#bald as a newborn

[3amfanfiction]

Hot take that’s gonna piss some people off but you better enjoy Johnnys mohawk while you have it.

With that widows peak, our boom-boom bb is going to be bald by the time he hits 40. Bet.

[shirecorn]

hhrhrgh. the Scungle

[manycowboypirates]

Day #3 He's feeling adequately…

✨glamour✨

Perchance quite possibly…

💖Demure💖

[thedevilsrain]

eberbach autism compilation

[knight-engale]

The last 24 hours had been long and restless and frightening. The baby wasn't supposed to arrive for several more weeks. Despite being more than a month early, though, the delivery had gone as smoothly as anyone could have asked. The baby was officially born just as the sun rose on the winter solstice, bigger than anyone had anticipated and as healthy as an early baby could be. Their sweet, darling Alina.

I know today isn't actually the winter solstice in the southern hemisphere, where this would actually take place, but it's the winter solstice where I am and I forgot to draw this in June. I think I'm going to be thinking about this all day now.

@wiltingdecay

[honted]

glad to see im not the only trans masc person with fucking. shoulder hair.

[cryingforcrocodiles]

ppl were so mad at sofyan for his little time wasting moment yesterday. he's literally bald. he has all the time to waste. leave him alone.

[wetslug]

.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hear me out: reader & Bucky have a newborn, and a nurse recommends skin-to-skin for their baby.

(a bunch of fluff where reader encourages Bucky to do skin-to-skin with their newborn baby, because he’s not his past, and he should be quite literally embracing his future)

Skin To Skin » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband/Dad!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Mom!Reader with baby girl Evie

Summary: You and Bucky just had a baby girl and a nurse recommends skin to skin for yours and his baby and you encourage him to do it.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, nicknames/pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator @aliciavikander

You and Bucky gaze down at yours and his newborn baby girl Evie with a look of adoration on your faces. She was born a few hours ago. You and Bucky are completely astonished by her. A nurse comes in the room to check on you guys to see how you, Bucky, and your newborn baby girl are doing, accidentally interrupting the cute moment.

“I’m sorry to break up the cute moment.” The nurse apologizes with a smile. “I just wanted to see how you three are doing.” She says.

“We’re doing amazing.” You say, not taking your eyes off of your daughter.

“You know…” She starts. “Skin to skin contact is really good for newborns.” She recommends.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks.

“It’s simple. You hold your baby against your skin so she can get to know you better.” She explains. “Take your shirt off and I’ll put her on your chest.” She says.

Bucky hesitantly took off his shirt, worried that the nurse would say something about his scars and vibranium arm, but she didn’t. The nurse gently took Evie from your arms and carefully placed her on Bucky’s bare chest. He protectively wrapped his arms around Evie.

“Hi, sweet girl.” Bucky’s voice is soft as he’s talking to his daughter. “I’m your daddy.” He tells her.

“You’re doing such an amazing job, babe.” You say with a smile.

Bucky smiles widely at your praise. Evie made a small cooing noise that made yours and Bucky’s hearts melt with joy. In that moment, Bucky knew he has a new responsibility in his life.

A couple days later, you were released from the hospital and you and Bucky were able to take your baby girl home. You two got settled in with Evie. You were sitting on the couch doing skin to skin with Evie after feeding her. You gently rubbed her back and gave her kisses.

“There’s my girls.” Bucky smiles, walking in the living room and sat down on the couch next to you. “What’re you doing?” He asks.

“I just fed her and now we’re doing skin to skin.” You tell him and kissed the top of Evie’s semi bald head. “You want skin to skin time with her?” You asked.

“I don’t want to ruin your mother daughter moment.” He says.

“It’s ok.” You smile. “I need to take a shower. I smell like a hospital.” You say.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“I’m sure.” You said. “You’re not going to hurt her, Bucky.” You assured him. “You’re her daddy.” You say.

Bucky smiles at your words. He leaned forward to take off his t-shirt and leaned back on the couch. You carefully moved Evie from your chest to Bucky’s chest. Just like at the hospital, Bucky protectively wrapped his arms around her.

“Mama will be right back.” You whispered to Evie and kissed her chubby cheek.

You stood up from the couch and went to the bathroom to take a shower. Meanwhile, Bucky feels a new warmth in his heart while holding his daughter. This is the second time he’s felt that warmth. The first time was when he met you and knew you’re the one for him.

“You know…” Bucky looks at his baby girl. “You have your mommy’s beauty.” He tells her. “You’re just too cute for your own good, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He coos at her.

Evie yawned before looking up at her daddy with her beautiful blue eyes. Bucky smiles at her.

“You have my eyes.” He tells her.

Evie made a cooing noise as Bucky continued to talk to her. As he was talking to her, her small hand was placed on his Army dog tags.

“Do you want to know where I got those, baby girl?” Bucky asks her. “I got them in the Army years ago. Uncle Steve has the same ones with his name on it.” He tells her. “Uncle Steve is your godfather and he’s going to be your favorite uncle. Even though, uncle Sam thinks he has that spot claimed.” He says.

As Bucky continues to talk to Evie, you stopped in the entrance of the living room and leaned against the wall, listening to Bucky talk to yours and his baby girl.

“I’m going to do everything I can to protect you and your mommy.” Bucky tells her. “Your mommy is the love of my life and you’re the light of my life.” He continues. “I learned how to be happy again when I met your mommy.” He says.

His words made your eyes tear up. You walked in the living room and sat down on the couch next to your husband and daughter, giving them a kiss on their cheeks.

“There’s mama.” He coos.

You smile and lay your head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Me and Evie were having a conversation while you were in the shower.” Bucky says.

“I heard the end of it.” You smile. “You vowing to protect us is really sweet of you.” You say.

“I mean every word of it, doll.” Bucky states. “I don’t want anything in this world to hurt you and our precious little girl.” He says.

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. You lifted your head and leaned up, kissing Bucky’s lips sweetly.

“I also heard you say that Steve is going to be her favorite uncle.” You say.

“He is.” He says, smiling widely.

“Wait until Sam hears you say that.” You say with a giggle.

“Evie will be the judge of that. Right, sweetie?” He says, looking at his baby girl.

Evie made a cooing noise at the two of you, making you two smile at her cuteness.

“You’re just as cute as our daughter.” You tell him, kissing his stubbly cheek.

“And she has your beauty.” He tells you.

You smile at your husband and kiss him sweetly again.

“I love you so much, doll.” Bucky says in almost a whisper.

“I love you more, Buck.” You say softly.

“We love you as well, baby girl.” You and Bucky say softly in unison and gave her soft kisses.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[leviraaaaaa]

“Daaa-ddy.”

Levi startles, looking up. The little girl stood before him, all wide eyes and beaming at him.

“Yes? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

She shrugs, then thrusts out a hair brush and a set of scrunchies. “Do my hair today!” She grins.

Levi is taken aback slightly, not at all expecting such a request. It’s not that he had a bad relationship with his daughter really, if anything Levi spends every second that he can spare with her. But even so, it was so sudden and specific, not to mention she has never asked him to do it before. It was you who helped her get ready.

“Doesn’t mommy usually do that?” He asks slowly. “Is she busy?”

She shakes her head quickly. “I just want you to do it today.” She smiles, holding the brush out to him, waiting for him to take it.

Levi glances at it then looks back up. How could he say no to that?

So, without a word, he motions her to turn around which she follows happily, pulling a stool nearby to sit between Levi’s legs. Levi takes the brush, though slightly hard to hold without his missing fingers, he manages, combing through the black silky strands.

Like his.

Though, his own hair was stranded with gray now, a sign of the long years he had lived. Even Ackermans don’t stay young forever.

But it’s still so strange to him, having her here, right in front of him. He still freezes a little when she smiles at him, watching her with awe. She looked almost exactly identical to him, starting from the shape of her face to the color of her eyes, just the exact shade of the silvery blue that his own eyes hold. But there was a brightness in those eyes that Levi doesn't think he ever had. She was like this little ball of sunshine, always so bright.

And her smile, that came from you.

She was his. Yours. Theirs.

A part of him and a part of you. A whole other human being. A child. A blessing.

It was the hardest at thr beginning. For him to get used to it. Despite the 9 months of pregnancy, it was when he first held her that the realization finally hit him. That she was his daughter. His.

And the moment his eyes locked with the newborn, he knew he was doomed.

That there was nothing he wouldn’t do for this small, small, absolutely tiny person that came to earth no more than half an hour ago. That he had just met.

It was crazy how it only took him only a moment for him to swear his life for her, to become so protective. It was actually ridiculous, how he felt anxious even when it was the nurses holding her, he’d been so rigid, so poised. Even when handing her over to someone else’s arms, he had his hand outstretched because just in case. It took a shit load of convincing from you for him to let Jean and Connie hold her.

It was crazier watching her grow up. Never had he felt this ridiculous amount of pure joy and excitement ever. Only to hear her first words, to watch her take her first steps, holding his hand. He swears it was only yesterday.

His chain of thought was cut off as she started to happily chatter about things. Unlike Levi, she talks. A lot. Levi doesn’t mind, he listens quietly. Every once in a while, inserting a comment.

“I’ve read about you. In the history books. Our teacher taught us.”

“Yeah?” He mumbles, brushing softly. “What’d you learn?”

“They called you humanity’s strongest.” She stumbles on the word a little, which was a bit heavy for her usual vocabulary. She turns around to look at him with awe and wonder, wide eyes asking for confirmation. “That’s so cool!”

He only lets out a small hum in response.

"Will I be as strong as you one day?"

"Sure. You already are." He hopes she never needs to be.

“I saw your picture too. And mommy’s. Also, Uncle Connie used to be bald back then.” She finishes with a giggle, the idea of Connie’s lack of hair amusing her. “You were like a superhero, weren’t you daddy?”

“I wouldn’t shoot that far.” He answers with a small smile.

Back then, Levi had never imagined the idea of having a family. There, caged between the walls, surrounded by those tremendous monsters. When there was no guarantee that you’d come back alive once you’re out there. How could he even think of bringing a child to the world, if he couldn’t even do the least that is to promise their safety?

But now, here she runs and plays outside, without a worry in the world, tirelessly. She doesn’t have to starve like Levi had to, she grows up with only all the good the world has to offer. She doesn’t know the worst of how things could be and Levi hopes she never does. She doesn’t yet understand the role Levi and you had played in creating this world, but she does understand the value of it. She asks questions sometimes, about the wheelchair and the eye and the hand. About your scars and why somedays you can't get yourself from bed. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how to answer. And Levi knows, one day, he’ll have to tell her all of it, life back then and the life he had. But for now, he prays, let her grow up with only love and pureness. Let her see the world in her rose colored glasses. Something he never got to do.

She taps Levi’s leg as he bunches the hair to tie a ponytail. “Do braids.” She says.

“Braids? Don’t you always wear a ponytail?” Levi asks.

“Yes, but,” She tries to explain, stumbling for words. “Tash always pulls by it.”

Tash was one of her classmates, Levi knew from her frustrated rants about him. From what he could gather, neither liked each other much. “Next time he bothers you, you do the thing that I taught you.” He tells her.

“The thing with my hands?” She asked brightly, balling her hands to show him.

“Hey, no beating up kids at school. Levi!” You appear in the doorway, only catching the last bit of the conversation. “Don’t give her ideas. And you,” You look at your daughter who was smiling smugly. “I’ve been looking for you–wait, is Levi doing your hair?” You say, finally noticing and very surprised.

‘Yes!” She replies excitedly, “He’s doing braids! He’s very slow though.”

Levi playfully pats her head. “It’s because you keep moving.” He sighs. “Must you need braids? I’m not sure if I can–”

“Yes.”

Levi was about to say something else until she turned around, giving him the most adorable pout ever, eyes all round and needy, her brows pinched together. “Please?” She asks sweetly.

Well damn.

Levi tries, he really tries. But the word no somehow managed to disappear from his vocabulary, along with all of its synonyms. So he sighs, nodding.

“Levi, I can–” You start.

“It’s okay.” He puts up a hand, stopping you. He doesn’t know much about the process, but he’s spent enough time watching you do her hair. So he thinks he can manage it. “I can do it. Probably.” He says uncertainty.

It was slightly difficult to manage multiple sections of hair when you’re missing two fingers, but even surprising himself, he does manage it, after a few attempts. A little uneven, but works.

"Happy?" He asks her, patting her head.

It was good enough for the girl, who jumped up right after it was finished and cheered happily as an answer to Levi. She jumps to his arms, pulling him by the neck to plant a big smooch in his cheek.

“You're the best.” She beams at him, then running off to grab her bag which was by the door.

“Wow, mommy’s nonexistent now?” You fold your arms in mock offense.

She doesn’t answer, only picks up her bag and runs to hug you full speed, wrapping herself around your knees. “I love you.” She calls out, then turns to Levi. “And I love you too! I'm leaving now!”

Then she was out the door before you could say I love you back.

“Don’t run, you’ll fall.” Levi calls out to her, who was already far out of hearing range.

You closed the door. Then leaned against it, staring at Levi.

Levi looked away, cheeks heating up slightly, noticing the strange way you were staring at him, already knowing what comes after.

“So.” You said.

“So, what?” He said, glancing at you.

“Where'd you learn how to do braids?"

He huffs. "From you. I watched you do it.''

"Really?' It was so cute you could melt.

“Stop looking at me like that.” He grunts. “She’s my girl. I can do her hair sometimes, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“So, I’m not your girl?” You pout, exactly the same expression your daughter made just moments ago. “How come I don't I get braids?”

“I–” Levi starts, then huffing frustratedly. He can’t even say no to his daughter, who was he to say no to the mother? He tries nevertheless.

“I’m not doing it. Stop looking at me like that.”

You did not look away, pouting out your lips more.

“I won’t.”

You blinked, turning your expression sadder.

Levi gives up.

“C’mere.” He sighs.

[anjelicawrites]

Homophrosyne

Paring: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader Synopsis: homophrosyne: a thinking and knowledge that is shared between two people. When your soulmate decides to come after you, you try to escape him. Too bad he’s Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, he’s never going to give you up. Warnings: blink and miss reference to the Baron’s abuse of Feyd, blink and miss reference to Feyd killing his mother, soulmate bonding considered as a curse, Feyd being very done and also horny, Feyd’s fascination with reader’s hair and body hair, switch!Feyd, switch!reader, attempted murder (not from Feyd to reader), murder, kissing, oral (f and m receiving), hair pulling, titty sucking, biting, blood licking, overstimulation, marking, Feyd’s pierced cock, a bit of ball torture. A/N: reader is AFAB, the only descriptor is that they have long hair. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.

You were one year old when you first learn that having a soulmate is more akin to a catastrophe, than a blessing. You shouldn’t remember the horrified gasp both your Bene Gesserit and your adoptive mother had exhaled, when they discovered your soulmate’s words on your body, yet you retrieved the memory when your Bene Gesserit mother taught you how to meditate. The two women had instilled the distrust of the bond in your heart, in hope to avoid what was unavoidable: the gravitational pull between two soulmates, before the forging of the bond.

Was the universe conspiring to realize this goal, when you felt compelled to follow your soulmate’s energy, the dark thread that pulled you towards him during that fateful afternoon you were meditating all alone? How could that sad, bald boy be a curse? He looked so alone in the big, dark room: how could you not go to him, when you felt him so strongly within yourself, for the first time?

All your parents, both biological and adoptive seemed keen in convincing you that stunting the newborn bond was the safest way for you to live: you couldn’t break you adoptive father’s heart when you had seen how ashen his face had become as soon as you told him the name of your destiny. You were but a child of six, still learning the ways of the world and put all your energies in forging a wall between you and him, learning to ignore the tug of your soul towards him, until you could pretend you never visited him.  It was a fool’s errand, a wall made of feathers, not bricks, the one you, so desperately, crafted to make your family happy. Through the cracks, tendrils of the bond had, slowly, made way for themselves, as you deluded yourself with believing you were safe, that you could escape your destiny. You were a fool, your whole family was. He was biding his time, patiently waiting for the tendrils to envelop the bricks of your defenses and destroy them: if his uncle had taught him something, was the patience of the spider that weaves its web and you, little fly, were going to be ensnared. It was destiny, after all.

You haven’t seen him since that fateful encounter. Stupidly your brain expected him to still be a child of five, sad and alone the way you first met him, you struggle to recognize him in the grown man observing you like a predator would its prey. 

“Found you.” He says, his voice a gravelly drawl that makes goosebumps explode on your dream skin. 

He’s grown, dream you thinks, of course he’s an adult now.

“You are a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” He deadpans.

There’s a sort of tenderness in his blue eyes, in the way he assess you from his perch. The irony doesn’t escape you, your first meeting had happened in his bedchambers, your positions the same: him sitting on the bed, you standing in front of him, two curious children who had been playing with forces beyond their understanding.

You want to look everywhere but at him, yet your eyes are drawn to his naked form under the black bed sheets, the strong planes of his hairless chest and the raw, masculine energy you feel coming from him in waves. Even though this is a dream, you can feel your dream body react to his non-presence, your nipples stiffen under the soft cotton of your nightgown and your cunt pulsates with the need to be filled by him. 

“You have no idea.” You growl back.

His dark gaze travels down your body, clad only by the soft material of your nightgown and you have to steer yourself from covering your skin from the hunger in his gaze.

“Join me.” He says, beckoning you with one hand. “You know you want to.” “You’ll soon realize how little you know about me.” You spat back, disgusted by the desire coursing through your dream body.

You know that, if you were to follow the desperate howl of need you feel, the pleasure he’ll give you will be unparalleled, it will ruin anyone else for you. There will be no escaping.

With a speed that only exists in a dream, he stands in front of you, glorious body naked, pierced cock erect and straining towards you.

“Why make this harder than it should be? You’re made for me and I am made for you. It’s no use fighting this.” He drawls, the sound a low rumble you feel in your bones. “Because I forge my own path. And I have no use for a fool.”

You’re surprised by how firm your voice is, all the training kicking in without you even thinking about it; he laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through you.

“I’m coming for you, soulmate.” He says, his voice calm, his tone final and sure. “If you can find me.” “I always know where you are.” 

You force yourself to wake up, body sweaty and aroused under the soft cotton of your own sheets; you’re ashamed by the desire that burns your body, and by the fact that you have to bury your fingers in your wet cunt, forcing yourself to come again and again, biting your pillow to stifle the desperate moans of his name: Feyd.

To leave both your biological and adopted family is the only solution you have, not when you have to tell your mothers and fathers that Feyd coming for you is not an ‘If’ anymore, but a ‘When’.

“It is too slim a chance that he will not come after you, in the end.” Your mentat father repeats you in the vain hope to stop you. “I’d rather seize that, than wait like a sitting duck!” “You can’t run forever.” Your adoptive father puts his big hands on your shoulders, stopping you from packing. “You’re safer here, where guards are.”

You stare at him, your trained eye sees the stunted micro expressions and the way he’s trying to hide his anxiety from you.

“I’m not sacrificing our people’s on his blade, he will stop once he’ll realize that I have no interest in him and that he can’t reach me; Harkonnen care more about power than anything else. And then I will be able to come home.”

You have to keep yourself awake, swallowing pills after pills, using all your training to force your exhausted body to endure the never ending trip to the furthest limit of the Imperium, jumping from a smuggler vessel to another, hiding your true path from Feyd by trying to use the bond to manipulate him into going on a wild goose chase. 

Sometimes you can hear the low rumble of his voice like an echo in your mind, his fleeting image randomly appears in your mirror, his dark eyes pools of desire that have you tremble in the deepest recess of your core; you're so tired now that you don’t know if it’s the bond becoming stronger, or your exhausted brain running on fumes that makes you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch on your skin or his presence by your side. It is torture not to follow what your body wants: just let yourself become one with your soulmate, and rest in the safety of his presence. You are too stubborn to surrender yourself to biology, and to Feyd, so you soldier on, blocking him out as much as you can as the bond erodes the last, frayed, defenses you have left.

Hidden under a false name you wait to set sail to the last leg of your journey and you have to bundle yourself into thick layers of clothes to survive the frigid weather of this small planet, as you force yourself get a breath of fresh air whenever the walls of your rented room seem to become smaller and smaller. It’s paranoia, yet you seem to feel the eyes of the owner of the inn scan you every time you go out, weighting you against the other patrons and finding you too different to truly blend in: when is the vessel coming? You ask yourself again and again, as you navigate the crowded market, vibrating with the need to simply go and finish this demented trip.

You walk aimlessly, pressed in the crowd that protects and smothers you at the same time, trying to interest yourself in the trinkets sold while you study your surroundings, feeling the power you have on the simulflow slip: as much as the Bene Gesserit have total and utter control on their body and its functions, there’s still a limit, and you know you are reaching it at full force.

When you see him, for a second you think that’s your brain playing tricks on you: he can’t be here, not without you feeling him through the bond. Have you finally lost your mind? You can’t truly analyze what’s happening that your body seizes, torn between the extreme stress you’ve put it under for weeks, and feeling the bond finally snap and settle; you faint on the cobbled road, all your muscles trembling violently, your head banging against the pavement as the people make room around you, your ears deaf to their horrified screams, or to Feyd calling your name.

Finally you can rest.

You open your eyes to a dull ache in the back of your head, your eyes focusing slowly on the rustic woodwork of the ceiling above you as you feel your mind assess your memories, and block Feyd from knowing you’re awake, out of sheer instinct, knowing full well this is going to work partially: you will need to face the man, not now though, you’re not ready. You want to assess the bond, understand it: what you haven’t done in your entire life. Escaping is not in the cards anymore, now that Feyd knows where you are, you just need some more time, before you can face him. You’re still surprised he’s been apt enough to manipulate the bond to this extent: you thought he was wasting time in a wide goose chase! This level of deviousness leaves you speechless and, if the circumstances were different, you’d be happy to take Feyd as your lawfully wedded husband; but you can’t.

You have no idea how long you’ve been out, probably long enough to feel your strength and clarity being restored, albeit partially. Quick and silent you bundle yourself up in your warmest clothes and throw the survival kits you have in the backpack, before opening the window and use your mentat training to assess the best route to escape the village, using the roofs as your route. Feyd will realize soon enough that you’re gone again and you need to cover as much ground as you can manage. This planet is so backward, even compared to the standards of this side of the galaxy, that the only mode of transportation is on horseback; for a split second you consider stealing one form one of the stables of the inn, but that would bring too much attention to yourself, and you don’t need that.

Feyd reaches you when you’ve arrived at the high cliffs, the only known feature of this small planet. You knew he’d be on your tracks as soon as he’d realize you weren’t asleep anymore, the block on the bond only partially shielding you from his awareness: you have to confront him, finally, but on your own terms, not his. 

“Stay where you are!” You shout over the howling of the wind, as soon as he dismounts from the horse. “If you come any closer I’m chucking myself off this cliff!”

You see Feyd stop on his tracks immediately, and you know he knows, through the bond, that you’re not lying.

“This is the moment you turn around and go back to your home planet!” You shout. “You know I can't do that.” “No one is forcing your hand!”

Your foot slips a little but you manage to regain your balance; a shot of pure, unadulterated fear courses through the bond: it's Feyd’s and it takes your breath away.

“Come closer!” He shouts over the violent wind. “I don't trust you, Harkonnen!”

Frustration, anger, sadness all explode through the bond and you know he's forcing himself not to jump at you and drag you off the cliff, kicking and screaming, even risking you jumping backwards; with the bond having settled, the connection is unavoidable, thus keeping him out completely will never work, there will always be a part of him linked to your soul.

“I'm not going to hurt you!” “You’d never be able to! Not even in a million years!”

Frustration again, and a hint of amusement: he believes his swordsmanship to be better than yours. You fight back, focusing all your anger on him, the strength of it pushing him backwards.

“You can try to best me!” He shouts.

He's positively amused now, despite the situation, he finds you amusing! You're so incensed you’d carve his eyes out! And you’d do so, if fat drops of rain didn't start pelting the two of you, drenching the two of you to the bone in seconds. The sky has turned black and the wind is so violent that you have to abandon your perch on the cliff and get closer to Feyd.

“There's…” You try to make yourself heard over the brutal howling. “Caves!” You shout, pointing to the point where the cliffs fall directly into the ocean. “Go back!” He shouts back. “Too far!”

The crack of a too close thunder scares the horse. The animal rears violently on his hind legs, forcing you and Feyd to move aside before it runs away, mad with fear. You elect to ignore that Feyd has put himself between you and the scared horse.

“We need to go!” You shout, pulling the hood tighter over your head.

You're drenched to the bone and so cold that it's only thanks to the prana-bindu training that you're not trembling like a leaf. Feyd doesn't look any better than you do: his black clothes have absorbed all the water possible and are sticking to his long body; it's the light shade of blue of his lips that’s concerning: without the horse, going back to the village is impossible in this weather: you two need to find refuge as soon as possible! 

You don't need to tell him, you simply start walking, trying to orient yourself under the wall of rain that's still pouring over you two to find the cave system you know exists in the cliff that slopes into the ocean. 

The wind makes walking a feat, you have to bend forward and push against the violence of the element. Through the bond you feel Feyd and the strain his own body is put under to follow your path, how cold he feels; and it’s affecting you as well. A full grown bond between soulmates it’s not that different from the Other Memory, yet it’s deeper. It’s not simply sharing one’s ego, it’s fusing two cores, while maintaining one’s consciousness: the most deep connection of two people’s experiences, lives and feelings, the biological need to help and protect the other side of the bond. What you’re desperately trying to fight.  On a genetic level you want to share your prana-bindu control over to Feyd, to protect him from the chill in his bones, your rational mind stops you from doing so and you’re torn between those two needs battling in your chest.

You two stumble inside the first opening you see and keep walking until you two are away enough from the draft coming from the mouth of the cave; you two quickly scope it, and you finally let your back rest against the cold stones when it is apparent that there’s only one way in and out.

“What is this place?” Feyd’s voice is even lower, raspy with tiredness. “Bandit’s cove. The ruling House of this constellation has eliminated the threat years ago and never went through the hassle of emptying the whole cave system. Some reports say that no planetologist ever studied it as a whole.”

All around the two of you lay broken pieces of furniture and even older equipment, perhaps you two can even find some dry blankets to add to what you have in your survival kits.

The slap of Feyd’s over layers of clothes being thrown on the floor snaps you out of your thoughts: another side effect of being in the presence of one’s soulmate is the instinctual fall of every self-protection response, and you didn’t even realize it’s happening to you!

“We need to start a fire.” Feyd tells you.

You force yourself to ignore the way the remaining layers of wet clothes cling to his long body, enhancing the strong muscles as he moves around to break the furniture into smaller pieces; you know he knows you’re watching, and he likes it. Hurriedly you open your backpack, looking for matchsticks, hoping they are all still dry in the deepest pocket of the survival kit, electing to ignore his smugness again: you don’t know what will happen between you two, one thing is certain, you will slap that smirk off his face, probably sooner than later. 

“You shouldn’t threaten me with the promise of a good time, if you’re not going to deliver.” He drawls, and you feel warmth explode in your body.

You throw the matchsticks at him, who grabs it blindly, too focused on creating a small pile of wood to look towards you; despite the shaking of his hands he manages to start the fire. You get closer to the small flames and let your palms hover for a moment, knowing full well you have to change into the dry clothes in your pack; Feyd doesn't seem to care that you're there, he simply removes the remaining layers covering his torso, before rummaging through his own backpack.  You can't help yourself, you stare, almost transfixed, at the way his muscles move and play under his white skin, the tight control he has on his movements scream of the training he had subjected himself to: he is so powerful and a part of you wonders how sheathing him within yourself would feel, how would your body manage the feat; you turn around as quickly as you can when he stares at you, embarrassed by having let your mind wonder.

“Are we still playing this game?”

Again, amusement floods from his side of the bond, surprising you. 

“It's common decency.” “Was it when you were ogling me?” “I wasn't. I was thinking and you were in the way. Now will you turn around?” “You are weird.” He says, cocking his head to the side. 

He talks! You think. Has he ever looked at himself in a mirror? Do they even have mirrors on Giedi Prime?

“We do have mirrors. It would surprise you how common those are back home.”

You jump at his answer, not being used to having someone else camping in your head.

“Stay out of my mind!” “Easier to say than to do.”

He's right and you know it. You know he's not watching as you undress and unpack the dry clothes from their protective layers, yet you feel his presence, his warmth, as if he were touching you; you shiver, you can't help it, the deeper, the baser triggers of your biology taking over a lifetime of training.  It is strange, having to manage the rapidly growth of his soul inside of you, find a balance between yourself and him: you can alter your body functions all you want, yet you can't stop yourself from feeling what Feyd does, his tiredness, the warmth seeping back in his bones, his hunger and not only for food. 

Now you understand why the Bene Gesserit are so wary of marked sisters.

You try to focus on your body, the flow of your breath and the movements of every single muscle as you change clothes and then eat. You had thought you could have simply shelved the bond in one of the planes of the simulflow, but it encompasses everything and slithers in your every thought. You are not sure how you're supposed to be still yourself and house Feyd inside of you, manage his presence and the layers of your being: is this tiredness in your bones yours? A leftover from having abused pills for too long, or is it him?

“I’ll stand guard, you sleep.” He tells you after you both have finished eating. “I'm not sleeping with you awake.” “Afraid I might steal you away?” “Would you?” “I don't know. Would I?”

His eyes focus on yours as you feel him poke you through the bond. 

“How come you're so apt at this?” You ask, needing to change the subject and fishing for information.  “I reckon one of us has to, after you blocked me out. It came handy in the long run.” His full lips twist in a smirk and you can see he hasn't the black pain on his teeth; isn’t the na Baron supposed to wear that? “Both of us sleeping is dangerous. If I truly wanted to take you, I would have done so when you fainted in the middle of the street.” “This planet is safe, all the reports say so.” You retort back.  “And you know because you’ve read all of them.” He answers, sarcasm tinging his voice.

So he doesn't know, you realize. Even though he knows how to manipulate the bond better than you do, what you are hasn't seeped through, yet. 

He will, though, soon enough. 

“If you're tired, I am tired. It's irritating.”

It's more than that, it fucks with both your rogue mentat and Bene Gesserit training: it’s harder to understand how to live with another’s soul inside of yours when you feel like you’re battling running on fumes. You know he knows you're not telling the truth, not the whole of it, but the sharing between you two is still happening: you two aren't completely barren to one another. 

“We sleep with our backs to the stone and I am laying in front of you. That's not negotiable.” “Don't tell me an Harkonnen has developed the ability to care.” You bark. “I trust my knives more than any report.” He answers. 

He's not lying, you realize, he’s not being a gentleman, he simply believes more in his swordsmanship, than he does anything else.

You huff and busy yourself with creating an insulation layer, by putting on the stone floor the ancient blankets stored in one of the trunks Feyd used to feed the fire, before opening your sleeping bag. 

Before laying down, you hang all your wet clothes on a small trunk, as close to the fire as possible, hoping they will dry through the night. Feyd does the same and you can't help but notice the stark difference between your earthly tones and his solid black. He then lays the blankets from your survival packs, and his, over the sleeping bags, hoping to ward the cold and humidity away; it’s not ideal but it’s just for one night, back home he’ll shower you will the comforts that come with being his spouse, because you’re going back to Geidi Prime with him.

Uneasy you slither inside your sleeping bag. Hiding a small dagger under the pillow you turn to face Feyd, who is lying on his back; you’d rather sleep on your other side, but you still don’t trust him.

Despite all odds, you fall asleep, a deep, dreamless slumber that envelops you in darkness and quiet; beside you Feyd sleeps the sleep of the hunter, light and ready to be awoken by the gentlest of sounds. He has to force himself not to follow you into the deep sea of unconsciousness, has to fight the natural soulmate instinct to lose all survival instinct, because one’s other half is finally by their side.

The sudden stop of the rainfall is what awakens him. In the darkness he can make out your features, slackened with the relaxation of sleep. A stray lock of hair has escaped the loose plait you braided to help dry them; he longs to move it out of your face, feel the actual texture and not the phantom he does through the bond, but then you would wake and he just wants to observe you. You are beautiful to him in the way nothing is permitted to be on Giedi Prime, you’re also a headache and a half, trying to send him on a wild goose chase and still rejecting him. It would have almost worked, if he hadn’t gone through the pains of learning the ways of the bond, while you had been rejecting it ever since you two were children. He had to be devious about it, hiding from his uncle, pretending to ignore it to not incur in his wrath again and he had to do it all on his own, alone and abandoned by you, who never visited him again. He’ll know soon enough if your family had punished you for having a soulmate, for wearing his words on your skin, the way his uncle did when he first saw the words hidden in the crease of his right thigh.

You become restless in your sleep at this thought, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do.

The long years you left him alone in navigating the bond, he had hated that you left him to his own devices, had imagined to hurt you as punishment for the wall you had built between you two, had longed for you and punished himself for it. When he saw you again, in that too short dream, he felt like he had received a personality transplant: all his rage gone, substituted by this array of feelings foreign to him, that he couldn’t name, and lust for your body. There’s no love, nor gentleness on Giedi Prime, or in the Harkonnen family, yet all he could think was that his daggers existed to protect you, that he would never raise his hand in anger against you. Even on that cliff, where he was ready to just drag you by the hair away from danger, it wasn’t because he wanted to hurt you, just protect you; and you’re making everything so difficult, stubborn little thing that you are.

“Is it always going to be like this?” Your voice is a light murmur, your eyes stubbornly closed. “You think while I am asleep, thus waking me up, Feyd?”

It’s the first time you’ve used his name, still emerging from your slumber your defenses are lowered, or so you like to think.

“You’ll learn.” He says. “You could have had a head start.” “You’re such an asshole.” You growl back, opening your eyes.

His face is not fully turned towards you, mindful of the distant opening of the cave, and you can only observe his profile. He’s as handsome, his features only enhanced by the lack of hair, as much as he’s devious and smart: of course he hits all the targets with you, the universe shaped him for you, if only…

Before you let your thoughts wander anymore, you stand up abruptly and start collecting your belongings.

“And you are making this harder than it should!”

You can feel his rage through the bond, it hurts you, yet you know this is the only course of action.

“Why can’t you understand there’s no other way? I’m not coming to Giedi Prime with you, and I am not bringing you home with me!”

Now it’s his turn to stand up, his massive hand curls around your arm and even through the layers of clothing you can feel his warmth, his words on your skin burning.

“I’m not some stray puppy you found at the side of the road!” He bites back.

Before you can answer, from the darkness, countless knives fall upon you two.

The cave you two have camped in must have had another entrance, hidden, because there’s men pouring in from everywhere. Before you and Feyd can go back to back, you two are separated, forced to parry and dodge the hail of stabbing and blows. The more people you two wound and kill, the more appear; they seem to focus mainly on Feyd, who is fighting brutally, cutting through the wall of men that’s, inexorably, closing upon him, in the vain attempt to reach you and the exit from the cave. You’re backed against a wall, desperately trying to carve your way out, but more men jump you and you know you’ve been wounded.

Feyd is one of the finest fighters of the whole Imperium, fast and cunning, but he’s just one man against a never ending sea and as much strength and speed you can infuse your movements, you two outnumbered, you realize, assessing the situation with the inward calm you have been lacking these past few weeks. Knowing that there’s only one solution doesn’t scare you, perhaps it’s the key to solve this entire issue. You focus on the four men blocking you against the stone wall: you forget the daggers in your hands, forget the pain coursing through you body and simply concentrate all your energies on your vocal cords.

“Kill all your companions!” You order, knowing full well how hard it is to use the Voice on a group of people.

The four stop their advance and stare at you, confused, as if assessing your words, before turning around and attacking their own friends.  The ensuing chaos is what you and Feyd need to gain the upper hand and cut through the whole host of enemies, now too stunned to pose a threat anymore, until only the four you used the Voice on are still standing.

Another person would be horrified by the look in their eyes at the realization that they have help massacre their own people, you can’t find it in your heart to care.

“Finish the job!” You bark, too busy to assess your internal damages to observe the ensuing bloodbath.

You let your body fall onto the ground, you know you have some broken ligaments in you ankle and a gaping wound on your side; and your cells proliferating hurts more than being stabbed.

You feel, more than hear, Feyd kneel by your side.

“You’re one of the witches.”

Surprise courses through the bond, a sneer tinges his deep voice; perhaps this is the way to convince him to let you go.

“My birth mother was, still is in a way. She’s just given me renegade training, ah!”

Your body tenses when a fractured rib snaps back into place.

“No Bene Gesserit can be marked by soul words.”

“That’s what they want everyone to believe.” You open your eyes and fix your gaze upon him. “Marked sisters exists, like my mother. They are a minority and are not fully trusted to follow whatever is the Bene Gesserit end goal.”

A cursory check of your injuries shows you that you’re left with minor scrapes.

“Feyd, you don’t want to associate yourself with the mess that’s my family. And I can’t let the Baron have any control over my training.”

The training your birth parents forced upon you as protection against your soulmate, the training that makes you accepting the bonding so dangerous. Idiots, all of them! And you as well!

You let your head fall back against the stone, in your mind eye you can see yourself the way Feyd does, still bloodied and covered in perspiration, the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his entire life.

“You’d really think I would let my uncle play you like a puppet on a string?” “You know you’re a pawn in his game. Everyone in your family is, and I can’t risk him using me to gain even more power.”

Sadness fills the bond, it comes from you in waves; you’re not telling him the whole truth, though, he realizes, this is but one of the reasons why you’ve been avoiding your shared destiny.

“That is not a problem anymore.”

Your eyes snap open and land on his white teeth, again.

Why isn’t he wearing the black paint? He’s the na Baron, he’s supposed to! You finally let yourself analyze this change in him. The only reason why he’s stopped…

“Yes.” The low drawl of his voice halts your rambling thoughts. “I had to follow you around the Imperium, right after my beloved uncle passed away, unexpectedly. A shame I couldn't mourn him properly.”

Flashes explode through the bond: the Emperor’s Truthsayer, the body of the old Baron on the floor, his neck broken. Feyd says ‘beloved’ but you can detect no love towards the old man.

“You passed the test. You couldn’t be accused of anything.” “Accidents happen, soulmate. Some are happier than others.” He deadpans.

Another flash: child Feyd, why is he naked? Why is his uncle there with him? You feel his pain, his shame, your words on his body. Pain! You feel like you can’t breathe when you see though his child eyes the blade, and his mother's lovely eyes. Great Mother protect us! Hate, respect, greed, hate so much of it, having to scheme every single second, knowing death and only death.

You lose control of your feelings and thoughts, flooding the bond with hate, and the images of what you would have done to the old man, for what he had put Feyd through.

“I’m glad he’s passed, I wouldn’t have been able to wait for an accident to happen.” You say. “And I wouldn’t have passed the test.”

Pride comes from him, and relief, like a warm embrace and it would be so easy to surrender to him, to your destiny.

“Why are you still trying to run?” 

Feyd’s voice is so low, you feel his words more than hear them, warm they settle in your lower belly and you want nothing more than to let yourself go.

“Because having a soulmate is a curse, don’t you understand?”.

Gently you take his hand. His palm is so big and warm, with your fingers you trace the callouses his training left behind; you don’t trust yourself to share this memory without skin on skin contact.

Now it’s Feyd’s turn to see through your eyes and, at the same time, from the outside, like a spectator, you as a child of one year old and two women fussing around you, he knows it’s your mothers, one biological, the other adopted. He feels your panic when your biological one brushes your hair and sees the newly formed words hidden by your thick locks, the wail that leaves the two women’s mouths: what have you done wrong? 

“My Bene Gesserit mother had a goal, all of them do.” You say, your hand still holding his. “She wanted to show the sisterhood she could be trusted, even with the soul words on her skin, that a marked sister could be as trustworthy as an unmarked one. Then she met my father.” “The heir to his House.” “His mentat.” You smile at his surprise. “I told you my family is a mess. They forgot their training, their loyalties, only their bond existed. It was only the sheer respect my adoptive parents held for my father, that saved them. They couldn’t even raise me as their own, and I have to believe having a soulmate is a blessing?” “It is not. But I’d rather work with it, than against it. Think of what we could achieve together.”

Oh, his cunning brain. You were bought up reciting the Litany Against Fear, but he had been the one truly growing up following it and you have been acting like a fool for your entire life: you can’t inherit your adoptive father’s dukedom, you will have to take a husband to share the power, as the laws of the Imperium force you to. Would you rather marry a stranger, maybe stupid and short sighted, or someone as cunning and ruthless as Feyd is? Why did your whole family never thought of this? Your adopted parents were terrible at their jobs, they were so painfully short sighted, thus crippling you!

“Enjoy this moment because I will never say this again: you’re right.”

Feyd grimaces at your words and his pain takes hold of the bond, he can’t keep it under control anymore. 

Your hands cup his face and you push your forehead against his: you’re not sure you’re doing this right, not without feeling him under your palms.

“What are you doing?” He manages to say. “I’m trying to assess your internal damages, shut up.”

Your nails embed themselves in the soft skin covering his skull as you feel every cell of his body as if they were yours: strained muscles and ligaments, one shoulder hurts and edema is forming, what else? You pinpoint the stray point of a broken rib that has ruptured his spleen: he’s bleeding on the inside!

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry.”

Your lips connect with his to force his body to heal, his muscles to move the stray point of the rib back where it is supposed to be and mold itself to the stump, his spleen to close the wound and reabsorb the non clotted blood. Under your hands his body twists and you have to use your prana-bindu strength to keep him in place, until you’re done and every injury has healed.

“What was that?” He asks against your lips, his breath coming out harsh and fast. “A witch never explains their tricks.”

Amidst the dead bodies and the blood, Feyd kisses you, his tongue in your mouth eager, your soft breasts against the solid planes of his chest: you taste better than anything he’s ever eaten, the metallic tang of your own blood only enhances his need to absorb you within himself. You straddle him and you feel his cock, hard and thick, you can’t help but grind against him, reveling in the pleasure and the pain he feels: battling the bond and your desire towards him is impossible now.

“Not here.” You manage to moan when he releases your mouth. “Dangerous.” “Still bossing me around.” He groans when you don’t stop grinding against his erection. “I thought you liked it.”

Disengaging from one another is hard, it’s a miracle you two manage, drunk as the two of you are on post-fight adrenaline, murder and lust.

“No bandits, eradicated.”

You feel his eyes on your body, the heath behind his words: he’s not mad at you, he’s hungry. He’d have you in this mass grave, if he knew no more assailant would come. 

“Who would have come and check? No one cares about this planet.” You answer.

You two make a quick work of all your belongings and head back to the village you came from.

The sky is still dark, covered by clouds that promise rain, the thick forest that surrounds the path looms on you and Feyd; perhaps there’s more enemies hidden and ready to attack. Through the bond you feel Feyd’s readiness for a fight, he’s also ashamed of having almost lost in front of you. What should you do? How does one comfort a Giedi Prime native? Would he even accept your words?

You jump out of your skin when the horse appears from the forest. The poor animal looks worse for wear, having hidden from the storm somewhere, yet it lets you grab the reins and caress his mane, before it allows you and Feyd to mount his back and rush back to the village.

You hug Feyd from behind, your arms as tight as possible around the bloody backpack and his torso as wind and rain whip your face.  Despite the awkwardness of your temporary position, you feel lust grow in your belly, now that you’re not fighting the bond. You know that a part of it comes from Feyd, from having wanted you for years, from having tried to quench his thirst in the arena and with concubines who, he imagined, looked like you. The rest is all you. No lover you had ever managed to satisfy you: none of them was truly built for you the way he is and now that your know what he tastes like, you know you’re hooked and lost forever. How stupid you had been in letting the fears of your family dictate your actions, depriving yourself of him and chipping at your own strength: so much time lost!

The horse almost collapses in front of the inn, tired and foaming at the mouth it drinks from the waterhole in front of the building and ignores you and Feyd dismounting.

The owner of the inn pales when he sees you two, you can only imagine the ways Feyd might have threaten him, while you were out of commission; you don’t feel sorry though, you will, but not now, all you care is climb back to your room and fuck your soulmate until you both collapse. You feel Feyd’s eyes burn holes in your back, his lust for you clouding his senses; it spills trough the bond and you almost choke on your own saliva with the force of it. In your entire life you’ve never wanted someone as bad as you do Feyd right now, only decency stops you from taking him on the creaky stairs.

The door locking behind is final: you have nowhere else to run and hide.

You throw your backpack on the floor and turn around to truly observe your soulmate. He’s imposing in the small room, impossibly tall and hulking, he blocks your way out; only now you notice the freckles scattered on his cheekbones and you think how out of character that is: he’s Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the psychotic Baron of Giedi Prime, his name puts the fear of the Gods, old and new in the hearts of men, and he has freckles so light you can barely see them.

Slowly you walk towards him and lift the tip of your finger to trace them, creating constellations on his skin; Feyd lets a low groan of pleasure escape his lips at your soft touch. One day your words on his skin will stop pulsating when you touch him, his cock will not stand into attention immediately, just because he’s got a sniff of your smell; one day, in the distant future, now he moves his head to capture your fingers with his lips, sucking the digits in with a low moan. Your mouth finds his pulse point and latches there, your teeth worry the soft skin, your tongue licks his heady taste: you want to devour this man, mark him as yours for everyone to see.

“I might need a quick shower.” You murmur in his ear.

Fast, faster than what you would have expected, one of his hands grabs your hair (God the way he groans at the touch), the other lands possessively on your hip.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He growls, menacingly.

You find yourself slammed against the wall, unceremoniously, his hand the only protection for your head. You feel the recoil in your whole body, you want to cuss him, but his mouth is on yours, hungry, his teeth ready to draw blood from your lower lip. You plaster yourself against him, grab at his back with desperate hands as you reciprocate the kiss, blindly following his taste, deaf to the sound of your teeth clumsily clashing against his: you’ve kissed many, but no one had felt like him, tasted the way he does.

You try to push the two of you away from the wall and towards the bed, but your strength liquefies when Feyd simply stands his ground and plasters himself better against your writhing body.

“I should let you hang like this as punishment, soulmate. Tease you until you cry.”

You let your eyes roll for a moment at the heath in his words, then your teeth snap again on the soft skin of his neck and the moan that leaves his lips tells you that there’s more to this man, than his harsh exterior and his reputation.

You pull at the soft skin with jerky movements, clenching your teeth with as much strength as you dare use; Feyd snaps his hips against your clothed core: you can feel his raging erection through the layers of clothes you two are wearing, his lust flashes through the bond and you think you’re going to come by the sheer strength of it. When you taste blood, Feyd knows and moans, a rich, deep sound of pleasure that shakes you: no other lover has accepted your need for pain and violence the way Feyd is doing right now.

He kisses you savagely when he sees his own blood on your lips and you moan at his pleasure, your hands fly to his shoulders to brace yourself against the onslaught of his teeth on your mouth, of his tongue seeking his own taste inside of you; you don’t even realize you can, yet you’re chanting his name through the bond, your lust only enhancing his. He needs to be inside of you, yet he can’t stop kissing you, feeling your needs meld in the bond: it’s heady and better than any sex he’s ever had in his entire life.

“Bed.” You moan when he releases your lips, only to bite your neck like an animal. “Make me.” He growls back.

You have to center yourself against the pleasure and the torment he’s giving you, his hands mold themselves around your breasts, only to squeeze your tender flesh to the point of pain, his hips jackhammer against yours and you know the right angle will make you come like a horny teenager; desperate you focus inward, on your muscles and nerves, willing the pleasure to fade in the background of your conscience and your attention to be on your body, to move you two away from the wall.

Not feeling Feyd through the bond is almost worse: pulling the broadcasting of his pleasure in the background makes you hear his moans and groans even better. He’s unabashed in his lust and knowing that’s you causing all of this makes breathing difficult, yet you manage to push against his bigger frame, forcing him to walk backwards a few steps, before you let one leg fall on the floor and propel the two of you more; he digs his heels against you, effectively stopping the two of you from moving.

“Seems like we are not going anywhere.” He drawls and you feel the amusement through the bond. “And there I thought you wanted to taste me.” You murmur in his ear. “I was told I am delicious.”

A flare of jealousy courses through the bond, his hands grab at your body with such a strength you know you’ll wear his marks for days. Unceremoniously he throws you on the bed, his hands on your knees stop you from closing your legs.

“Who are those who have already taste you?” “Many.” You shrug. “I couldn’t always be good and proper, could I?”

The growl his dangerous and you can’t find in your heart to be afraid: you want him charged up, want to feel the full force of his passion; you laugh in his face as he cuts and rips the clothes away from your body, until you’re naked and ready, your own hidden weapons fallen and forgotten on the floor. The dagger he’s used to cut your clothes, now travels from your neck to your torso, the sharp edge almost touching your skin, but not really.

“Taste my blood, Feyd.” You moan. “It’s something else I’m thirsty for, soulmate.” It’s his dark answer.

He drives the knife through the mattress, next where your head is in a show of dominance that has your hole clench around nothing. 

Feyd dives between your legs, he leaves you no chance to speak when his lips curl around your clit and suck, harsh and fast, with filthy moans of pleasure that reverberate through your whole being. Your hips try to push up, stopped by his big hands, your tights clench around his head as you try to escape the pleasure, escape him, pitiful whines flow from your lips as he pushes you higher and higher, until you come with a scream.  Dazed by pleasure you expected Feyd to stop, to give you respite; his tongue in your hole forces your body in overdrive, his nose is pure torture against your puffy clit. With horror you realize that you have no purchase against his onslaught, no way to control his movements, but with the clenching of your legs around his head. You try to leverage against his body and his hands shoot out to grab yours, the risk of you snapping his neck enhances his lust, the lack of oxygen only spurs him on to fuck you faster, harder with his long tongue until you explode, breathless and desperate.

“Feyd! Feyd! Let go!”

A harsh bite on your thigh is your only answer, followed by a low growl, like a rabid animal that's finally found food.  Through the bond you can feel his pleasure, his hunger, his lust: everything enhances your own reactions, your own blind need for his body. You’re panting now, almost no oxygen enters your lungs, because Feyd’s long tongue is licking you, with clockwise motions he explores your wet heath, only to nibble at your clit, forcing your body to squirm under his weight; the kick of your heels against his back only spurs him on: he can feel how overstimulated you are and it only amps up his own libido, the pain you’re causing him blanks his mind and he almost comes untouched in his trousers when your pleasure becomes painful and your body is shaking wildly under his.

One of his arms falls on your tummy to block you, three fingers of his other hand are already inside of you seek that spongy part that has you jump under him when he finally finds it. You start crying when his lips suck your abused clit: there’s no mercy in the way he’s handling you, just a mindless focus on pleasure. He’s canting his hips against nothing, needing your taste and, at the same time, to be buried inside of you; the way you’re trying to escape spurs him on, his fingers fuck you faster, rougher they scissor your clenching muscles as you kick and scream wildly, almost as if possessed when his soft lips suck following the rough rhythm of his fingers inside of you. You tense under him and arch, the tears falling from your eyes blind you, wail like moans choke in your throat as you feel your body reaching your end, your nerves burn where he’s pleasuring you, so much pleasure, too much! You squirt all over his face, and almost pass out when his fingers don’t stop fucking you a his tongue leisurely licks your essence with obscene moans of appreciation at your taste.

“You truly taste delicious.” He murmurs against one of the bruise on your tight. “Too bad I will have to hunt down every single person who’s had you.”

You can’t answer immediately, your brain is still tying to come down from the barrage of orgasms he forced you to go through, your skin feels oversensitive to the soft touch of his lips.

“Who are those people?” You ask, breathless. “I only remember you.”

Through the bond he knows you’re telling the truth: your past lovers, however many they were, don’t exist anymore, in your mind there’s only him and all the pleasure he’s given you.

You try to find purchase on his slick skin, until you reach the neckline of his jumper to use it to pull him up for a long kiss. You moan when you taste yourself on his lips, your taste and his mingle when his tongue massages yours slowly, his only goal is to savor you, until you are the only thing he can taste for the rest of his life.

“You’re overdressed.” You moan against his full lips.

You don’t leave him the chance to answer. As tired as you are, already, you grab a fistful of his thick jumper and pull upwards, forcing him to remove it, or be choked, leaving him with the other layers of thinner jumpers and thermal shirts. Through the bond you send the image of his knife slicing through his clothing, he laughs but undresses hastily, leaving clothing and weapons on the floor: he’s overheating and sweaty, moreover, why denying himself the feeling of your skin under his?

You’ve managed to push yourself backwards to enjoy the view of his powerful body being revealed: the thick cords of muscles and the pink nipples, his raging erection and the piercing running horizontally, through the shiny head of his cock.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, concerned. “Not anymore. It enhances everything.” He answers.

Slowly he lays on you, his weight strangely familiar as he kisses you again, slowly, feeling every inch of your body with his, savoring the way your full breasts cushion his sturdy chest and how your hips are the perfect cradle for his. He’s surprised to find himself on his back, when you use his distraction to switch your positions; not that he’s complaining, you’re towering over him, giving him a nice view of your full breasts and perky nipples, while his cock is cradled between your lips, warm and drenched. His eyes fixate on the patch of hair between your legs, focused as he was on tasting you to your core, his brain has bypassed everything else and now he’s fascinated by the soft, wet curls he can feel against his body.

“Is it strange?” You gently ask. “Everyone on Giedi Prime is hairless. It’s not bad, just peculiar.” He answers with a shrug.

His long fingers tentatively touch your lips and you shudder, still so sensitive, and you haven’t had his cock yet.

“I’m not shaving, anywhere.” “I didn’t ordered you to, and I will not let you bare yourself like that.”

You pinch his nipple as punishment for his answer and his cock swells under you.

“I don’t need your permission.” You growl back. “I wanted to ride you, now I have to postpone that, and it’s all you fault!” You add, with a wicked smile.

With as much speed your tired muscles let you, you turn around and hover your cunt over his face; you smirk at his satisfied growl and the way his hands go to your hips: it’s cute he believes you’re letting him have a taste again. You flick his reddened head when he tries to pull you down to his lips, he yelps in pain and you don’t miss the beads of precome that appear immediately: he’s truly made for you, and you only.

“You’ve had your taste, now it’s my turn.”

You ignore your hunger when you slowly lick his head and moan at the taste, heady and masculine on your tongue, and envelope his head in your lips, sucking gently, taking your time to have more until you hear his groans and his desperation through the bond, only then you take more, and more, ignoring the way his hips try to push upwards, simply blocking his movements using your prana-bindu strength, reveling in the curses and in the pain he feels. When his head hits the back of your throat he shudders, his muscles shake with the need to move and fuck your face; perhaps if he behaves you’ll let him, one day, but now he is to suffer. You relax your muscles and swallow him with a moan that reverberates through the whole of him, tortured by your lips and the sight of your hole clenching over his face. He desperately tries not to come when the velvety muscles of your throat start massaging his erection and your hand caresses his heavy balls; he arches with a howl of pain when you squeeze them cruelly, and pull at them viciously, until he comes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

You swallow what you can and lick what escapes your ravenous hunger, until it pools on your tongue and you can turn around to kiss him, making him swallow his own essence, his pleasure heady in the bond.

You abandon your body over his, feeling his satisfaction and the warmth of his body; you nuzzle his long neck, so smooth and marked by your teeth. You could almost fall asleep: you feel finally sated and happy after sex, like never before. Through the bond you feel Feyd purr his satisfaction, his big hand caresses your back, following the knobs of your spine leisurely. 

“Don't fall asleep. I'm not done with you.” He growls.  “Hmm, yes please.”

You feel his cock stir between your bodies and prop one leg over his hip, spreading yourself for him and letting his half hard member between your lower lips. You should feel embarrassed by the renewed wetness, all you can think of is sheathing Feyd's thick cock inside of you.

“You're coming to Geidi Prime with me.” He says, cupping your cheek.  “I need to go home, lest fathers believe you’ve kidnapped me and are keeping me there against my will.” “As if.” “You forget this communication goes both ways. Drag me by my hair?” “From the cliff.” He rolls his eyes.  “I had it under control!” “You almost fell, I felt it!” “Don't mention it. To my family, I mean.” “The cliff or the hair?”

You're surprised by how amused Feyd feels through the bond or that he has a sense of humor.

“We have that too, on Geidi Prime, as well as mirrors. Incredible, I know.”

You know you’ve dehumanized him in your head for all your life: he was your personal boogeyman, not a man, albeit volatile, not someone with feelings and needs, not your soulmate, but your nightmare. You shouldn't be surprised that he's more than the warrior, and the heir to his family's name: who has been the monster, between you two, for all this time?

You cuddle closer to his warmth, your eyes falling on your spidery handwriting almost hidden by the crease of his tight; you follow the words with the tip of your finger, and cringe at how ill behaved you had been from the start. 

“I should have known you’d be hard to pin down, just from that.”  “‘Are you sad because you have no hair?’ Great Mother, what a heinous bitch I was! You should have kept me at arm’s length!” “Show me my words.” He asks. 

There's a heath in his voice you don't understand, but know it's not because you constantly moving means his cock gets stimulated into full hardness. 

Gently you start parting your hair and he finishes the work from you. He enjoys the foreign feeling of your hair on his fingers, almost ticklish but not really, soft and rough at the end of the strands, strangely fascinating since none of his past lays had hair, he's not sure what he is supposed to do with yours. 

“You can pull.” You say with a shudder when he touches his words on you. “You need to be gentle, though. You can caress and play with it, I can teach you how to braid, if you want.”.

Feyd’s hand finds home in the roots and pulls, tentatively at first, only to use more strength when you softly moan.

“I think I’ll stick to this.” He growls and you know he’s unlocked a new kink.

He uses his hold to pull you closer to his face and kiss you, his tongue languid in your mouth explores you, taking his time to commit your taste to memory; you scratch his neck in the attempt to gain control back, you liked having him at your mercy too much to let go and he simply tightens his hold on you, drinking down your moans of pleasure.

You straddle him, making sure your warm cunt envelopes his erection and start grinding slowly, letting him feel how wet you are, and ready for his cock; he turns you two, towering over you and you simply arch your back towards him, feeling his eyes on your breasts and perky nipples when you start massaging them, keening and moaning with need. His control snaps, his teeth find your soft flesh to nibble, his lips to suck marks as your legs curl around his frame to cradle him as close as possible to yourself, your nails stretching and raking down his long back in retaliation: the more you hurt him, the savager he becomes, in a cycle only enhanced by your shared brain.

“Now! Now!” You squeal after a particularly harsh bite, feeling your cunt clench painfully around nothing.

Feyd releases your breast with a pop, observing his handiwork with pride: you’re covered with his teeth marks and your cunt is so puffy and leaking sweet cream, only because he’s hurt you, and you him.

His hard cock is exquisite torture, so heavy between his legs he’s in agony when your hand starts jacking him, making sure he’s wet and beyond ready for your cunt, to the point he has to slap your hand away, or he’ll come all over your tummy; he can’t have that, not when your hole is clenching and wet and ready. You arch your back when he breaches you, his head is fat and the piercing only enhances the feeling of him against your wall; through the bond you feel his pleasure, how hard it is for him to control himself and not come, it all amplifies your own lust and need, your hips snapping upwards to take him faster and it’s the sweetest pain, being stretched too early, having your cunt pummeled open and molded to fit his thick cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, with a long groan of pleasure.

Feyd has to keep his eyes closed, the thin thread of his control almost snapping with every breath he takes: he’s imagined this, he’s spilled in his own hands countless times to the fantasy of you sheathing him inside yourself, and reality can’t compare. Your insides are the softest velvet, your muscles the cruelest of vices around his cock that he can barely grind against you when you start whining. His strength deserts him and he falls on you, managing to catch his weight on his bent arm when your cunt tries to suck him; he can barely breathe your scent in, his body almost in overdrive with pleasure when your hands grab his buttocks to push him in deeper, desperate to feel him in every crevice of your body.

You lock your feet on his tailbone, forcing him to grind against your puffy clit, battered muscles as tight as possible around him in the desperate quest to fuse him with yourself, the piercing pure torture against your G spot. You scratch his back savagely when your orgasm starts to crest, your body squirms under him, clutches his tighter as the band in your belly tightens and tightens, your shared pleasure only enhancing his own need to lose himself inside of you. It hurts to grind against you, it hurts to wait for your pleasure to explode and he can barely contain himself when you sob your pleasure as if he’s hurting you, your nails stabbing him when you come, howling and crying, him following you with guttural, animal sounds he can barely suppress against your skin.

You caress his back and hug him as close as possible as he keeps coming inside of you, his orgasm almost never ending fills you to the brink with his thick cum, his whines of painful pleasure cause a smaller orgasm to rip through you torturing him even more, until all his strength is lost and he’s trembling in your arms, skin so sensitive your caresses feel like lashings.

You feel all of it through the bond, along with his unwillingness to stop touching you through the torment your skin is for him now. Awkwardly you try to send soothing feelings to him, helping him to calm down from the incredible high that the coupling had been for him. You know, because he remembers disjointed memories of his dreams of you, of him waking up hard and desperate and alone, needing your soft touch and having to settle for his own hand. He had hated you in those moments, his body shaken by those painful orgasms that tasted like ashes, that were never truly satisfactory. With a stab of jealousy you see the people he fucked, brutal and fast, imaging you in their stead, and even that wasn’t enough to sate his hunger, now? Now he’s in heaven, having felt pleasure like never before in his life.

You have to use all your prana-bindu strength to roll you two on the side, Feyd is basically dead weight in your arms, before you hug him as tight as possible, only wishing to have a knife at hand to protect you two in this unfamiliar environment, the one embedded on the bed has fallen and you can’t reach it.

“The owner would rather kill himself than dare disturb us.”

Feyd’s voice is tired and low, a rumble you feel in your whole body.

“What did you do?”

You can feel Feyd’s wicked smile against your throat.

“Nothing. Just exchanged a few friendly words after you fainted.” “I’m electing to ignore whatever has happened.” You say. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come around.” You add, awkwardly

You feel how tired he is, moving his head away from the crook of your neck is almost impossible for him.

“You have all the time to make up for it. Now sleep, you’re going to need it, that I can promise.”

You shiver against him. Neither of you are going home any time soon and there’s all the time in the world to negotiate the route back.

[hairyjocktf]

A Hairy Remedy

Mark had been pacing back and forth all afternoon, waiting for the mail to arrive. He couldn’t focus on anything else, he’d been waiting weeks for this delivery and it was scheduled to arrive today. Every noise from outside had him rushing to the windows to peek through the blinds. Mark was nearly 30, yet looked barely 20. He’d endured a decade of people making fun of him for having a babyface or being too effeminate, and he’d had enough. After some research online he found some articles and testimonies about Rogaine, a hair growth cream aimed at guys who were balding. While that was the furthest thing from a problem for him, Mark found people on some forums that had used it elsewhere, who wanted to thicken up their beards and more. The before and after pictures he had seen had sold him, and he immediately went and ordered some online. 

He took a break from mindlessly pacing around to use the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror really illustrated how right his bullies had been. His skin was completely smooth, with barely any peach fuzz on his face. That would change soon, he thought, a beard would surely age him up a good bit. Not that he wanted to look old, but not being carded at every bar would be nice. The doorbell rang, and Mark tripped over himself trying to bolt to the front door. Yanking it open, he saw a small package on the mat, with the delivery van already speeding off. He quickly snatched up the box and slammed the door, giddy with excitement. Mark raced to the kitchen to grab the scissors, shredding the cardboard box open to reveal his prize. He held the tube of cream delicately in his palm like it was a newborn. This was it, his saving grace, he thought.

He quickly scanned the pamphlet that came with the cream, notably reading the line, “WARNING: This product has NOT been tested on areas outside of the scalp. We do not recommend usage anywhere besides the scalp, and cannot guarantee results.” Eh, he’d seen it work on guys online, it must be safe enough. Without further thought Mark dashed into the bathroom, staring at his pathetic reflection in the mirror. He felt a sense of power unlike anything before, knowing he held his fate in his hands. He nearly let out a comically evil laugh before realizing he was getting ahead of himself. It was just hair growth medication.

Mark opened the tube and squeezed some of the cream into his palm. Now was time for decisions. He probably should have thought this part through a little more, but no matter, he thought. He began to rub the cream into his face, making sure to stay in the lines of where a beard would grow. Starting with his upper lip, he massaged the cream into his bare skin, working from there down to his chin and then across his cheeks. The ointment was cool and tingled a little as he applied it. Despite his caution, while getting the underside of his jaw he heard a splatter. 

Looking down, he saw a white glob of the cream had fallen directly onto his chest. “Shit, that’s not good,” he cursed to himself. He grabbed a nearby towel before pausing. A smirk spread across Mark’s face as the thought dawned on him. Why not leave it? A little chest hair couldn’t hurt, he thought. The goal was to look a little older anyway. With a devious grin plastered on his face he started to rub the cream into his chest, most of it between his small pecs and spreading it out from there. Satisfied with the treatment he capped the tube and went back to the living room. Now came the hard part: waiting. He went back to check the package to see how long it would take.

“Four to six MONTHS?!” he wailed. He hadn’t bothered to look at a timeline or anything in his research, and this news was devastating to him. He’d expected it to take a while to work, but half a year? That was just too long. With an overwhelming amount of disappointment in his head, Mark collapsed onto the couch and turned on some TV. The rest of the day faded away as he tried to distract himself from how bummed he was. He turned in fairly early, it was Sunday anyway and he had to get up early for work the next morning. With one last glance in the mirror he confirmed that nothing had happened, and went to bed. 

The morning came in an instant, with Mark’s phone alarm wailing into the quiet sunrise until he rolled out of bed. He begrudgingly made his way to the bathroom and started getting his shower ready when he passed by the mirror and did a double take. He stared at his reflection, dropping his towel on the floor in shock. He had stubble. Not just a little peach fuzz, no, a decent layer of it all across his jaw. His hand slowly moved to touch it, to make sure it was real. His fingers grazed over the tips of the scratchy hairs, the prickly feeling sending shivers through his body. It had worked, overnight even! His grin widened as he looked down to see a dusting of hair on his chest where he’d rubbed the cream. He had chest hair! It wasn’t particularly dark or dense but that didn’t matter to him, he actually looked like he’d gone through puberty now. The hairs had sprouted in the center of his chest and spread out towards his nipples, growing long enough to start curling a little. 

With a renewed energy Mark hopped in the shower and continued getting ready for work. He was giddy with excitement, and couldn’t stop feeling the rough stubble on his face. He threw on his slacks and button down shirt and hopped in his car, nearly late from getting distracted so much. Thoughts were racing through his mind on the way to the office; what would people think? He walked in with a swagger he’d never felt at his job before, making his way to his desk and hoping someone would comment. It took until he and some coworkers left to get lunch for anyone to notice, however.

“Hey Mark, growing out a beard are you? I didn’t think you had it in you,” his coworker laughed. “It looks good so far!” he made sure to follow it up with. Mark beamed, someone had noticed! It was really happening. This may have been the best day of his life for all he could care. Anytime he was in private he would have one hand on his cheek and one on his chest, feeling the soft hairs. He could feel his cock jump at the sensation, pushing against his rather tight dress pants. Luckily no one could see that at his desk, he thought, moving one hand to rub down there. A couple other people commented on his new facial hair throughout the day, and Mark was ecstatic. This feeling was electric, addictive almost, he loved the attention and slight amount of respect the stubble seemed to have given him.

Before he knew it the work day was over and Mark scrambled to pack up his belongings to try and beat the rush. In the elevator down he scratched at his face, another grin plastered across his face. He had the classic 5 o’clock shadow for the first time, he thought to himself with a chuckle. A hardworking businessman he was now. He got entirely caught up in the rush hour traffic, but even that couldn’t put a damper on his day. An hour later he was home, walking through the kitchen and dumping his coat and bag. He entered the bathroom to wash his hands and splash some water on his face when he spotted the tube of Rogaine still sitting on the vanity. Mark stared at it, the elated feelings of the day still fresh in his mind. A thought began creeping up from the back of his mind, one that scared him, but also made his cock lurch in his pants.

What if I put on a little more? 

That was the end of it. The idea consumed him, and within seconds he’d torn off his dress shirt and was squeezing more cream into his hands. He spread a thick layer of it across his upper lip, feeling the stubbly hairs that now dotted the area. He then spread more out across his cheeks, which had a decent shadow of stubble across them. Next up was his chest. In the morning he’d been thrilled by the amount of hair now adorning the area, but now he craved more. He pushed more cream from the tube and spread it over a much wider area, from his nipples all the way up to his collarbone, and everything in between. Finishing that up, he realized he’d gotten some extra cream all over his hands, which he rubbed in without a thought. 

The feeling of mania slowly dwindled as he put the cream away and carried on with his night. As he ate dinner he began to worry that he’d gone too far, maybe he should have just waited. It was too late now, though, so he bottled up that worry and watched some TV before getting ready for bed. 

Mark bolted upright when the alarm sounded the next morning. He tore off his sheets and ran to the mirror to take a look at himself.

It had worked again! His stubble was thicker now, with a more pronounced mustache. The hairs on his upper lip were denser and longer, though the rest of his facial hair had also filled in somewhat even if it was still short. But the real showstopper was his chest. The hairs had spread far from the day before, crawling up his pecs all the way where he spread the cream. The hair was thicker, denser, and made him feel exceedingly masculine. He couldn’t believe it. He ran a hand over the more prominent chest hair, the soft hairs tingling under his fingers. His cock rose to attention in his boxers as he lost himself briefly in the moment, unconsciously rubbing his nipple with the other hand. Control slipping away from him, Mark began to moan as he pinched his nipple, feeling the stubble and chest fur that had sprouted. Moments later a rush filled his body, his cock shooting rope after rope of cum onto the mirror. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned, coming back to his senses. What the hell was that? It had felt amazing, but it was as if a primal instinct had taken over him. He watched the cum slide down the mirror for a minute before snapping fully back to reality; he had to get to work! He quickly wiped as much cum off the glass as he could before hopping in the shower and getting dressed. He bolted out the door without eating breakfast, having realized how late he was. Just how long had he been feeling himself in there? 

He parked and scrambled to an elevator inside. In his haste he’d forgotten to button his shirt up all the way, but he noticed in the mirror that some of his new chest hair peeked out of the top. It looked masculine, virile even. He played with a couple of the hairs before the door opened on his floor and he had to act natural. The day was fairly uneventful, other than a couple different coworkers commenting on his stubble and mustache. Mark felt even more confident today than he had yesterday, despite the chaotic morning. As afternoon rolled around, he even unbuttoned his shirt a little more, letting the newly grown hairs breathe. He lounged at his desk getting some of his work done but mostly basking in his newfound masculinity, occasionally sneaking a rub of his chest hair.

Soon enough the day was over again, and Mark made his way home. He was thrilled with how he was looking, but somehow he’d gotten less attention today than before. That didn’t sit right with him. While stuck in traffic he tried to figure it out, going through scenarios and situations from the day. Maybe… he thought he was making progress but in the eyes of others he looked the same. Frustrated, he barged through the door of his house and grabbed a beer from the fridge before landing on the couch. He turned on the TV and cracked it open, slowly sipping away at it as the light outside faded into dusk. Finishing that beer, he went for another, nursing it and watching some mediocre movies. Eventually the beers caught up to him, and having to pee badly he hopped up and went to the bathroom. There, on the counter, was the tube of Rogaine.

It seemed to burn a hole in his vision, everything else fading away. The feelings of the last day flooded back to him; the confidence of being hairy, the frustration of it not being enough, the pleasure of cumming to his own hairy body. Mark felt the same devilish thought clawing back into his head, but no longer as a question. It was a desire.

I need more.

He opened the tube again, squirting the cream directly onto his chest this time, slathering it all across his pecs and down over his stomach. He rubbed the cream deep into his already decently hairy chest, before taking more and coating his face with another layer. Mark was spreading far too much cream on, and from his jaw it began dripping down his neck. He couldn’t care less. His logical self had taken a backseat, his body being driven by a deep seated need, a desire he’d been unaware of. Mark stripped off the rest of his work clothes and kept at it. He continued to smear the cream across his torso, spreading it from his chest up and over his collarbone onto his shoulders. He was so engrossed in rubbing the cream into his skin that he was oblivious to the slight itch that began cropping up under the thick paste.

Mark wiped the excess cream onto his forearms and stared into the mirror, breaths ragged. He’d worked himself into a sweat. The droplets streamed down his skin, pulling the cream with it. His eyes surveyed his wet, ointment covered skin for anything. That was when he noticed the itch. It had grown stronger, more prevalent over his chest as the skin began reacting to the heavy dose of cream laid on. Hairs started to push out of his chest, darker and thicker than the ones before. They grew longer as more and more filled in the spaces between. Mark’s cock grew harder as he watched the hairs sprout, feeling them coming in between his fingers. The hairs thickened into a dark rug, completely coating his chest and crawling upward, thick whorls of hair overtaking his collarbone. His neck, which had been bare until now, began darkening as the shadow of hair crept up over it. Long strands erupted from the base, continuing the chest hair up onto his neck; no collar would ever hide these dark hairs. His stubble crept down from his jaw to meet in the middle, growing darker and pushing out farther from his face. His nicely trimmed stubble was quickly becoming a scruffy mess, with the wiry beard hairs erupting all over his face. Mark used his tongue to feel the longer hairs pushing out of his upper lip, curling over and spreading over his cheeks. He was really tenting his boxers now.

The hairs began moving south, down from his chest in a line towards his navel. The thick line of fur blossomed outward across his belly, darkening the area with long tangled hairs that blotted out the skin. Mark rubbed his hand over the growing fur, groaning from the stimulation of the hairs under his hand. Without thinking he reached back for the tube of Rogaine, pushing more out into his hands before absolutely coating his pits in the stuff. He scratched and scratched as the itch spread from his chest there, looking like a monkey as near instantly thick black hairs shot out of his bare underarms. One after another they pressed out, his fingers clawing through a denser and denser bush. Soon enough they’d overwhelmed the area with a thick tuft of tangled hair, spreading even further to connect with the rug on his chest. Mark was overcome by the tingling feeling of hairs bursting from his skin, surrendering himself even more to what was happening. 

When he finally pulled his hands out of his pits they didn’t escape unscathed. The backs of his hands were coated with thick hairs, and as he pulled one up to his face to look closer he could see more worming their way out of his knuckles. The sight alone was enough for a glob of precum to shoot into his boxers. The hairs didn’t end there, however. They surged up his forearms, a tangled forest of black hairs erupting and growing dense. The same followed on his upper arms, connecting seamlessly to the dense fur coating his shoulders. He felt the signature itch of the hair growth spread from his shoulders down across his back. Turning in the mirror, he saw thousands of dark spots appear across his shoulder blade and race down towards his ass. Seconds later every spot erupted into thick curly hair, follicles pushing them out longer and longer. The mat thickened over his back as hairs curled and tangled together, especially right above his waistband. 

His body wasn’t done yet. Mark felt an intense prickling under his boxers and quickly pulled them down, scratching relentlessly at his inflating ass. He could feel as the prickles turned into wiry hairs, pushing out across his cheeks. He groaned as the feeling of thick hairs growing like fur in his crack was too much, shoving his hands in there to feel the thick pelt erupting from his skin. His eyes nearly rolled back as he felt up his tight hole surrounded by a jungle of hair, his cock harder than he’d ever felt it before and leaking like a faucet. The fog he had felt absorbed in just that morning was returning, his body acting on its own in search of masculinity and pleasure. The hair growth only served to fuel that fire, spreading from his ass down his legs in a thick carpet over his thighs. The curls popped up from the skin, thickening as they pressed out from his skin into a fuzzy coating all the way to his feet.

Mark slid further and further into the recesses of his mind, intoxicated from testosterone as his body continued to change. His self-indulgence reached a crescendo as every other desire slipped away, flushed out of him through the faucet that was his dripping cock. 

More hair.

His hand reached for the tube again, emptying the last of it into his palm before reaching to grasp his rock hard cock. He slid his hand up and down, coating it in the cream and letting the rest drip all over his groin. A moan slipped out as he continued to pump his member, it slowly growing thicker and longer as it absorbed the cream. More drops of cream splattered into his sparse bush, Fertilizing the ground for what was next. Dark hairs began popping out of his skin, dark and thick. They pushed out longer than his old hairs, filling in the space between them rapidly. 

More hair.

His pubes erupted in mere minutes, a dense triangle of fur filling out his crotch, tangling and curling together as the scent of musk and ointment grew stronger. The hairs continued their conquest, reaching up to his stomach and out over his thighs. His balls swelled larger before becoming enshrouded in a carpet of their own. His cock continued pushing out longer as Mark pumped away, groaning as it grew thicker and more sensitive. 

He wasn’t done yet, as more and more hairs filled in all over, rugs connecting into a massive carpet of body hair. The hairs were ever crawling up the shaft of his massive cock thanks to the cream. Mark’s breathing had grown intense, groaning nonstop as instinct took over completely. One hand rubbing through his thick fur and the other edging him closer and closer to climax. He could feel the tingle as the hairs lengthened and thickened, coarse hairs rubbing against each other as they matted together.

He roared as everything finally peaked, his cock erupting with rope after rope of cum. It went everywhere, getting tangled in all his new grown fur. He continued pumping load after load out, an unbelievable amount of cum poured out of him onto his hairy body. He gasped as every pump of his cock sent immense waves of pleasure through him, squeezing every last drop of cum out. He let go of his softening member and moved his hands to his chest, feeling the sticky cum in all the hair. 

“Fuuuuuck yes…” he groaned as he rubbed the cum into his fur just as he’d done with the cream earlier. His bush was completely soaked with cum, and he could feel the hairs thickening as he massaged the area. All over his body, the cum served only to encourage even more growth, and quicker than the Rogaine ever had. Dark hairs pressed out between previous ones, covering him in a dense pelt that hid his skin beneath. Cum slowly dribbled out of his cock as the pleasure swept through his system. The fog in his head slowly dissipated, and Mark was brought back to the forefront of his brain. The primal instincts that had control for the past hour gave up their hold. He stared at himself in the mirror for a minute. Black fur coated his whole body, cum dripped from patches all over him. His cock was now dangling at eight inches soft. He slowly moved his arms to feel the hair growing all over him, trying to process his reality. He only managed to get two words out.

“Oh, fuck.”

[gaypirate420]

Haircut //Jasper W. Hale.

Jasper Whitlock-Hale x gn! reader.

Summary: Jasper did a thing while he was in a mood.

Angst/Fluff. Jasper icon by @jasperhaleobsessed

The vampire steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. The water dripping down his yellow hair, his pale hand wipes the steam off the mirror above the sink.

Golden eyes stare at his reflection.

Paper white skin decorated with deep scars. His muscles tensed up. He leans over, his hands holding hard on the sink, cracking it slightly.

It hasn't been a great week.

No, it hasn't been a great month. Year. Decade(s).

Since Victoria and her wannabe army of newborn vampires showed up he's been spiraling each day.

Slowly, the glass have been a drops away from spilling.

The memories just flooded his mind everytime he closed his eyes.

They're always there, but they're more vivid this time, he doesn't like this, Jasper knows this cycle too well, he doesn't want to be part of it again.

He thought he was getting better.

Jasper's been pushing you away and he's an idiot for that because he needs you, he needs you so so so bad but Jasper just can't tell you he's struggling. And he doesn't know why that is. Maybe he feels ashamed for being so weak, so broken.

There's a reason why you and him have been together for almost fifty years. You just bring the best of him and make the pain go away. Always.

A smile creeps on his face but it goes away quickly, he sighs and looks at the mirror one more time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Jasper? Sunshine, you in here?" You asked while stepping inside the Cullen's house. The ironey flavor of blood still in your mouth after a successful hunt.

"...yeah." He mumbled from upstairs there was a slight shake on his voice. No waiting for you at the door? No bouquet of flowers? No forehead kiss? No 'Darlin' I missed ya.'?

Something happened. Something bad.

You approached your shared bedroom opening the door slowly.

Your eyes try to process what their seeing.

Jasper was sitting at the edge of the bed, eyes unfocused starring at the locks of hair on the floor. His pale fingers holding a pair of scissors, shaking.

And of course his hair. Short. Cut at random lengths after a fit of raw emotion. Anger. Sadness. Desperation. That's what his aura is filled with.

"Sweetheart..." You called softly and closed the door behind you. The vampire doesn't react to your presence at all, he just looks straight ahead, deep in thought.

Jasper catches on the steps getting closer to him and a gentle hand tilt his chin up gently to make his eyes meet yours. His almost numb expression makes you want to cry. The golden color of his eyes holds no shine, they're dull and empty.

"Hey, sunshine." You whisper softly and cup his face, leaning on your touch and a small gasp leaving his lips, if he was human he'll be all tears right now.

"Oh—it's okay, sweetheart." You whisper reassuringly. The blonde wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close, burying his face on your chest, taking a deep breath and drowning on your comforting scent.

You stroke his now short hair.

"...sorry" He whimpers against your chest trying to find some peace with your touch.

"Why are you apologizing, cowboy?" You whisper softly and caress his face, he can't look at you right now, he feel so ashamed because you're seeing him like this.

"... because— I'm a mess." His voice breaks and he holds closer to you. You just stroke his hair and kiss his forehead.

"...and my hair is ugly now." He added, a bitter chuckle follows. You take the scissors from his shaking hands and brush his hair down.

"May I fix it?" You asked before cutting anything.

"Can you?" He asks hopeless as he closes his eyes, he feels defeated, tired, he just wants to sleep but he can't sleep because of his nature.

"Well... either way I think you'll look handsome bald." You try to lighten the mood and it surprisingly works because his frown turns into a smirk. He nods and allows you to fix his hair.

You lean down to kiss his lips, a tender, slow and gentle kiss. He holds the kiss for longer, the feeling of your lips against his are a great distraction from the memories that are haunting him.

Jasper closes his eyes as you work on his hair. He doesn't know if the silence is dreadful or comfortable.

"Do you want to talk about what happened? I'm very worried about you, don't think I don't notice how distant you've been." You whisper with a serious expression.

He shakes his head slowly, the idea of discussing his feelings and pain being something he is not ready to do just yet. Your touches help in distract him.

"...maybe later, darlin', I'm sorry." Jasper whispers as he keep my eyes closed, focusing on the sensation of your fingers through his hair to avoid a relapse of his previous train of thought. He takes a couple of deep breaths as the gentle movement of your fingers helps him calm down and have a clearer mindset.

"Done." You said softly and clean his sweater from the fallen hair. You take on his image, his new look.

"You look real pretty, Jazz." You smiled, Jasper returned the smile in a much weaker way. He doesn't check himself in the mirror, he trusts you and knows you did a much better work than he did.

"....thank you, sugar." He whispers, feeling a little tired from all this. He holds your hand and kisses your palm.

"Cuddles?" You whisper back, he nods and picks you up to throw you in the bed with him.

He nuzzles his face on your neck, holding you so close to him. He takes a deep deep breath and closes his eyes.

".... you're- stuck with me forever...I'm sorry. You deserve someone better. I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He whispers against your skin.

"I'm happy to have you forever. I don't want anybody else." You whisper back and kiss the top of his head. He smiles weakly and hols you close, nuzzling to you like a needy kitten.

"...and I'm happy I got you too. I don't know who I'll be without you." Jasper closes his eyes and leaves gentle kisses on your neck.

"I love you so much." You whisper.

"I love you more." He answer with a gentle whisper.

"hmmm, I don't think so. I love you more than that." You speak teasingly, he chuckles softly and hugs you tightly.

"I love ya a hundred times that." He answers with a weak voice, like he's very sleepy.

"Well, I love you a thousand times that." You speak with a following giggle, Jasper chuckles and kisses your lips once more.

He's going to be okay. Here in your arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: heyyyy, here's an angsty fic because an idea came to my mind thinking about why did Jasper has such a radical haircut in between movies. And I was like "that's how you cut your hair after a breakdown." Y'know? So here's this, hope you like it, requests are open!

[skycowboys]

When growing, how do the foal’s fur/feathers change? Do they shed their fur like a bird would shed feathers in order to change from the foal/fledgling feathers into the adult patterns?

Hi!

A pegasus foal is born with a horse coat of hair, and their wings are either bald or fuzzy like chick wings. As far as coat colors go, most pegasus coats change in the way horse coats do - black coats often slowly grey out to white hair, roans roan out over the years, and appaloosa spots come and go as they age. Plumage changes more rapidly and depends on the pegasus class -

Longwing pegasus foals are often born with wings that are more developed so they can more rapidly take to the air with their parents.

Broadwing foal wings develop more traditionally to baby birds - but with horse young timelines. Their colorful plumage starts to grow in at around a year old or so and their final flight feathers growing fully by 4 or 5 years old. Some broadwings have a layer of fluffy down as newborns.

Shortwing foals tend to stay cute and fluffy for a while since they're flightless overall and almost always are born with a fluffy down coat that sheds out to a horse coat over a few months -

~ Larn

[houserautha]

Feyd is the kinda man who gets really excited about having a baby but has absolutely no idea what to do with a baby. 100% the kinda dad to throw his baby into the air then catch them. "Feyd no, his neck muscles don't work yet, he can't support his own head, you can't throw him!" "But he giggles?"

He carries that baby around everywhere but he has no idea how to enrich the baby. "Why isn't he watching the movie?" "Feyd, newborns can only see about four inches in front of them. He can't see the movie."

Wants to play with his son, bought him a bunch of toys, and is very disappointed when he learns newborns don't really play. "He's just been laying there for hours? Is something wrong with him?" "Feyd, babies can't play catch. Try peekaboo?"

I love this so much and I 1000% believe it’s canon😂 Having been the youngest, he has no experience with babies and before he met reader never really imagined having a family

I think he would get bored with the baby too?? Like I can imagine Feyd constantly having to be on the move and he’s very frustrated by this tiny bald potato that’s lying on the ground.

“The baby won’t play,” he tells you, nearly a whine.

“Maybe not how you think of it,” you reply, “but right now, in his eyes, you are.”

You do your best to suppress your smirk as Feyd-Rautha, na-Baron, feared warrior, lays on his side and dangles a toy over your infant. His smooth brow is furrowed.

“It’s called tracking, Feyd.”

Feyd eyes your infant critically but relents.

Now, I think Feyd’s time to shine as a dad is when they’re toddler and into childhood😂 he would be so great at roughhousing with them and teaching them how to be a menace

[glitziinova]

General Toon headcanons

I suddenly remembered that I made these

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🥧Baby and child toons are scared of skelecogs. They see one and immediately start busting out crying

🥧 Toons born/raised in certain playgrounds have perks

🐾Toontown Central - Jack of trades, better at making friends and building relationships with others

🐾Barnacle Boatyard - Better swimmers and fishers

🐾Ye Olde Toontowne - Witches or other magic-related skills; like alchemy. Also, they prefer to make things by hand, very handy toons

🐾Daffodil Gardens - Gardeners, green thumbs, but also bug hunters and collectors

🐾Mezzo Melodyland - Musically inclined toons, they have sharper ears than most toons. Also artists like painters, sculpture, tailors misc

🐾The Brrrgh - Have better resistance to the cold. Has thicker fur.

🐾Acorn Acres - Certified tree climbers and foragers. Tree climbing-related activities are very common

🐾 Drowsy Dreamland - Due to the playground being what it is, they all benefit from the perks of having better sleep and often do have better sleep than the other toons from the other playgrounds (Unless you’re that one toon from that Graham task)

🥧Baby toon fur/ feathers/scales are much more lighter when very young (like infant to toddler), they reach their true colors around early childhood

🐾 Mother egg layers (like ducks, other birds, and gators) lay eggs (woah that's crazy), and also assuming that they take the same time as humans, they will hold the egg for about 9 months, lay it, and then take care of the egg for about a few days until it hatches.

🐾 Brand new baby toons (I have no idea what to call it, idk the actual name) look like their newborn for their species, usually small, blind/deaf, bald, pink crying jellybeans with limbs. In around the couple of weeks or a month mark, they actually look like proper toon babies. Yes, the toon parents will take many pictures when their baby starts to explode in fur/feathers because they look hilarious.

🥧Toons of different species can have a child together, the child will mainly be the species of their mother with some features of their father (think of the hybrids from Beastars)

🐾EX: Duck (mother) and Alligator (father): The child would appear mostly duck with sharp teeth, spines, claws, and some scales on their body

🥧Speaking “proper” words is a learned behavior, baby toons often speak in their natural animal noises. “Proper” words are like a second language for toons, some toons will slip and talk in their “natural” language. Toons can understand each other animal noises even if they’re different species. (The Cogs can’t understand their natural animal language)

🥧Predator toons (I have no idea what to call them in this context) like cats, dogs, bears, alligators, hybrids, etc, have retractable claws. Most keep their claws short to keep in their gloves. More fashion-forward toons who don’t fight cogs tend to let their claws grow and keep them decorated (Like Malimew Barbie and Begothz)

🥧Cat toons can be scruffed and it’s really embarrassing for them. Most Cat toons often wear something on their neck, usually to make it harder for them to be scruffed, sometimes it's for fashion or both.

🥧Toons can temporarily change art styles. Usually for comic effect, imagine you said something stupid and the toon just looks at you like 👁️_👁️ -_- 👁️_👁️