind, Jaehyun went with a tunnel vision to the one he had never let out of his sight, stretched out his arm and took the new filled glass out of her hands.

“What are you doing?” she complained with a playful pout.

He sighed deeply as though annoyed, with his soft smile that had found its way back to his face because of her. But she didn’t see. “You know very well that you’re a lightweight.”

“That will be my last one.”

“Really? The last time you said that, I had to carry you all the way to your bed and you passed out while-”

“NO!” she squealed and put her palm over his mouth to silence him. “Don’t you dare speak it out!”

“Now be a good girl and let me drink this. And after I’ve emptied this glass, we’re leaving. This party is lame.”

“Really?” She looked to her left and right. “I don’t think-”

But Jaehyun leaned in and said something into her ear that only she could hear. Her reaction was always the same when he whispered the dirty things he would do to her when they’d finally be alone: wonder, amazement, then embarrassment. But she would always agree with a heated head that let his heart almost unnoticeably jump.

“Your place or mine?” she only wanted to know.

____

You woke up with a headache the next morning, your mouth dry and eyes still half closed. Like usually after a party, you wanted to stay in bed for a little longer, especially since today was a sunday. Jaehyun was surely long gone after you had passed out, which was why you also didn't bother getting dressed now and just rolled to the other side of the bed that was somehow still warm.

Odd, you thought, but not odd enough to put more thought into it, you just wanted to sleep. That was until you heard it rumbling in the kitchen. 

With a start, you were sitting upright in your bed, getting dressed before hurrying to find out who had broken into your apartment or whether you had taken someone entirely else home and Jaehyun had only been a fever dream, because he usually never stayed the night. 

“Good morning.”

But the one you encountered in your kitchen with messy hair and only in his boxers, frying an omelet was indeed Jaehyun. The guy who claimed he didn’t do relationships, who didn’t stay overnight because it was similar to dating for him, and who certainly didn’t cook you breakfast. You must still be dreaming. 

“Are vegetables in your omelet okay?” he asked without any care in the world, and you only brought yourself to nod, still baffled.

While he was cooking, you watched his defined back and his hair moving with every motion, until you realized that this was surely not a dream at all. This was very much a reality you had always dreamed of. 

Then, you approached him from behind and wrapped your arms around his sides, nudging into his chest. You didn’t speak a word. You didn’t need to. Jaehyun continued cooking like you were not currently blocking his area, totally unbothered. 

And then, you felt in the middle of your parting the warm touch of his lips on the top of your head.

[sparky-is-spiders]

Jonelias Week Day 1 (Which is definitely today I swear), for the prompt "No Powers AU"

This one... maybe got away from me. This is actually only the first half of what I've written so far, and probably the first third overall! I do plan to post this to Ao3 at some point (although I suspect I'll need to do a lengthy round of editing first lmao). It's some very self-indulgent nonsense, which is a lot of what I write, but now it's getting put in the main tags of a ship during said ship's event week. So. It may also be a little bit "aromantic dude tries to figure out what having a crush is supposed to be like." Also a lot of "dude who took Principals of Accounting once pretending it knows what office work is like." Anyway, quick warning before we begin, and the rest will be under the read-more:

Stalking (played for laughs) for most of the fic.

Just. A weird amount of obsession.

Ok that should be it I think. Fic under the cut.

Jon's new boss was, quite possibly, the most boring man in the world. He wore the same outfit every day (pale dress shirt with dark unpatterned tie and gray slacks and matching suit jacket). The only personal effect in his entire office was a potted plant on the windowsill (some sort of succulent, and definitely fake). He always arrived to work exactly half an hour early and left exactly half an hour late. The only hobby he appeared to show any interest in was scheduling, which he seemed to find both deeply engaging and remarkably irritating. In fact, he was apparently so opposed to the idea of mixing his work with his personal life that he might as well not have existed beyond the walls of their office. Jon had never been more fascinated by anyone else in his entire life.

It stared with the transfer to the accounting department. Elias had met with him personally to get him acclimated to his new role. He had been blandly polite, and blandly handsome, and Jon had stopped listening to him about five minutes into their conversation. It was probably bad form, really. The software Elias was droning on and on about sounded like it was about to become a central feature of his days. He really should've been paying attention to it. Instead, he pretended to make eye contact while zeroing in on the top of Bouchard's forehead (a very useful trick, really) and became inordinately focused on the small lock of hair that had fallen across it. It was terribly distracting, and Jon had wondered how he hadn't noticed it. And then he wondered how it had come to be there. And then he had built up an entire story involving a murder, an illicit affair with the assistant director of marketing, and the potted succulent. And then he had noticed Bouchard eying him with what could've been suspicion or amusement or irritation or nothing whatsoever, and had been forced to rapidly pretend to care about their company's bad debt expense policy. Bouchard had indulged him, and had spoken with the calm authority of someone who knew what they were talking about, and had even managed to avoid being overtly condescending (a feat forever out of Jon's reach). At the end he had shaken Jon's hand (with a nice, firm grip), and had told him "I'm looking forward to working with you, I'm sure you'll make a wonderful member of our team." Jon had left that meeting with a mind shrouded in a fog of boredom and a faint sensation of warmth which he decided was best attributed to curiosity and left otherwise unexamined. Over the next few weeks, Jon had tried to subtly inquire into Bouchard's life. At the time, he had been naively under the impression that surely he must have let slip something about his life; some odd quirk or funny story or harmless bit of information which could justify Jon's blooming curiosity. Unfortunately; "He lives in Chelsea, I'm pretty sure?" (Sasha) "He's currently in a meeting. Honestly Jon, you'll be better off just sending an email. Now can I please get back to work?" (Rosie, probably lying about the meeting) "He actually lives here in the office. Set up a cozy little home away from home in one of the storage closets and sneaks out at night to raid the canteen. And he's having an affair with the assistant director of marketing." (Tim, definitely lying (but maybe a mind reader? Also, full of brilliant ideas for places Jon could maybe set up a cot whenever he needs to stay overnight)) Clearly, Jon would have to take matters into his own hands if he wanted answers. That was fine. It could be his own private little research project.

Jon liked to think that the entire thing had actually been quite reasonable, and that he had acted within the bounds of their pre-established relationship as employee and supervisor. Surely any rational person had to realize that nobody could possibly be that uninteresting. Anyone would be curious as to what dark secrets Bouchard his behind his well-tailored suits and polite, professional demeanor. … perhaps most rational persons would not meticulously record the movements, behavior, and daily appearance of their colleague in a discreet notebook (with annotations, color-coding, and graphs where appropriate), but Jon had always prided himself on his dedication to research and understanding. So far Jon had collected frustratingly little data. If Bouchard was hiding anything, it wasn't apparent from his schedule (see pages 8-13, figure 2.b), his eating habits (see page 22), or his lone plant (see page five, figure 1.c). His breaks did seem specially timed to avoid other people (and he appeared not to engage in many social behaviors generally), but he never acted irritated or otherwise unhappy to encounter one of his subordinates, so Jon wasn't entirely sure if it was deliberate avoidance or simple coincidence. Really, the only truly odd thing about him was his inexplicable interest in Jon. That very morning, for example, Bouchard had stopped by his cubicle for a fifteen minute discussion on the upcoming Annual Team Luncheon, an event Jon had never attended before (due to an annual migraine which coincidentally always happened to occur on the exact date of the luncheon), which Jon did not plan to attend, and which honestly sounded like some sort of violation of the Geneva Convention. The topic itself was not especially odd (small talk was an archaic tradition which had stubbornly clung on in every workplace Jon had ever set foot in), but Bouchard's low propensity for inter-office socialization combined with the fact that he had both chosen Jon specifically as his conversational partner was… highly suspicious. Most people who encountered Jon inevitably concluded that he was more effort than he was worth (an attitude Jon mostly appreciated).

And of course, there had also been their interaction two days ago, when Elias had paused briefly to inquire as to whether Jon would be staying late, and what he was working on, and if he might perhaps consider heading home soon because there was only so much overtime they could pay him. Or on Friday, when he had managed to hold two separate conversations with Jon where very little was said. Honestly, Jon somewhat suspected that Elias had spoken to him more in the past few weeks than he had spoken to any of their colleagues for the entire time Jon had been there to observe him. Most of Jon's notes were now dedicated to their interactions. From his cot in the unused storage room (which was indeed a good place to stay overnight, thank you Tim), he could jot down everything he recalled about their interaction; it had begun at 8:32 and had concluded at 8:47; the weather was warm and slightly humid, although the office interior remained at a comfortable 21 °C. Bouchard's shirt had been a nice, cool gray, which complemented the silver of his eyes. Jon (who had been busy digging for his favorite pen (the ink was a lovely deep green color, and it was usually kept on the left side of the top desk drawer, and Jon had no idea where else it could have possibly gone)) had settled on "irritation" as his tone, which Bouchard either had not noticed or had not cared enough to acknowledge. He had easily dominated the conversation, and Jon could admit in the sanctity of his research journal that his voice had been soothing enough to cool away some of Jon's annoyance. He wrote his conclusion: Subject behaved near-identically in tone, posture, body language, and apparent mood as he has in all previous communications. Subject displayed no strong thoughts or opinions on subject of discussion nor conversational partner. Interaction was pleasant but slightly dull, no new information discovered. It was almost exactly the same as every previous conclusion. Jon had to admit, so many months with so little progress was… discouraging. He shifted on the narrow mattress and winced when his movements aggravated his backache (which was surely unrelated to his frequent occupancy of the cot). It was becoming more and more apparent that the only possible solution was to do some actual, direct investigation. His first idea (break into Bouchard's office) seemed a tad far (also, he didn't know how to pick locks). His second idea (follow him home) seemed a stretch further than the previous one, and was perhaps best saved as a last resort. His third idea (something something computers? (perhaps "idea" was a bit generous)) would almost certainly require Sasha, who would have questions Jon couldn't answer. He flipped idly through his notes, half-skimming, half-thinking. It was only when his gaze landed on figure 2.b, Weekly Schedule of E. Bouchard, that he actually came up with something reasonable. Something actionable.

[lupiningwolves]

Teasing | S.Rogers x fem!reader

summary: teasing steve leads to him snapping

warnings: Dom!Steve x Sub!fem!reader, smut, Sir kink, degradation, praise, male and female masturbation, light choking, light breeding, cumming inside, unprotected piv

guess i‘m back? not proofread btw

“Don’t you think that this is a bad idea?”

Sam didn’t need to say that. You were able to feel the tension in his shoulders and the fear that radiated from him. Still, he fulfilled his best friend duties and helped you. Though he was right and this was probably the worst idea you ever had in your entire life

To be fair, it was Steve’s own fault. His idea to agree with Tony on this celebration party in a club somewhere in New York. His idea to ask you to be his date. His idea of what you should wear. His idea to tease you by small touches and smirks and dark looks. And definitely his idea to not interact with you otherwise. He knew what he was doing. He had smirked every time you pressed down your thighs together after he touched you.

Now, the tables have turned. You had discarded your jacket, now revealing the little of an outfit you wore and asked Sam to go to the dance floor with you. He had agreed way before he saw the death stare his friend gave him.

“Don’t be silly, Sam. What could possibly happen?” To you, Sam. There was a lot to happen to you, though—at least you hoped so. You and Steve had been teasing each other forever to the point that you weren’t possible to give yourself the much needed release anymore. And Steve knew. God, he so did. And he got off on the way you tried everything to get a reaction out of him.

It surely seemed like you did now. He watched you from the table as Tony and Clint talked about something he definitely was not listening to. His had that rested on the table was balled into a fist, his eyes filled with lust and jealousy. It wouldn’t take much longer for him to get up, drag you out of here and fuck you.

“Are you really sure that-“ Sam stopped mid-sentence when you slung your arms around his neck and pulled him closer towards you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You moved your face to the other side of his head, where Steve couldn’t be sure what you were doing. “Just relax, I’m this won’t be much longer. Put you hands on my-“

Before you could finish your sentence you were pulled off of Sam and dragged out of the club. You looked back over your shoulder when Sam stood, head shaking and grinning. Then, you looked up the the person on your right. Steve looked furious, which only increased the wetness pooling in your underwear.

His hand gripped your upper arm tightly when he opened the door to his car for you. Never had you been driven around New York so quickly. “You just had to be a little slut, didn’t you?”, Steve asked harshly and opened the door to his room in the tower. “Desperate little girl.”

“I just ended what you started. I think you should thank me.” Oh, so someone would help you.

Steve gripped your neck and squeezed. “It had only taken a little ‘please’ from you and I would’ve made this so much more pleasurable for you. But apparently, the idea never crossed your mind. Or you just wanted to be treated like the whore you are.” He let go of your neck and threw his jacket somewhere into the room. “Clothes off. On the bed.”

You did like he had asked in record time and lied down on the bed. Steve had gotten rid of his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. “Steve, please.”

“Now’s not the time to start with the begging. You should’ve done that a lot earlier, baby”, he said and stood in front of the bed. “I think seeing as you were a bad girl, you should be punished. Denied what you want most.” His lips turned up into a devilish grin as your eyes widened. “Make yourself cum, otherwise I won’t touch you.”

“Steve-”

“Wrong”, he interfered sternly. “Adress me properly, baby.”

Your eyes rolled back at his words and your hands involuntary found their way to your dripping core. “Sir”, you breathed. “You know I can’t do that.”

“You should’ve thought about that a lot sooner, then. Get going, we haven’t got all day.”

Fuck, maybe it was possible to do that if he continued with his words. You started teasing your clit, head already throwing back. Everything was sensitive, especially now that Steve was watching. Your other hand gripped your tits and squeezed and massaged.

You were already moaning and shutting your eyes after a few touches. You pushed two fingers inside of you, whereupon a particular moan erupted in the room. But it wasn’t yours. You opened your eyes to see Steve standing naked now, his semi-hard cock in his hand.

A whole new wave of arousal came over you. “Sir, please, j-just touch me. Let me touch you.”

“No, baby. Be a good girl and continue. If you’re good I’ll fuck you afterwards.”

At the thought your fingers sped up, trying as hard as possible for your filthiest dream to come true. Much to your surprise, it didn’t take much long for you to reach the point where you were able to cum already. It was probably the way Steve had jerking himself off, throwing his head back here and there, but always looking at you and keeping eye contact.

Something about all it was forbidden arousing, having you ready to cum—just like he had asked. “G-Gonna cum, Sir. Please let me.”

“Already? I thought you said you couldn’t do it.” His eyes were fixated on your fingers as they sped up again, bringing you so close to the edge. “Go on, be a good girl and cum all over your fingers.”

And you did. You felt yourself clench around your fingers and let out a series of loud moans. Still, you kept your eyes open and watched how Steve admired his view.

In a moment of content, you let your eyes fall shut for a second while you pulled your fingers out of your dripping pussy. Steve had used this to his advantage, got on the bed and thrusted into you in one hard thrust.

Your eyes flew open in shock, immediately whimpering at the stretch. “Fuck, baby, always so fucking tight”, he moaned. “My good slut.”

You rapidly nodded, watching how Steve’s cock pumped inside you. “Mhm, s’good, Sir.”

“Yeah? Feel good, baby?”

You nodded, throwing your head back when Steve grabbed your waist and took you at a different angle. That allowed him to hit this specific spot inside of you, making your legs shake and mind cloud. Every time he pushed his cock back inside of you, an unidentified noise escaped your mouth.

You had stopped registering anything else than the pleasure and Steve’s word a long time ago. Now, you felt the edge building in your stomach again, there was just a little something missing.

“Please, Sir, m-more”, you mumbled and gripped his biceps.

Steve smirked down at you, knowing exactly knowing what you wanted. “What do you need, baby? Hm? Tell me or else I can’t help you.” You mumbled something incoherent. “C’mon, be a good girl.”

You couldn’t talk anymore, simply grabbing his wrist and placing his hand around your throat, closing his fingers with yours. It was like something had snapped inside him. He closed his hand tightly, a little oxygen still making its way. He pounded even harder into you, his other hand circling your clit.

“Needa cum, Sir”, you said. “Please, p-please, cum.”

“Do it, baby. Right behind you.”

You fell over the edge the second he finished his sentence. You were still shaking around him, because he was pounding into you restlessly, trying to chase his own high. “Where do you want my-“

“Inside”, you answered before he could finish his sentence.

With one last thrust, he spilled his seed inside of you. “Look at that, baby. You think anyone else would’ve bred you this beautifully?”

“No, Sir. Only you.”

[adorethedistance]

Sweet Creature - Jamie Drysdale x Reader (platonic!Trevor x reader)

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, mild roasts

Words: 1529

Summary: Domestic bliss featuring everyone’s favorite baby ducks.

A/n: I’m gonna be straight up. I fucking hate this piece. I hate it with a burning fiery passion but if I don’t post it I feel like I’ve just wasted the last few weeks that I’ve spent drafting it so here ya go

“You haven’t seen it?” I nearly screech out of pure astonishment, sitting up from my relaxed position on the couch. Jamie smiles skeptically and shrugs his shoulders with his arms outstretched lazily.

“No clue what you’re talking about.”

“Dvcree did not put their whole Pedrussy into making these Pedro Pascal edits for you to have no idea who I’m talking about.”

“Who?!”

“Ugh, that could’ve been so funny if you were just a little bit more meme-cultured. TREVOR!” I yell from the livingroom which leads the energetic boy to poke his head out of his bedroom door.

“What’s up?”

“Have you seen the Pedro Pascal edit?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you!” I make a face and Jamie to emphasize my point. He slowly shakes his head as he laughs and absentmindedly lifts the knot of his grey hoodie’s drawstring, tucking the woven cotton between his teeth. As the moment of my disbelief passes, I move over to lay down, pressing my left cheek against Jamie’s toned chest.

We’ve been laying on the couch and watching the Last of Us for the better half of an hour, with Trevor occasionally coming by to refill his water bottle and comment on the display of affection between me and Jamie. Our lazy days are nothing short of blissful and I couldn’t be more content with life at the moment.

“It’s ‘cause I’m not on TikTok!” Jamie argues while shifting to accomodate me, wrapping me in his arms, and resting the injured one on the surface of my back. What little of his skin that’s exposed is slightly cool to the touch, and I remember Jamie runs cold more often than not. I’ve been unintnentionally leeching off of his body heat since the outfit I wore today was better suited for the Irvine sun, and not his air-conditioned apartment.

“Well, you should get it. I’m tired of texting you links when I could be sending you DMs.”

“Ugh. I just can’t be bothered.”

“Whatever. Old man.” I momentarily lift my head from Jamie’s chest and pout my lips. He playfully squints at me for a second, then pecks my lips before pressing play on the last few minutes of the episode. The rhythm of his breathing is relaxing for me, and despite the episode only having five minutes left, I feel my eyelids become heavier and heavier. The warmth of our body heat between us soothes my soul, and my muscles release after a long day of productivity. If I went back in time to tell myself that a random apartment unit in Orange County would one day be the most comfortable place in the universe, I might’ve laughed in my own face.

Jamie feels like heaven.

Better than heaven.

He feels like home.

Small breaths escape my parted lips as I sink deeper and deeper into the feeling of his body against mine. And I can’t help smiling gently as I feel his heart momentarily keeping time with a song in the show. The soft fabric of Jamie’s hoodie smells like his favorite cologne over the sweet, comforting smell of his natural scent. His chest vibrates when he hums a small laugh at a joke one of the characters cracked. I’m not sure if he’s noticed my slow descent into unconsciousness, but it’s only a matter of time.

“Good episode,” he says decidedly, waiting a moment. “Y/n?” He whispers softly, unsure of my lack of response. I could say something back if I really wanted to, but with how comfortable the entire situation is, I’d rather just let the exhaustion consume me.

Jamie then grabs his phone from the armrest of the couch behind his head, opens it, and types something before his arms come to rest. In a moment, Trevor comes out of his room and asks,

“What do you need?”

“Shhhh!” Jamie hushes Trevor as he walks in loudly. “Is she asleep?” He asks quietly. Trevor shuffles around the back of the couch to stand in front of the tv, looking at my face most likely.

“Yes.”

“That was fast.”

“No kidding. She’s a cute sleeper.”

“Unlike you.”

“Hey!”

“Shhh.”

“What’s your guys’ dinner plan?”

“I think she wanted to cook something for all three of us but now that she’s out I guess I gotta do some decision-making.”

“Just order something on door dash,” Trevor says plainly as he shuffles back around the couch and into the kitchen area of the apartment.

“I got something earlier this week, my mom’s gonna ask questions.”

“I forget you’re still on her account. Loser.”

“Shut up.” The hushed tone of their chatter is comfortable and I quickly fall asleep in the safety of my boyfriend’s care.

____________________________

When I come back to, the first thing I notice is that Jamie is no longer underneath me. My eyes flutter open. I’m laying on my stomach, sprawled out on the couch under a grey blanket that I recognize to be the one-off of Jamie’s bed.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” I turn to face away from the seatback of the couch and find Trevor and Jamie seated on the floor, an assortment of takeout on the coffee table in front of them. Trevor nods a greeting as Jamie takes a bite of food.

“Were you just watching me sleep?” I ask, slightly freaked out.

“Yes.” Jamie almost chokes on the bite of food, shoving Trevor’s shoulder which makes them both laugh.

“No,” he starts to clarify, “We were just sitting against the couch and when we heard you stirring, we thought it’d be funny to stare at you.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Like, half an hour?”

“You want some pad thai?” Trevor holds out the box of food he’s eating from and I nod shyly. Jamie passes me an unwrapped pair of chopsticks and I thank him quietly, tucking into the half-eaten box. We sit quietly for all but thirty seconds before Trevor is talking about how we need background music. He puts 1989 on shuffle on the tv and Jamie and I roll our eyes perfectly in sync.

“How dare you! Both of you!”

“Honestly, Z, you’re too predictable. Only one person here out of the three of us had Taylor in our Spotify wrapped and I’ll give you a hint, it wasn’t me.” I shrug from behind my box of food. Trevor scoffs before eating an entire dumping whole.

“She was in mine but she was not number one,” Jamie adds insult to injury.

“Okay then, fine. What about this?” Trevor asks, turning on a song by Luke Combs that I’ve never heard. Jamie’s expression is slightly annoyed but delighted all the same. He responds decisively,

“Much better.”

“What?! Am I missing something?” I ask.

“The whole team’s calling him Luke Combs since Jamie’s guitar learning adventure began, but he can only play two chords of one country song.” I look at Jamie for confirmation and he simply nods, biting the inside of his cheek absentmindedly.

“Really, Jame? Two chords?”

“I’m working on it!”

“Yeah, he’s working on it!” Trevor jokingly jumps in to Jamie’s defense, “Like you could do better!”

“Bitch, I can play guitar!” My argument silences both of them immediately. The two boys share a look and then Trevor is off, racing to grab the instrument from Jamie’s bedroom.

“You’re lying, there’s no way.”

“While some of you were busy dedicating a gazillion hours a week to hockey practice, the rest of us expanded our skill sets.” I take the guitar as Trevor hands it to me and situate myself before strumming a quick brush through and immediately cringing. “Your A string is flat.” Jamie looks at me confused, and I extend my hand to take the instrument from him. He yields and passes it over, allowing me to remedy the issue. After tuning the string, I smile and move to hand Jamie the guitar back but he doesn’t move. Instead he nods, urging me to play and I take a deep breath.

“It’s been a while…”

“Oh, don’t back out now!” Trevor teases and I playfully stick my tongue out at him. I adjust my grip, racking my brain for a song, any song. My mind settles on Sweet Creature by Harry Styles and I decide to just go for it. I’m a tad rusty but other than that I have the melody under control. The song is pretty enough on it’s own and I trail off after the first chorus, overcome with a newfound shyness at the looks Jamie and Trevor are giving me. Jamie’s lips are parted in awe and Trevor bursts out laughing.

“You might as well give up now, Jimmy.”

“Lucky for him, I’m an excellent teacher.” I say with a smile, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. Jamie snaps back into reality and begins blushing like crazy.

“I don’t think I’ll ever sound like that.”

“You just need practice. I have a few more years on you so of course I’m gonna sound better than someone who’s just starting. You’ve got this and worse case scenario I can help.”

Jamie smiles sweetly, and my heart skips a beat.

“Will you play it again?”

[houseofpendragons]

New Ideas for HOTD Fashion pt.4

This one’s a little different, considering we’re also going to include Alicent in this little change of costumes 😊

So exhibit A:

The Blue Dress and the Gold. How many times have we seen those now??? Time for a little change. Not only are these the outfits they were when Rhaenyra calls Alicent a WHORE💀 but it’s also the scene where it is revealed that Alicent will be betrothed to Viserys…not long after their appropriate period of grieving had ended.

I feel like Rhaenyra is not entirely out of her grieving period (bc why should she be) and it might be reflected in her clothes with darker tones. Now I don’t imagine her in complete darkness but with some gold peaking through around the sleeves and the neckline, not the complete gold that she wore in the beginning when she was but an innocent child but enough to show a start of an internal struggle. The bits of red could also be a show of her start into maturity and her beginning to take her role as heir more seriously. By having just small amounts of the gold and red that almost seems overshadowed by the seemingly Targaryen black could be a symbol of her standing on the line between her innocence and her duty, being tugged this way and that by her grief. Bc make no mistake she is still in grief, now not only for her mother but in the scene she begins to grieve the loss of Alicent as well. Now Alicent may not be dead but what Rhaenyra deems as her BEST FRIENDS betrayal is far worse than death in her eyes.

As for Alicent she is bordering on (forced) maturity. She’s been subtly flirting and playing the game of courtship, she’s been wearing more of her mothers dresses, but at the end of the day she’s just a little girl and she’s sad as hell and anxious and distraught in both scenes. That could be reflected in many ways, perhaps by her wearing another one of her mother’s dresses but perhaps one of a lighter color as Alicent clings to her innocence that is being stolen away. Green embroidery or a dark velvet green border as a symbol of marriage and motherhood creeping in at the seems to swallow her whole :

These dresses are exactly what I in-vision, the subtle symbolism you can find or weave into these dresses for the moment they are worn speaks volumes. When I see a costume I want it to reflect a character and what they’re going through, their personality, bc a lot of people express themselves through their clothes.

The jewelry would obviously have to change a bit, Rhaenyra was currently not wearing the necklace Daemon had gifted her after he stole Baelon’s egg, and Alicent needs a necklace as well.

For Rhaenyra’s necklace I would make it a combination of these two:

I like the gold as it matches her earrings, as does the rubies, but I also like the symbolism that could be created by adding the diamond as the final hanging gem. A diamond that reflects as it catches the light. Like tears shed and unshed that had and will soon fall down her cheeks.

And with Alicent, I’d expect the same symbolism. Blue fading to green, innocence fading to maturity, a candle turning into a blaze, a Lady becoming a Queen:

(And her earrings could be much the same, with one being a blue and one being a green)

And lastly the hairrr👩‍🦳

For Rhaenyra I imagine something like this:

Nothing too out there, but beautiful and fitting. It would keep it out of her face whilst still holding the beauty of the Targaryen braid and letting her hair flow down straight and free. Combination of kept and free. Rhaenyra has freedom, in her cage.

Alicent was a little more tricky bc I wanted something that was simple, not too regal yet, and still more of her usual style that we saw in her younger years. I stumbled on this:

I like the braided crown, a symbol of the future crown that will come to rest on her head as Queen. I also love that Helaena wears this in her hair, and I like that maybe she stole it from her mother bc she remembers her wearing her hair like that when she was younger. And whilst we have seen Alicent with a braided crown before, this one was more prominent and pulled more forward like an actual crown.

Alright that’s all I’ve got for the outfits in that real and deleted scene between Alicent and Rhaenyra. I’m sure I’ll find more I’d like to see a little differently. I know it won’t change the costumes but hey it’ll give me a little something more to picture in my mind

[n6918]

Ciel needs a new training partner ever since Penny started hanging out with her old friend Ruby again. She has designated Oscar as the optimal candidate and encourages him to relive himself should his urges distract him from training…

Which roughly translates to letting the farm boy have his way with her when she teases him to the point of no return. That skirt of hers is dangerously short, and he can’t resist that Atlesian booty…

"That's it Oscar keep that form up, just 5 more sets~ to go~" Ciel told him, watching Oscar do squats with the bar on his shoulders. He wasn't sure how she had talked her way into being his personal trainer, it just seem to happen at some point. And now here he was being guided through workout routines by Ciel. Which he didn't mind as he had become much more muscular under her supervision, still kind of scrawny but more muscular than he was before.

The only two problems were, one what she made him wear. She had picked out his outfit personally, and he had questions. Dressed in nothing but his tennis shoes and some shorts that seemed to be more like a speedo; he couldn't hide his erection from her. which was mainly caused from the fact that she never wore any panties under her incredibly short skirt with that fat ass of her. The tight sports bra on top didn't help either, showing off her big brown girls to the young man as she flashed him on purpose from below. Oscar could feel her staring at his erection the entire time.

The second problem was how she made him deal with these frustrations of his; after she teased him to the point at which he couldn't keep going, she would make him relieve himself with her. That should be every man's dream, but with how Ceil was it also meant the end of their workout. And probably the end of his evening, as she wouldn't let him go till he couldn't move anymore. If it was a Friday that they were working out on, it was possible that no one would see Oscar till the next Monday; the woman was insatiable.

So as he finished his last set and put the bar on the rack, he could feel her hands behind traveling over his and cupping his manhood. "What a strong boy I've got here~ but looks like you have an issue, let's fix that" Ceil said softly. Turning the farmhand around and slipping her fingers into the elastic band to pull it down just enough to fish out his cock. Lifting her skirt ever so slightly she slid him in to her dripping pussy as he moaned out loud. Ceil pulled Oscar's head into her chest and pulled the sports bra down to give him access to her erect nipples to play with. Well her other hand held onto his butt and began guiding him into her, although with so much practice he didn't need to be told much.

As Oscar fell into the trance that he was quite familiar with at this point, his hands returned to their usual place on Ceil's fat ass. Gripping and squeezing it for leverage as he piston up into the ever so slightly taller girl. Moaning heavily into her chest as he could feel the trimmed pubic hair brush against his skin; Ceil insisted on keeping him clean down there and he like the cute diamond shaped design she had. He knew he wasn't going to last long, he never did on the first one. So it was no surprise when his rhythm went from steady to frantic.

"You going to cum" Ceil mockingly asked "going to cum in mommy~". looking down at him as he stared up at her desperately trying to hold on. He was unable to speak as she tried to match his rhythm with her hips. She was close as well having been edging herself this entire workout. She wanted his thick seed inside her as Oscar always came an unusually large amount. Every time he climaxed inside her the full warm feeling that she had was like no other, she felt incredible when it leaked down her legs when he slipped out of her. In fact the thought of it was making her knees weak at this moment, she needed to be filled up again she thought. 

And then it happened, Oscar being shaking as his cock began to twitch inside her and causing her to begin to cascade. She held onto the bar behind them as she lifted him up by his ass cheek into her, trying to keep him as deep as possible as she clenched around him. Her mouth darted down to capture his lips and siphon away his moan from climaxing in the Atlesian woman. And like usual Oscar came a bucket load into her brown pussy, earning several comments about how full she was. Before she finally let him go and slipped out of her going to hold onto the weights next to him. And like usual his climax didn't seem to do anything for his hard on, still prominent as ever.

"Ahh~ hah~ fuu~ don't forget to hydrate" Ceil told the naïve farmhand. Handing him a water bottle that she had as per usual with aphrodisiac. Watching as he without hesitation drank the whole thing down and tried not to play with his still hard cock. She stood up and walked over to him, sliding her hand around his cock and using it to guide him towards the showers.

"Fuuu~ what a good Friday workout, And what a big load, clearly the workout is working" she teased him by turning around and showing him the sperm leaking out. "But now let's get you cleaned up, I have Friends coming over this weekend and you need to look~ presentable~" The regimented woman said as she checked her digital schedule. They had finished the gym floor fuck five minutes early, giving them 35 minutes for the shower room fuck instead of the usual half hour. Smiling to herself as she lifted her skirt from behind to show Oscar the jewel between her cheeks.

He quickly sped up to hold onto her from behind ready for the workout reward that he could see. Only commenting to her "yes mommy".

(Thanks so much for this on anonymous, I love doing Oscar ones. And this one really vibe with me 😊)

[stabbyfoxandrew]

arsonist Neil, if you're up for it. Happy Wednesday!!

WIP Wednesday (9/4) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 224)

Andrew should have never agreed to this bullshit dinner.

That's more obvious now than it was four days ago when Aaron was here, trying to convince Andrew it would be fine. Andrew isn't sure how it could possibly be 'fine' knowing the history between the three of them, but he said he’d be there. And, unlike his brother, he does not go back on his word. No matter how badly he wants to. (He and 10 are both taping tonight's episode of Supernatural.)

But yes. It is now 6:17 and Andrew is only half dressed. Half because he's been trying for an hour to decide what one should wear to a function they don't want to attend and that is being hosted by someone they do not like. His first thought was to wear some of his older clothes. Something edgy and all black, like he did in college. Hell, he thought about wearing the exact outfit he'd worn that day he met Katelyn in the library. But her memory probably isn't that good. It would be a wasted attempt. Besides, that shirt has a hole in it now. (He dropped a cigarette on it.)

For some reason, Andrew's had 10 on speaker throughout this entire fiasco. He's sent a few photos of options and 10 says he looks good in them all. It's not helpful though. Andrew's not any closer to deciding, but his ego is a bit overinflated. He picks up a pair of dark wash jeans and realizes they're the ones he wore to the cafe the time 10 didn't show. He sets them off to the side, as if they're bad luck, and continues rifling through his closet like something new will appear to him.

"Hey, send me a photo of your closet. I want to see what you’re working with." 10 says when Andrew growls at his stupid clothes for the third time. Andrew has to hold in a laugh.

"No offense 10, but you're not exactly an authority on fashion."

"I could be."

"But you're not. I should be helping you pick out clothes, not the other way around." Andrew says, making 10 huff out a sigh.

"Fine. Maybe I'll let you take me shopping one day," 10 says, making Andrew bite his lip. In theory, it's an amazing idea. Andrew would dress 10 up to his own tastes and ogle him the entire time. But then again, they probably wouldn't get that far. Knowing 10, he'd find a way to sneak out of the dressing room and text Andrew some stupid excuse.

Andrew hums in acknowledgement.

“I know, I know. You think I look like a homeless loser. Well, guess what. I am!” 10 says, making Andrew laugh. “And I know I dress for comfort and practicality over aesthetics, but that's not a bad thing."

"Mm, you're right.”

"So send me a picture of your closet,” 10 demands. Andrew nods to himself and starts to open the camera, but then 10 startles him. “This is fun. I like seeing you dressed up.”

Andrew nearly chokes. “You do? Why?”

"It’s just interesting, I guess. You know, I usually just see you in uniform. Or those old, angry-looking T-shirts you cycle through when you're at home." 10 says, citing Andrew’s hoard of old band shirts from his emo phase. (Not a phase.) Since they first started exchanging selfies, 10 has seen Andrew in half a dozen black shirts with barely legible fonts and always asks what they’re supposed to say. 

Then Andrew reminds him of their deal and 10 sends a photo back. Usually, they’re taken in his hotel room. Sometimes they’re taken outside. Andrew likes those best. The sunlight brings out all the shades of 10’s hair and makes his eyes so pretty. 10’s phone is sort of shit for selfie-taking, since it has no front camera. But 10 does his best and Andrew saves every picture he receives, even when they’re blurry. Even when they’re completely random and stupid, like the display of cookies Walmart had out the other day with the caption, ‘should I get you some? ;)’