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sluttysanemi · 11 months ago

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𓆩. ⛧ .𓆪 — BAR BLISS. xoxo ’

Sanemi Shinazugawa x AFAB!Reader

c/w: out of character sanemi, fluff, pussy whipped sanemi (lol), sexual tension, ass slapping, flirting, smut, sort of fast paced dont bite my head off, oral (f!receiving), spit as lube, unprotected sex, responsible drinking

a/n: repost cuz its jst... not getting posted lol?? 5.2k words, smut at end!

A soft, dimly lit tavern- a warm glow casting a sense of intimacy. The acquainted aroma of ale, and exotic gin stenches the hostelry, followed with a captivating ambience. The inviting atmosphere charmed with lively music rendered the establishment to grow fairly populous.

Perched at the high tables, closely to the bartender, you gazed upon the assortment of drinks displayed within the umber coloured shelves. A pleasant evening it had held; you decide to indulge yourself to a sweetening cocktail. Expressing your polite solicit to the employee, you await patiently; once more engaging in the scenery amongst. You sat with only yourself, pondering idly. Along the valley of tidily arranged stools, none that sat upon particularly captured your interest. Ignoring the mild loneliness that echoed, you rather dwelled on loosening yourself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

With a short passing of time, your drink was presented. You mumbled a soft gratitude, and took a brief sip. The vibrant, tropical flavor lingering mildly, accompanying a pleasant after-taste. Whilst firming the spherical glass upon the table, a new presence accompanied. His peculiar fragrance of sandalwood, amber, and a savoury trace of tobacco swiftly caught your attention and coated the air with opulent pleasure. As if hearing your trailing thoughts of intrigue, he sat beside, upon the neighbouring stool.

You peered from the corner of your eye. His diverting scent drew a captivating allure.

Upon the abutting seat, a tall man of a lean, muscular build sat. With jagged, ivory hair, resting closely with the purple shade of his eyes. His figure was cluttered with ragged scars, the firm muscles of his body displayed proudly. A kanji meaning "kill", menacing and bold, emblazoned on the back of his long-sleeved haori followed with white buckles and the nature-coloured katana, painted with uneven dashes of white, resembling closely to his personal scars. This was certainly a sight you did not catch often…

He held a solemn expression, his gaze focused in front, though once he caught vision of whom he’d sat beside, it was as if his eyes expressed what his mouth did not. Tranced by your features; What a pretty face, such a gorgeous woman…

He passed a charming smile to you, as though he were silently indicating his interest, and ordered himself a whiskey.

Quickly poured, the amber liquor- settled within a low glass- is placed in front. Clear cubes of ice float highly. He reaches within his green tinted hakama pants, whilst you stared elsewhere.

“Want one, sweet thing?”, he spoke abruptly.

Pointing your sight to him once more, you watched as his sturdy hand held towards you an open packet of cigarettes. You grinned, rather amused by his braze attitude.

“Thank you.”, you replied kindly, plucking the narrow cylinder from the package. He excused himself to one and sealed the box, resuming its place with a lighter.

“Get close.”, he voiced with firm authority. Following, you leaned, noting closely his obscure musk scent. The leading edges of your shared cigarettes met as he held the ochre flame beneath. You stared as the vibrant glow followed towards the tab, silver emissions effused, and the newly invited fragrance of burnt tobacco evades.

Sighing glumly, he inhales deeply of the throat-clogging nicotine. He focuses on you, watching you with a linger of fascination.

“Like ‘yer eyes. They’re a real pretty colour.”, he remarked affably.

You smiled softly towards his admiration. “I like the scars. They complement nicely to your body.”, you replied simply, slowly intaking the flow of tobacco bodying the cigarette.

He sneers, evidently pleased. “Ye like them do ya, sweet thing? My body too?”, taunting you with your own words. You nod.

“You always such a pleasant show off?”, you asked, cocking an observant eyebrow. He swiftly drinks the bitter intoxicant, replying shortly. “For a lovely sight like you, might as well be.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

An invited silence stretches, whilst he shifts subtly- growing closer. “What’s your name then, sweet thing?”, he asks. You answered his query, gaining a soft grunt in his response. “Sanemi.”, he followed.

“Sanemi.”, you repeated, letting his name marinate within the moment. He purrs in response; a groan of approval. “Like the way ‘ye say it, pretty face.”

“You from here?”, you inquired, studying his expression. He watched you subtly, yet closely. You certainly had his interest. He shakes his head. “Not ‘round here. Was only ‘ere for my job. I’ll be gone by the morning.”, Sanemi inhaled from his cigarette once more, an excrement of smoke escaping the shine of his lips. You hummed in reply. “Thought you stood out. Is your job the premise for the katana, then?” He nods.

“Gotta fight really screwed shit with it. It sort of fucks you over. ‘ye’re not the same after.”, his voice somewhat reminiscent.

You watched at his expression momentarily, a comfortable silence whilst pursing your lips along the nicotine-coated cylinder, drawing in another drag.

“Good money?”, you questioned. He snickers, almost in disbelief.

“Real good money, baby. You like a man with cash?”, Sanemi pursued, his voice a sultry tone. You chuckle in his flirtations. “Perhaps. It makes for good compensation.”

He smiled, his grin tempting, as if he wished to glamor you. “Compensation, aye?”, he snickered. “You with a man then?” He inquired, abruptly shifting the subject. Like he was deeply curious to know…

His forward, careless confidence was alluring. You wished to tease him..“Why? Are you interested?”, she purred, purposely avoiding his advances. You were luring him, and tormentingly so… Sanemi rolled his eyes, unamused by the ingenous act. “You’re torturing me… your taunting could drive this man to murder.”, he whined lowly. He leans over and covers the back of your hand with his calloused palm. Sanemi’s skin was firm, almost abrasive. You could feel it softly skimming, caressing. “Do tell, sweet thing… i think ‘ye pretty face is really grownin’ on me.”

“Just my pretty face?”

“‘Ye voice too. Wanna hear it whine my name all night long.”

You purr a soft chuckle at his bold innuendo, though intrigued. “I suppose I’m available.” You spoke vaguely, though your reply struck a pleased grin. His fingers trailed thin circles along your wrists.

Your hand moved to the cocktail promptly forgotten upon the table. As you raise the glass to your lips once more, you observe Sanemi savouring, indulging in your beauty the same manner you had with your drink.

“Never seen a man stare at me so intently.”, you comment observantly.

“There’ll never be a man as worthy as me to do so.”

You laid a hand on his again, your fingers subtly intertwining. He felt warm; his touch delicate. Sanemi takes your dainty hand, and presses it gently to his lips. He presses swift, continuous kisses to the very tip of your middle finger. Your ethereal beauty left him aghast. He’d known there wouldn’t be another woman so entirely heavenly.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Time was clear to be surreal. He delved into the vastness of your thoughts and emotions. He was apparent to want to truly know you, to connect on more intimate levels than shallow conversation.

His clear need for closure was overly evident. His touch vividly intimate.

It had only been so long until he asked.

“Can I take you home tonight, sweet thing?”

His voice oozed with erotic ecstasy.

“Don’t you want me? I wished ‘ye knew how bad I craved you, pretty…”

His thumb would trace over your bottom lip, eyeing you greedily. It seemed as though he was tormenting himself. Awaiting a possibility to delicately press his lips against yours, feel the soft warmth of your skin, and be submerged in your gentle light. An untamed bliss.

It felt unreal as he guided you attentively through the darkened streets, explicitly keeping you close.

It felt of an overwhelming wave of intrigue as he held the door of a swiftly seized cab, observing your body’s sensual movement.

It felt of ecstasy as he sat close to you, tenderly tracing his fingertips across your thigh.

His fingers slid with precision, caressing until the very apex before manoeuvring down. Twisting inward and tracing sensual patterns on your flesh, his touch sent feverish sensations through your spine. The electric experience left you yearning more, as he began to explore every inch of your body with tantalizing detail, skimming into the interstitial crescents within.

Reciprocating his toy, you place the flat of your hand to the side of his face, drawing him into your gaze. You lean into the crook of his neck and begin trailing provocative kisses, leaving lipstick prints to remain. Lust thickens the atmosphere as desire suffocates; need floods your bodies.

Groaning in exhilaration to your temptations, he tightens his grasp around your thigh. Heavy waves of his breath fall from his chest. “Don’t do that, pretty girl…”, he warned, feeling buried in the terror of your beauty. Sanemi had lost himself more in your sight than he ever had in alcohol.

“I think you like it…”, you retort boldly, your tone flows with arrogance.

He rests his palm on the side of your face, lightly gripping. He peered at you closely, undressing you with his eyes. A faint sigh escaped his lips.

“More than you’ll ever know…”, Sanemi answered passionately. His opposing hand runs higher along your leg, drawing you up to his lap. It skims under your clothing to the fat on your rear. He squeezes hungrily before delivering the flesh a soft slap, humming softly at the delicate echo that followed. Your lips in tantalizing close distance, glaring at the other ardently.

The city lights reflected within the car, providing an idyllic setting. All the more incentive to pursue undisclosed desires.

Sanemi’s thumb would trail over your cheek, drawing in the moment. His breath, a stutter. “Fuck, sweet girl… look at’cha baby… your pretty eyes are gettin’ me needy.”, he spoke in slow detail. Your foreheads were held together close, your shared scents harmonizing.He gently cradled your face in his hands, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. Their eyes locked, communicating a depth of emotions that words struggled to convey. As he leaned in, a gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of blooming flowers.

Time seemed to slow as their lips finally met, a tender connection that sent ripples through their beings. His taste almost stung, strong with liquor, though resolutely appealing. Sanemi’s touch was feather-light, an exploration of the softness and warmth that made your heart flutter. Your eyes closed, savouring the delicate dance of their breaths becoming one.The kiss unfolded like a carefully composed melody, each moment an exquisite note in their symphony of shared emotions. His lips moved with a soft reverence, as if every caress held an unspoken promise. You responded, your own touch mirroring the tenderness you both craved.

The moon bore witness to their silent exchange, a celestial witness to a kiss that spoke volumes of love, longing, and the beauty of connection.Passion bloomed, becoming sinful, and greed infested the tender scenery. He grew relentless, gripping you needily, animalistically, blinded by his cravings. He was straining to remain composed and not strip you in the confines of the vehicle. He parts from your kiss momentarily.

“Tell me ‘ye need me, sweet girl. Drive me wild with that honey voice ‘ye got.”, he voiced, almost pleading.He moves to your neck, following your previous pursuit with firm kisses. He continuously caresses your thigh as well as firmly grasping at the soft skin of your ass.

“Need you, sanemi. Need you so bad.”, you whisper delicately; the words you spoke carry a sense of intimacy and vulnerability, resulting in Sanemi’s heart to ripple violently. He hums a breath of relief.

“Fuck…yes you do, sweet thing.”, his tone is low, caressing the intersections of your body. His lips travel to your cleavage, nipping the skin delicately. Soft prints flushing the skin remained. He glanced up at you briefly, craving. He longed to catch your essence and indulge as much of your elegance as he could. You followed, capturing in his glare. You looked at the gentle glimmer on his lips, the flush on his cheeks, and the sole euphoria expressed in his eyes. You grew enveloped in his luring expression…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Struggling to leave whole from the confinements of the car, you quickly travel to the hotel, passed to Sanemi’s momentary stay. It held rather lavishly, giving an almost luxurious appearance. He pressed feverishly onto the elevator's control, as if it were a panacea to a speedier arrival. His hand was almost entirely bound to your hip, and he was bitter to move it elsewhere. He was wildly near to seeing your nude grace. If only it would arrive faster… Sanemi grew partially frustrated.

The elevators eventually emerged, much to Sanemi's relief, thus he reacted quickly. He draws you against the room's iron walls, pressing his lips to yours again. The intense atmosphere has heightened. He placed his hand on your cheek, running down your neck. His available hand moves to your thigh and sets it firmly on his hip.

Your fingers are tangled in his silvery curls. Feeling the softness of his hair against your skin; the scent of his shampoo, a subtle mint, fills your senses, enhancing the intoxicating experience. Sanemi’s fingers trail to the inwards, intimate, spaces curved within your thighs. His calloused digits trail to the thin fabric layered over your clit, rubbing attentively; feeling the familiar warmth of arousal pool. He grins.

“Dirty girl…”, his words escape with a purr. His body presses against you more fiercely, the prominent bulge restrained in his trousers, growing in excitement, taunting you. Sanemi grinds his hips subtly, as if attempting to find relief in his heat. He groans aloud in alleviation, yet buries his head against the crook of your neck, trying to conceal his escaping pants of pleasure.

“Sweet girl… gonna fuck your pretty pussy so hard, baby.”

The lift rises and approaches the near top. The door glides open, exhibiting the sexual scenery to the empty corridor. He guides you by your hip to his room, attempting to pry his jumbled keys out of his pockets. With quivering, eager fingers, he eventually fits the key into the narrow gap, clicking it in place and pushing the door widely.

He's leading you into the room, flimsily locking, and conclusively inviting you into his bedroom. Beneath his sheets. He kisses you anew, gently guiding you to the outermost edge of his bed. Now he had time.

And he will make every effort to pursue it efficiently.

He's fervently pressing his pursed lips against your neck and gradually lowering to your thighs. He sits on his knees, taking your leg, and placing it over the firm of his shoulder. The salacious position provides Sanemi easier access into elation. His hands lift the hems of your dress upward, exposing you to him further. Feeling a silent obligation, you part your legs a further distance, eliciting an approving groan from the silver-haired man. “What a sweet mess…”, he coos.

He plants gentle pecks within the flesh of your inner thigh, his palm caressing the outskirts. You grasp the sheets with utmost thrill, watching Sanemi delve into the depths of your body. Your chest languidly rises and falls, attempting to compose. His hold discreetly attempts to press your body closer; his face gently pressing against the supple silk of your undergarments. He kisses the soft slit over the cloth, followed by tender suckling. Maneuvering to the supple inner skin of your legs once more, he continuously developed tension.

"Sanemi...," you pleaded, grasping his white hair again. He was belittling you, and it was harrowing... He peers above at you once again, an illicit smile plastered proudly on his face. “Don’t worry, sweet girl… I'll give you whatever you want."

His thumb links under the linen's corner strings and begins to tug in a slow, tantalizing movement. He peels the enticing attire to the floor and discards it. He delves into the supple flesh gently, trailing his tongue along the sensitive lips carefully. Your grip tightens, as a sudden surge of bliss arises. The pink muscle strays flat, as it caresses constantly over your clit. Maneuvering in a sensual, attentive rhythm. Vulgar murmurs pour as he gathers your arousal.

Sanemi's tongue glides delicately, occasionally delving within. He moves his head, ensuring to act attentively to your needs. Licking sensuous stripes over your slit, exploring various paces. Your carnal nectar developed into a gratifying addiction, which he merely drank wildly.

A slew of his name eludes from your lips, your urgent entail for him eliciting a groan. His voice sent pulses of thrill through you, and your muscles tensed.

His hold tightens upon your thigh, and he puckers his lips, suckling the soft slit delicately. His tongue consistently glides over, providing surplus ripples of ecstasy. He fulfills your carnal wishes, eager to satisfy you. Your sickly whines filled him with elation, feeling the arousal within him swallow him entirely.

His tongue traced along your amorous lips, creating ripples of a wet, erotic echo to follow. He quickly swallowed what he had gathered, savoring its taste. He demolished the thought of breathing while delving between your legs.

He lowers his face farther into your glistening cunt, his scarred hand massaging your outer thigh whilst. He twists his sensitive tongue and thrusts it repeatedly. You imitated his penetrations, grinding desperately against him. Tipping your head slightly backwards, blinded by euphoria.

“Please, Sanemi… please.”, you begged mindlessly.

“Yeah? You like that, pretty girl?” He purred, his voice immensely sultry.

His tongue thoughtlessly plunges into and out sloppily, culminating in shambles of pure bliss. He revered the way your thighs quiver eagerly, your fingers grasping him sterner, more desperately. He drank your sweet chirps of joy as if your voice alone produced ripplets of dopamine. There was not a honey poured in wine more pleasurable than the one produced by your trance.

His rose-coloured lingua traveled into the inner depths of your core, his nose pressed against the very delicate pearl of your intimacy. It squirmed, and twitched within. He broke momentarily, sighing against your fold. He took a moment to breathe briefly.

“Sweet girl...”, he kissed daintily.

You brush your fingers over his pale locks whilst marveling at him. He watched you, almost lovingly. Your fingertips were of silk. His expression softens, and an unexpected pink tinge faintly washes his face.

He grunts softly into your throbbing core, before immersing himself once more. He was an alcoholic in your lust. His pulsing yearning became overwhelming; he needed you. To immerse himself entirely in you and to feel your sweetening warmth envelope him most intimately. He grew gluttonous; hungry to have you to himself.

Your glance, your elegant eyelashes, fluttering so delicately. It drove him mad. You had looked so delectable, it plunged him deeper into thirst. Thirst to hear your voice whine to his name. Thirst to take you to unending depths of happiness, so you'll never find a man more deserving than him. Could there really be? For a woman as ravishing as you? He craves to hear you further.

He continues to fuck you mercilessly with his tongue. His nails, while blunt, sink into the crescents of your thighs and press against your flesh. They leave a tender bruise painted upon your thigh. He groans with deeper delight, content to have left his imprint on you.

His pink muscle is saturated in slick, and he continues to lap hungrily, avidly, greedy to reach you to that high. You became wanting. Thighs clenching, thoughtlessly rubbing. So close to heavenly’s peak. His echoing stimuli urging you towards your climax. You experienced a sensuous pulse string across your body, contracting irrationally. You tugged on his hair, seeking it further. Your breath struggles to maintain a fluent pace.

“That’s it, sweet thing. So good f’me…”

Your back arches, and an indescribable rush pours from you. It immerses you in a familiar sense of utopia, yet only considerably deeper. Out of this world, as if no troubles existed. A sensual warmth trails from your body, which Sanemi keenly tastes.

You take a moment to absorb within this reality once more, observing Sanemi's tongue gliding over his lips, clearing the remnants of your pleasure. He breathes softly into your throbbing cunt before placing a final, delicate kiss.

"D'you want me, pretty thing?" he asked, his face resting briefly on your thigh.

You nod calmly, your fingers caressing him. Sanemi smiles sweetly, pressing a kiss upon your skin. It was apparent that he thoroughly enjoyed you. When you touched, caressed. Even when you spoke. He was overjoyed to finally have you.

He rises to his full height. He leaned over and observed you lustfully. His palm rests on the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek. He moves the tips of his fingers diligently across your body. You can feel his touch pulsating within you.

His fingers crook, under the straps of your attire, slowly peeling it from your shoulders. He sighs deeply, unable to suppress his overt excitement. His touch is, however, delicate. His hands glide along your body, as he undresses you carefully. Squeezing the newly found skin with a certain care. He was admiring.

Leaving your garments across the floor, your body was left bare. The moon shone against, giving you a nearly angelic beauty.

“Oh, sweet thing…”, Sanemi whispers, enthralled. He cups your face and leans in to kiss you. The faint imprint of your prior high stays on his tongue.

Whining softly against each other, he quickly grew inflamed. He moves forward and positions himself on top of you, upon the bed. He softly brings you to the plush cushioning at the back, following as you slowly manoeuvre back. His free hand flows to the white buckles around his waist slowly sliding it off. It clicks quietly before it’s thrown thoughtlessly.

You supported him whilst he undressed, stroking your fingertips along his shoulders and slipping his uniform from his sculpted body. Watching as he offered himself to you without a sense of guilt.

Soon, he'd lay in only briefs, which scarcely concealed his arousal as it rubbed against your glistening folds, throbbing uncontrollably. His bare chest, gleaming in droplets of sweat, is marred in piercing scars. With bulging pectorals carved into a definite contour. His back, firm with strong ridges, as if in invitation to be touched. He was the embodiment of beauty. And he was to lay with you.

His hand supported his imposing physique as he breathed idly above. His fingers reached for the band of his boxers. Giving the fabric a firm tug, his heavy cock sprung from the tight confinements. Veiny, and thick, pulsing with demand. Pearly beads of pre, gathering from his rigid tip. He raised his hand in front and briefly spat twice, before pumping his shaft. He slumps forward with a deep groan, lubricating himself as filthy sounds follow.

After a prolonged tension, his dick glinted in his fluids. He reformed his grip at his base, pressing the flushed tip against your folds.

“Hold me gentle girl, hold me…”, he asked softly, his breath wavering.

Following his plea, you wrap your forearms around his broad neck. It held firmly, as did the rest of his body. In a gradual movement, he pushes his shaft inside you, grunting aloud. He surged frantically, teeming in eagerness. You inhale sharply through your teeth, curling your thighs around his waist.

He raised his hand to your upper thigh, caressing gently. “So soft...” “you’re so warm, sweet angel…”, he praises with leisure. He buries himself further into your warmth in a gentle push. He gradually has himself to the very hilt within you, twitching erratically.

He struggles to breathe at a consistent pace. Your enticing cunt fluttered so invitingly, he had difficulties comprehending simple thought. He lays loving kisses across the side of your neck as you acclimatize to each other.

He spread you out, filling you within. His girthy length massaged your crevices, piercing deep within. It's as if he was meant for you; as if Sanemi was designed especially for your pleasure.

He gradually starts to move. Sanemi begins tenderly, rolling his hips gently, his groin lightly slapping against you. His length rocks with ease, creating the familiar sound of skin crashing. He moved his hand to grasp your waist, while his other continually grasped himself upwards.

You felt of a miracle, he had neglected to breathe again. Deep within you, over and over, he knew of heaven. He was conscious that he was vocal, but he couldn't control it. You were too good for his sanity.

You whined aloud, settling your face into the crook of his neck. Your grasp tightens around him, feeling a gradual sensation of ecstasy arise. You could feel his heartbeat, strumming a gentle symphony against your naked breast. A close connection.

His cock plunged into you tentatively, as if you were facile to shatter. Mindlessly rocking and softly pounding into you. His thighs clenched, entranced by the eternal pleasure you offered. You could feel his silky pants by your ear, seeming that even a little of you drove him wild.

He moved, handled and spoke with absolute tenderness. His unending praises are a celestial chorus. He ensured to treat you with nothing but the finest.

But you craved more. His ferocious, animalistic urge, which he promised you in the lift. You wanted him to batter you mercilessly, laying claim to you. You knew he wanted it too.

Traveling your hands to his back, you caressed gently. “Sanemi… faster- please…”, you chirped gently.

He groaned heavily in response, burying his face firmly into your neck. Your voice drove him over, unleashing his wildest impulses. His upholding hand grasps at the sheets, as if a display of him attempting to hold to the last of his humanity. He responds with a harsh thrust.

"Yes, sweet thing." he uttered.

He was quick to follow your demands. His movements grew more brutal, with delicate rolls swiftly developing into animalistic thrusts. His cock plummeted sloppily, reaching unnoticed rises. He used his developed muscles and stamina, his movement appearing unending, ensuring to fulfil your deepest needs.

His breathing became erratic, with groans and grunts against your ear, endured in a sultry tone. He'd babble soothing praises, promising you that no one could fuck your sweet pussy better than him.

You knew to believe him.

You moaned against him, clutching at him desperately. It felt as if he was mindlessly pleasing you, plunging within your innermost soul. It was as if you had only been within his humanity to satisfy him. Your voice grew incoherent, only whispering his name. He tilted his head, succumbing to your idly murmurs with delicate, sensual kisses.

“So good, sweet angel, such a sweet girl.”, he murmurs.

He slides his hand from your hips to your chest. His palm gently rests on your supple breast, kneading the subtle skin tenderly. You arch in answer, forcing yourself against him further.

Even while he stipulated endless erotic sensations, your body desired more. You wanted him completely, and you became greedy. Rottenly greedy. You wanted to be reminded that nothing else in the world matters except him.

Even if he massaged within the innermost spirit, he had to take you completely. Not a portion of your body must be unclaimed

“Please, Sanemi. More- Need it so bad…”, Your voice is a pale melody, though your words strike deeply within him. He grins, doting in your submission.

He catches your wrist and places it above your head. “Oh, sweet thing? You still want more? Hmm? Even with my cock poundin’ you? Ain’t you a dirty girl…”, he groaned. He grips your thighs and lays them over the rigid of his shoulders, almost folding you in half. You could feel every vein along him, pulsing urgently.

“How could I ever deny my sweet girl of anythin’?”, he hums proudly. And as soon as that, he continues moving anew. This time, he is visibly vengeful. His shaft strikes into you rigorously, reaching his very haft in a deep plunge. Filthy, shameful noises pour from your bodies as he pummels your inner depths ruthlessly. His balls smack into your slit diligently, almost causing bruising.

He gazed from above with an almost sadistic look, relishing as he ruined your body, melding your velvet walls for his cock.

Back and forth with a repetitive, harsh manner. Holding vigorous brutality. Yet, it had been exhilarating. A hell had developed into heaven, and it was him.

“So desperate ain’t you? You want this? You want my claim?” he panted eagerly, his chest fluctuating freely. Your hold deepens on his back as you nod in response, mumbling a gentle "please" against him.

You knew not to act irrationally. How could you deny him? After the bliss he had brought you tonight?

Oh, your sweet voice… fervently begging for him. So desperately. You were such a good girl for him.

His hips falter briefly, before he groans profoundly with pride. “Oh, sweet girl.. You’re so good… so fuckin’ good.”, he moans. He kisses your neck needily, craving.

It was shortly until you felt a familiar coil within you. A soft flowering bloom. Your heart raced as the sensation grew stronger, pulsing through every fibre of your body. The anticipation grew excruciating, fueling a burning desire to embrace the intoxicating bliss that laid.

He too felt his climax build, as his coordinated movement grew urgent and eager. Rutting into you, eager to achieve that wave of fulfilment.

Your fingers layered into his white curls. His head is tilted forward, as he plunged endlessly. You grasp your fingers around his face, having him gaze upon you.

And he watches. His entire focus is on your face. His gaze sweeps over every aspect of you, every beauty. He drinks it all mindlessly, imbibing in every detail.

And it ruins him.

His face flushed pink, and he swiftly pressed his face into your neck, absorbing in your sickly scent. His thrusts became frantic, desperate, as he's reminded who he's plunged so deeply into.

“Sweet girl… so fuckin’ pretty… just f’me…”, He rambles incessantly. His grip on your wrist alters, and he soon entwines his fingers with yours. His hands are twitching, and warm, as it pulses with sinful desires.

As you felt the rhapsodic heavens, a white blinded your vision, and you were washed alas with phenomenal delight. You flutter around his shaft, tightening firmly. His hips dragged frantically, and with a quiver of mumbled curses, he finished deeply, too. His dick pulses and spurts ropes of ecstasy, into the warmth of your womb.

He breathes deeply into the silence of the room, prolonging his pleasure with light rolls. He inhaled shakily, his lower lip quivered faintly. After culminating his high to its very end, he gingerly slides your thighs from his shoulders. He rests, laying beside you.

He lazily places his palm on the side of your face. He observed you, holding the same soft stare he had in the bar. He smiles sluggishly.

“D’you think I could… see you again?” He inquired calmly, his thumb sliding over your cheek. You studied him curiously before beaming sweetly at him.

Your breathing synchronizes with that familiar, serene melody, developing a pleasant silence in the room. The moon illuminated your paired beauty as you gazed at each other tenderly.

You felt his warmth, his scent.

And you felt safe.

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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Of Gods and Men (horizon)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

- Summary: House Targaryen survives their ancient exile after being overthrown by House Corrino and the Bene Gesserit. Fleeing to the unknown planet Albiron, the Targaryens build a hidden civilization powered by drakaon crystals, reviving their dragons and creating advanced technology. Millennia later, whispers of their survival begin to surface as the Bene Gesserit confront a mysterious Red Woman on Arrakis, who warns of a coming Prince That Was Promised destined to challenge their control. The Targaryens secretly prepare to return, ready to reclaim their legacy.

- Pairing: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

- Note: For more details about House Targaryen and their technology, please check out the masterlist.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: dreams

- Next part: titans

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

In the depths of the Targaryen base, nestled within the dunes of Arrakis, the whispers of the wind carried the echoes of ancient secrets. The base, hidden beneath the sands, was a network of underground chambers and command rooms, each one filled with the quiet hum of advanced technology and hushed conversations. In one of these chambers, Aelor, Maelor, and Daenys—the Targaryen siblings—gathered around a holographic map of the desert while Stilgar watched them with his ever-cautious eyes.

Stilgar, though still wary of outsiders, had come to trust the Targaryens. They had shown him a respect for the desert and its ways, and Daenys in particular had proven herself an ally with her gifts of water filtration units and resources that had bolstered the Fremen. But even now, he remained cautious, his arms crossed as he listened to the Targaryens discuss their plans for the future of Arrakis and their alliances with House Atreides.

As they spoke, a Fremen messenger arrived, cloaked in sand-colored robes, his face hidden behind a stillsuit mask. He bowed to Vaegor, the Master of Whispers of House Targaryen, and handed over a sealed message. Vaegor nodded in acknowledgment and, as a gesture of respect, pressed a flask of precious water into the Fremen’s hand as payment. The messenger inclined his head in gratitude before slipping back into the shadows of the desert.

Vaegor turned, the message clasped tightly in his hand, and made his way into the command room where Aelor, Maelor, Daenys, and Stilgar were gathered. The siblings paused their discussion as he entered, his presence a silent signal that new information had arrived.

“A message from House Atreides, my lord,” Vaegor said, holding out the wax-sealed cylinder to Aelor. “It bears the mark of Thufir Hawat.”

Aelor took the message, breaking the seal with a flick of his silver ring. As he scanned its contents, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It seems that the Duke of House Atreides is in need of our assistance,” he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glanced over at his sister.

You raised an eyebrow at Aelor’s words, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Is that how he put it, Aelor? Asking for our help?” Your tone held a touch of teasing, though there was a glimmer of curiosity in your eyes. You wondered what had driven Leto to reach out in this way, what troubles lurked in the shadows of Arrakeen that he felt he could not handle alone.

Aelor returned your look, a slight shrug in his shoulders. “He’s not one for pleading, but the message is clear. They have uncovered an assassin, yet they suspect there may be more Harkonnen agents lurking in the shadows of the city. The Duke believes our... expertise might be of use.”

Stilgar, who had been listening in silence, shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing. “The Atreides are still strangers to the desert, no matter their good intentions. It is wise of them to seek aid, but it does not change their nature. Their goals and ours may align for now, but the desert remembers, and so do my people.”

You turned your attention to Stilgar, offering him a nod of understanding. “I understand your caution, Stilgar. Trust is not easily given, nor should it be. But I believe Duke Leto has proven his intentions, if not fully, then at least enough to be worth this aid. And if there are Harkonnen remnants lurking within the city, it is in our best interest to see them exposed.”

Aelor looked between you and Stilgar, then nodded decisively. He turned back to Vaegor, who remained a shadowed presence by the door. “Take your best men, Vaegor. Go to Arrakeen and assist the Atreides in rooting out whatever Harkonnen operatives might remain. And ensure that they know we are watching closely.”

Vaegor bowed his head, his expression unreadable. “As you command, my lord. I will leave at once.”

As Vaegor left the room to prepare for the mission, Aelor folded the message and slipped it into a hidden compartment on his belt. He glanced at you one last time, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “It seems, sister, that your Duke has found a way to bring us closer into his fold. But be careful—you know how delicate these matters can be.”

You returned his smile with a faint one of your own, but your thoughts remained focused on the message, on the events unfolding in Arrakeen, and on the man who had sent for your help. There was a tension in the air, a sense that the alliances being forged now would soon be tested by fire and shadow.

“Delicate, yes,” you replied softly, your gaze turning toward the desert beyond, where three dragons circled in the sky like guardians of a forgotten world. “But then again, we have always thrived on the edge of danger.”

The sun was low in the sky as Vaegor arrived at the Atreides stronghold, his Targaryen soldiers in tow. The desert wind whipped around them, carrying with it the scent of sand and spice. Leto Atreides stood with Thufir Hawat at the entrance, watching as the dark-clad figures approached, insignia of House Targaryen emblazoned on their armor.

Vaegor stepped forward, his expression composed, eyes sharp as they took in the stronghold's defenses. Leto inclined his head in greeting, gesturing for Vaegor to follow him inside. “Welcome, Vaegor. Your arrival is timely. We appreciate your assistance in this... delicate matter.”

Vaegor nodded, his gaze flicking over the stronghold's walls and patrolling guards. “My lord, Aelor and Daenys made it clear that House Targaryen has a vested interest in ensuring that Harkonnen agents do not undermine our alliance or your position here. My men are ready to begin the investigation.”

Leto led Vaegor deeper into the stone halls of the stronghold, the heavy doors sealing behind them with a resonant thud. They stopped before a map room, where a holographic projection of Arrakeen and its surrounding desert terrain shimmered above the table. Hawat moved closer, gesturing toward the marked locations where Harkonnen agents had been uncovered.

“We’ve identified the entry points and movements of the assassin we apprehended, but we believe there may be others hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike,” Hawat explained, his tone clipped with efficiency. “Your men will have access to all the information we’ve gathered so far. My own agents will cooperate fully, sharing whatever leads they uncover.”

Vaegor nodded, his expression neutral, but there was a glint in his eyes that spoke of sharpened focus. He glanced at Leto. “I’ll have my soldiers coordinate with yours immediately. If there are any Harkonnen remnants lingering here, we will find them. Rest assured, Duke Leto, the dragons have a keen sense for sniffing out secrets.”

With that, Vaegor turned and strode out of the room, his cloak sweeping behind him like the wings of a shadowed creature, and his men followed closely. As the Targaryen team dispersed into the depths of the stronghold to begin their investigation, Hawat turned to Leto, noting the pensive expression on the Duke’s face.

“My Lord, you seem... troubled,” Hawat ventured cautiously, watching the way Leto’s gaze remained fixed on the map projection. “Are you thinking about the offer you intend to send to Dragonlord Aenys?”

Leto let out a slow breath, his eyes lingering on the flickering image of Arrakeen before he turned to face Hawat fully. “Yes, Thufir, I am. I find myself struggling with how to put my intentions into words. I need to convey how sincere I am, but at the same time, I must tread carefully. Aenys is not a man to be taken lightly, and any misstep could damage the alliance we’ve worked so hard to build.”

Hawat studied the Duke’s face, noting the lines of worry and thoughtfulness that marked it. “You wish to propose a marriage alliance, then,” he said, his tone more of a statement than a question. “Between yourself and Daenys Targaryen. It’s a... bold move, my lord. One that would undoubtedly strengthen ties between House Atreides and House Targaryen.”

Leto nodded slowly, his expression turning inward as he considered the implications of such a proposal. “Yes. It is bold. And it’s also something that feels... like it belongs to me. A decision that is mine to make, after years of playing by the rules set by others—by Jessica, by the Emperor, by the Bene Gesserit.”

His gaze drifted to the courtyard beyond the windows, where he could see Jessica leading Paul through another session of training, her movements precise, her demeanor strict. Leto’s lips tightened into a thin line, his emotions a storm beneath the surface.

Hawat followed his lord’s gaze, understanding the tension that hung between the Duke and his concubine. He knew how Jessica’s loyalties had always been divided between her duty to the Sisterhood and her feelings for Leto. He also knew that this proposal would be a blow to her, one that would widen the rift that had been growing between them since Arctis.

“Lady Jessica will not be pleased,” Hawat remarked quietly, his eyes still fixed on the courtyard. “She has always seen herself as part of your future, even if the Sisterhood’s plans did not allow for a formal union. To offer your hand to Daenys... it will feel like a betrayal to her.”

Leto’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained resolute. “I know, Thufir. But this is the first choice I’ve been able to make in what feels like a lifetime. I have sacrificed enough for political maneuvering and Imperial expectations. If there is a chance to secure the future of my House and find something more—then I will take it.”

Hawat observed his Duke closely, the steel in Leto’s voice telling him that no amount of advice or warning would change the man’s mind. It was clear that Leto had already made his decision—and that the future of House Atreides now lay on a path that intertwined with the dragons.

After a moment, Hawat inclined his head, a gesture of deference and acceptance. “Then I will do what I can to ensure that House Atreides is prepared for whatever comes next, my Lord. I hope... it will be the right choice.”

Leto offered him a faint, wry smile. “As do I, Thufir. As do I.”

They stood together in silence for a few moments longer, both of them watching as Jessica and Paul moved through their training exercises in the courtyard below. But even as they did, Leto’s thoughts drifted toward the desert, to the woman who had arrived with dragons and whose presence had begun to shift the foundations of his world.

Leto Atreides sat in his study, the cool light of the morning sun filtering through the windows, casting shadows over the polished surface of his desk. Before him lay the carefully written proposal, the words chosen with a deliberation that had taken days. The parchment bore the seal of House Atreides, and Leto turned it over in his hands, adjusting his signet ring as he prepared to affix his final mark. His mind swirled with thoughts of how Aenys Targaryen might receive this offer—how the proposal for a marriage alliance would be interpreted and whether it would be seen as sincere or opportunistic.

As he steeled himself to press the seal into the warm wax, the door to his study opened, and Gurney Halleck and Duncan Idaho entered, their footsteps echoing lightly in the quiet room. Gurney, ever the observant one, couldn’t hide the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"Ah, my Lord," Gurney said with a chuckle, “You should’ve seen that Vaegor just now, gliding through these halls like some sort of ghost. Nearly gave me a fright when I turned a corner and found him standing there.”

Duncan grinned, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned casually against the edge of the desk. “He certainly knows how to move unseen. Useful, if a bit unsettling. But more to the point, Leto—what has you so... preoccupied?” He gestured toward the sealed letter on the desk, then glanced at the Duke’s hands, which had been fidgeting with the signet ring—a habit both of them recognized well.

Leto sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he set the ring back in place. “You two know me too well,” he admitted. “I was just finishing a proposal that I intend to send to Aenys Targaryen. A formal request for a marriage alliance between our Houses.”

Gurney’s eyes widened slightly, but the smile that spread across his face was genuine. “A wise move, if you ask me, my Lord. The Targaryen lass has been a good friend to House Atreides, and it would be a pleasure to see her as part of our family.”

Leto glanced between Gurney and Duncan, surprised by the enthusiasm in their responses. “I hadn’t realized that the two of you had grown so... fond of her. It’s not often I hear you speak so highly of someone who isn’t carrying a blade or a baliset.”

Gurney laughed, the sound warm and rich in the stillness of the room. “Aye, well, Daenys gave us a good chase back on that frozen hellhole of a planet, Arctis. Taught us both a fair bit about humility, she did.” He paused, his expression softening as he added more quietly, “But there’s more to it than that. She reminds me of my late sister in some ways—fierce, but with a gentle heart underneath it all. It would be good to have someone close who understands music, someone who might find a friend in these halls.”

Duncan nodded in agreement, his own smile more subdued but no less genuine. “She’s helped House Atreides more than anyone else I know, and she’s done it without expecting praise or reward. And she’d certainly keep you on your toes, Leto. I think that’s a quality you could use more of.”

Leto couldn’t help but chuckle at Duncan’s assessment, though a part of him still wrestled with the nervous energy that buzzed beneath his calm exterior. “She certainly does have a way of... challenging me, doesn’t she? And perhaps that’s what makes this decision feel so different. It’s not just about politics or strategy—it’s about... something more.”

Gurney’s expression turned more serious as he rested a hand on the back of one of the chairs. “Whatever your reasons, my Lord, you should know that you have our support. Daenys Targaryen has earned my respect, and if she’s the one who can stand beside you through what’s to come, then I’d be honored to see her become a part of our House.”

Duncan nodded his agreement, a steady presence beside Gurney, his eyes meeting Leto’s with a knowing look. “You’ve carried the weight of House Atreides for a long time, Leto. If this is the path you want to take, then it’s your choice. Not anyone else’s. And I think it’s about time you made a choice that’s yours.”

Leto felt a warmth spread through his chest, a sense of reassurance that came from the trust he placed in these two men who had stood by his side through wars and uncertainty. He glanced down at the sealed message once more, then nodded to himself, slipping the parchment into a leather pouch marked with the crest of House Atreides.

“Thank you, Gurney, Duncan,” he said quietly, sincerity in his voice. “Your words mean more to me than you know. I’ll send the message to Aenys today—and whatever comes of it, I’ll face it knowing that it’s a path I’ve chosen freely.”

Vaegor Targaryen moved through the Atreides stronghold like a shadow, his footsteps silent against the stone floors. The stronghold’s architecture was sturdy, built to withstand the harsh conditions of Arrakis, but Vaegor’s keen eyes caught the signs of recent repairs, reinforcements, and the lingering paranoia that seeped into every corner. As he moved deeper into the heart of the stronghold, he arrived at the door of Dr. Yueh’s office.

He paused outside the door for a moment, listening to the soft scrape of metal instruments and the shuffling of papers inside. Then, without announcing himself, he pushed the door open and stepped into the sterile space of the medic’s quarters. Dr. Yueh looked up sharply, his hands freezing in the middle of organizing a series of datapads on his desk. His expression, normally controlled, flickered with a flash of discomfort as he recognized his visitor.

“Master Vaegor,” Yueh greeted, his tone overly polite, though his unease was evident in the tightness around his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Vaegor regarded the doctor with his usual cool demeanor, his eyes—dark violet as the depths of space—seeming to pierce through the man before him. He had grown accustomed to the way his presence could unsettle others, but there was something more in the way Yueh’s hands shook ever so slightly as he rearranged the items on his desk, his fingers tapping nervously against the metal surface.

“Few people do expect me, Doctor,” Vaegor replied, his voice smooth and quiet. He let his gaze sweep over the office, noting the shelves lined with medical supplies, the datapads, and the Imperial insignia subtly displayed among his tools. “I’ve been tasked with ensuring that there are no further threats lurking within this stronghold. A thorough inspection is in order, wouldn’t you agree?”

Yueh forced a strained smile, but there was a twitch in his jaw that betrayed his discomfort. “Yes, of course. Anything to ensure the safety of House Atreides. But I assure you, Master Vaegor, my office has no secrets—just the usual tools of a physician.”

Vaegor hummed softly, his lips curling into a hint of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The usual tools, yes. But as you know, doctor, things are rarely as simple as they seem.” He stepped closer to the desk, his presence looming over Yueh, who instinctively took a step back.

Vaegor’s fingers brushed over a datapad before picking it up, glancing at the contents. It was filled with medical records—mostly routine reports on the health of Paul Atreides, Duke Leto, and other key figures in the stronghold. But as Vaegor’s gaze swept over the data, he caught the subtle notations and private codes embedded within the text, the kind of information that might hold hidden meanings.

“You seem... thorough, Dr. Yueh,” Vaegor commented, turning the datapad in his hand. He fixed the doctor with a sharp look. “Thoroughness is a good quality in a physician, but it also makes me wonder what you might be... overlooking or hiding.”

Yueh swallowed hard, the sound almost loud in the quiet room. “I-I assure you, Master Vaegor, everything here is above board. My duty is to serve the Duke and his family, to ensure their health and well-being. Nothing more.”

Vaegor set the datapad back down with a soft click, but he didn’t move away. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to cut through the air like a blade. “Everyone has their secrets, doctor. Some more dangerous than others. I trust you would do well to remember where your loyalties lie.”

He held Yueh’s gaze for a moment longer, watching the way the doctor’s face paled slightly, the sweat gathering at his temples. Then, without another word, Vaegor turned and strode out of the office, leaving Yueh standing there, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

As soon as the door closed behind the Master of Whispers, Yueh let out a long, shaky exhale, pressing a trembling hand to his chest. He could feel his heart racing, the panic clawing at the edges of his thoughts. He had faced interrogations before, endured the scrutiny of many eyes, but Vaegor’s presence had been like facing the void itself, a darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.

Yueh clenched his hands into fists, forcing himself to take a steadying breath. He could not afford to let his nerves get the better of him—not now, when the walls seemed to be closing in from all sides. He reminded himself of the Imperial conditioning, of the plan he had been bound to for so long. But even as he tried to calm himself, the echo of Vaegor’s words lingered in his mind, a reminder that the shadows he thought he had mastered might yet turn against him.

And somewhere in the depths of his mind, a whisper of doubt began to grow, threatening the fragile control he had so carefully maintained.

Paul Atreides lay in his bed, the heavy air of Arrakis thick with the scent of spice. It filled his lungs, seeped into his mind, and stirred up the dreams that had become a near-constant presence since his arrival on the desert planet. He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, but he knew what awaited him on the other side of consciousness—visions that danced on the edge of prophecy, images that blurred the line between reality and illusion.

Tonight, like so many nights before, the dreams came swiftly, pulling him down into their depths. But ever since he had met you, they had taken on a new intensity, becoming sharper, more vivid, as if the presence of the dragons had somehow amplified the currents of time that flowed through him.

In the darkness behind his closed eyes, he saw you—your pale hair catching the light of distant stars, your lilac eyes glowing with a knowledge that seemed ancient and unknowable. You stood in a landscape of fire, the flames rising around you like a living tapestry, weaving through the air. The heat of the vision seared his mind, and he felt the pull of your presence, as though you were reaching out to him across the void.

He watched you, standing beside Leto, his father. The Duke’s face was lined with worry, the familiar furrow in his brow deepening as he spoke to you, his words lost in the roar of the flames that surrounded them. Paul tried to hear what you were saying, but the fire swallowed the sound, leaving him with only the images—images that shifted like sand in the wind.

And then, you turned toward him, your eyes locking onto his through the blaze. Your lips moved, forming words that he could not hear, but he felt their weight in his chest, as if you were trying to warn him of something. He reached out, his hand trembling in the dream, but as he drew closer, the fire surged, swallowing you up in a wave of red and gold.

Paul gasped, trying to push through the heat, but the flames coiled around him, pulling him down into their depths. He could feel the spice in the air, burning through his veins, twisting the dreams into something deeper, something more terrifying. He saw dragons soaring through the embers, their shadows sweeping across a blazing sky. He saw Leto standing on the edge of a cliff, his face turned toward the distant horizon, as if searching for something that only he could see.

And then there was you again, standing beside his father, your hand resting lightly on Leto’s arm. The dragons circled above you, their roars blending with the crackle of flames. You looked at Paul, your gaze piercing through the smoke and fire, and for a moment, he thought he saw sadness in your eyes.

Suddenly, the scene shifted, and he found himself standing in the ruins of Arrakeen, the city crumbling around him as fire swept through the streets. Buildings collapsed in on themselves, the stone melting beneath the heat, and the screams of the people echoed through the burning air. He turned, desperate to find you or his father, but the visions moved too quickly, slipping through his grasp like sand through his fingers.

In the distance, he saw Leto again, but this time, his father’s face was etched with pain, his expression twisted with grief. He held something in his hands—something small and delicate, something that glowed with a faint blue light. But before Paul could make sense of it, the flames rose once more, swallowing the image in a surge of searing heat.

Paul struggled against the visions, against the fire that consumed everything around him. He could feel the spice burning through his thoughts, twisting his perception, turning the dream into something that felt almost real. And through it all, he felt a strange envy—a longing for the clarity that you seemed to possess, the immunity that your bloodline granted against the effects of the spice.

He thought of how the Targaryens could walk through the halls of Arrakis without feeling the constant pull of the melange, how you could navigate the world without the visions that haunted his every step. You had spoken of your dragon dreams, but they seemed different—more like a gift than a curse. For Paul, there was no escape from the future that loomed over him, no way to close his eyes without seeing the flames that threatened to consume them all.

The dream shifted again, and this time he saw you standing alone, your face turned toward a desolate sky. The dragons circled above you, their shadows sweeping across the desert sands. You raised a hand, as if reaching for something beyond the horizon, and for a moment, Paul thought he saw the outline of a figure standing beside you—a shadowed presence that seemed to watch over you both.

And then the flames came again, surging around him, pulling him back into their burning embrace. He fought against the heat, against the images that burned through his mind, but he could not escape their grasp. He felt himself falling, spiraling deeper into the fire, into the dreams that would not let him go.

When he finally woke, his body was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. The room around him was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the Arrakeen night beyond the windows. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady his breathing, but the echoes of the dream lingered in his mind, refusing to fade.

He could still see the flames, still feel the heat of your gaze as you looked at him through the blaze.

Paul clenched his fists, trying to make sense of the dream, but the only thing he could hold onto was the feeling that he was running out of time—that the future he had seen in the flames was rushing toward him faster than he could understand.

The sun was low over Arrakeen when Daenys Targaryen descended from her ornithopter onto the landing platform of the Atreides stronghold. The air was filled with the ever-present scent of spice, but she was accustomed to it now, the sharpness of it barely registering as she walked through the gates with a small entourage. In her arms, she carried a sealed case containing the schematics for the hydroponic systems and aqueducts her brother Aelor had promised to the Duke of House Atreides, as well as trade agreements for the Valyrian steel Leto had requested.

The stronghold’s halls were cool and dim, a stark contrast to the searing heat outside, and she moved through them with ease, nodding to the guards who watched her with a mixture of curiosity and respect. When she reached the Duke’s study, the doors opened to reveal Leto, standing by the holo-map of Arrakis, his hands clasped behind his back.

He turned at the sound of her arrival, his expression lighting up with a warmth that spread through the room. “Daenys,” he greeted, stepping forward to meet her, his gaze lingering on her as if he could not quite believe she was there again. “You honor us with your presence, as always.”

You offered him a small smile, inclining your head as you handed over the sealed case. “My brother sends his regards, Duke Leto, and the schematics for the hydroponic systems we discussed. He believes they will help to cultivate more water and food here on Arrakis, using the principles that have served us well on Albiron.”

Leto accepted the case, his fingers brushing yours for a brief moment as he took it from you—a touch so fleeting, yet it sent a thrill through him. “Please, call me Leto,” he said softly, a hopeful look in his eyes. “And you have my deepest gratitude, Daenys. Your aid in these matters is... invaluable.”

He gestured for you to join him at a nearby table, where a selection of documents lay spread out, detailing the terms of the trade agreements between their Houses. Leto placed the schematics beside them, but as you took a seat, you noticed the way his eyes lingered on you more than the papers. There was a gentleness in his expression, a warmth that he did not bother to hide.

As the two of you discussed the details of the trade deal—the Valyrian steel for Caladan’s infrastructure, the military supplies, and the exotic fish that House Targaryen had come to appreciate—Leto found himself gravitating closer, allowing small gestures to slip into the conversation. A touch to your arm as he made a point, a lingering glance that spoke of affection beyond the politics of their arrangement. And he noticed, with a mixture of hope and nervousness, that you did not shy away from these gestures. In fact, at times, you even reciprocated, offering him a smile that seemed to linger just a little longer, or a comment that was warmer than mere formality.

As the conversation drew to a close, Leto cleared his throat, gathering his courage before speaking again. “Daenys, I know that you have many responsibilities here on Arrakis—and with your House’s efforts in the desert—but I was wondering if you might... consider staying here in Arrakeen for a few days. Not as a matter of duty, but simply... to see more of what our city has to offer. Perhaps we could... share more about our Houses, our histories. It would be an honor to have your company outside of these discussions.”

He watched your expression carefully, his heart fluttering in his chest as he tried to gauge your response. He knew that he was treading a fine line, offering more than just hospitality, hinting at a desire for connection that went beyond the formalities of an alliance. Yet he could not help but hope that you might accept, that you might see in him the same possibilities that he had come to see in you.

You tilted your head slightly, considering his words, and then a small smile curved your lips, one that seemed to reach your lilac eyes. “I think... that sounds like a welcome distraction, Leto. I would be... happy to see more of your city and to learn more about the history of House Atreides.”

Leto felt a rush of warmth flood through him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to smile fully, a genuine expression that softened the lines of worry that had long marked his face. “You honor me with your acceptance, Daenys,” he said, and there was a sincerity in his voice that he did not try to hide.

The sun hung high over Arrakeen, casting its warm rays over the sandstone streets and the sprawling city below. But inside one of the private courtyards of the Atreides stronghold, a cool breeze carried the scent of desert flowers, offering a small respite from the heat. Leto Atreides sat on a stone bench, his expression relaxed for the first time in weeks as he listened to Daenys Targaryen speak, their voices mingling with the rustling leaves of the ornamental trees surrounding them.

They had spent the morning together, walking through Arrakeen, with Leto sharing tales of his House’s history—how they had come to Caladan, their struggles and victories, and the legacy they hoped to preserve on Arrakis. There was a lightness in his voice that hadn’t been there before, a hopeful lilt that hinted at the promise of something new.

“You know,” Leto said, turning to you with a soft smile, “I never thought I’d find myself speaking so openly about these things. Caladan feels like a world apart from this place, and yet, with you... it feels like the distance doesn’t matter as much.”

You returned his smile, your lilac eyes glinting with a warmth that matched his. “There is always a part of home that stays with you, Leto,” you replied, your voice carrying the echo of distant stars. “Even in exile, we found ways to keep Valyria alive. Our stories, our traditions... They were all we had when the Imperium believed we were gone.”

Leto watched you with rapt attention, as if each word you spoke was a piece of a puzzle that he longed to understand. He leaned in closer, the edges of his cloak brushing against the stone beneath him, and he caught the scent of the desert spice mingling with the soft perfume you wore. “And what was it like, in that exile?” he asked, his voice low, carrying the genuine curiosity he felt. “To build something from nothing, to know that the Imperium would have you forgotten?”

You looked out over the courtyard, a distant expression crossing your features as memories surfaced. “It was... difficult, but there was a kind of freedom in it too. We knew we were beyond their reach, that we could shape our future in a way that no longer relied on Imperial favor. But there were sacrifices—lives lost, homes we would never see again.”

Before you could continue, the sound of footsteps on the stone pathway made both of you turn. Jessica, dressed in the dark robes of her Bene Gesserit station, stood in the doorway of the courtyard, her expression tight as she looked between you and Leto. There was a tension in her posture, an edge in her eyes that spoke of disapproval.

“Duke Leto,” she said, her voice carefully controlled, “I hope I am not interrupting. But there are matters that require your attention.”

Leto’s relaxed demeanor shifted, a shadow of disappointment crossing his face as he glanced at you, realizing that your time together was ending sooner than he had hoped. He forced a polite smile as he nodded to Jessica. “Of course, Jessica. I’ll attend to it shortly.”

You stood gracefully, knowing well enough the tension that hung in the air. “It seems our conversation will have to wait for another time, Leto,” you said, offering him a gentle smile before turning to leave.

But as you moved past Jessica, her hand shot out, catching your arm. Her grip was firm, and though her expression remained outwardly calm, there was a steel in her eyes that left little room for misinterpretation. “Stay away from Paul,” she said, her tone as sharp as the desert wind. “He is not meant for the games you play, Targaryen.”

You met her gaze evenly, your expression unreadable as you pulled your arm free, but you offered a curt nod, acknowledging her warning. Without another word, you turned and continued down the pathway, your footsteps fading into the stone corridors beyond.

As you disappeared around the corner, Jessica turned back to Leto, a mixture of frustration and something deeper twisting in her chest. “You encourage her presence here, Leto,” she said, her voice low, barely restrained. “You know what this could mean for Paul, for all of us.”

Leto’s expression hardened, and he stood up, his gaze following the direction where you had left. He took a deep breath, the weight of unspoken words heavy between them. “That's enough, Jessica,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I know the risks, but I also know that our House must change if we are to survive here.”

Jessica watched him, unsure how to respond, the conflict in her eyes plain to see. But before she could press further, Leto turned and walked away, his cloak trailing behind him as he left the courtyard, leaving Jessica alone in the quiet space.

She let out a long, weary sigh, her gaze drifting to the shadows where Vaegor and his men moved through the halls, their presence an unsettling reminder of how little control she had over the events unfolding around her. The way they seemed to glide through the darkness, their eyes ever watchful, sent a chill through her. It was a presence she could not manipulate, could not predict—and that fact unnerved her more than anything.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the weight of fear settle there, a fear that she could not fully name. And as she stood alone in the courtyard, the shadows of dragons and prophecy swirling around her, she wondered if the fate that she and her Sisterhood had so carefully crafted was beginning to slip through her fingers.

You moved through the stone corridors of the Atreides stronghold, your mind still turning over the conversation with Leto and the sudden interruption by Jessica. The air inside the halls was cool, but the memory of the animosity in the courtyard clung to you like the lingering warmth of Arrakeen’s sun. As you rounded a corner, you nearly collided with Paul, who seemed to have been waiting, his expression a mixture of determination and uncertainty.

"Daenys," he greeted, a hint of urgency in his voice as he caught your attention. “I was looking for you. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

You arched an eyebrow, remembering Jessica’s warning just moments before. But you kept your expression calm, your curiosity piqued. “And what might that be, Paul?” you asked, inclining your head slightly, inviting him to walk with you.

Paul fell into step beside you, his hands fidgeting slightly at his sides as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s about the Red Faith,” he said after a moment, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if afraid the very walls might be listening. “They’ve started to spread across Arrakis. I’ve seen their symbols in the city, heard their prayers in the alleys. The priests and priestesses—they seem to know things that no one else does.”

You nodded slowly, your thoughts turning to the Red Faith and its mysterious presence. It had been a topic of concern among Leto’s advisors, a whispered worry among the Fremen and the Sisterhood, but one that had little to do with the politics of House Targaryen. “The Red Faith is not ours, Paul,” you replied, keeping your voice even as you spoke. “But they seem to see something in my people—in our past. Perhaps it is because we come from a place that is as foreign to them as it is to you.”

Paul glanced at you, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Where do they come from?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned closer. “What place could birth a faith like this?”

You hesitated for a moment, choosing your words carefully. “They come from a planet that lies in a part of the unknown universe where there are no stars, only the darkness of space,” you said, your gaze turning to the windows that looked out over the city. “They believe that in that darkness, there is a light—a flame that will one day burn away the shadows.”

Paul fell silent, his thoughts turning inward as he processed your words. “Is there any truth to what they say?” he asked finally, his voice low, as if he feared the answer. “To the miracles they claim, the visions they spread?”

You looked at him, your expression thoughtful. “I have seen many things, Paul—on both sides of the universe. Miracles, omens, and wonders that defy the explanations of reason. If there is truth in their words, then we should all tread carefully. Faith can be as powerful as swords in the right hands.”

Paul nodded slowly, absorbing your words, but his gaze remained fixed on you, as if searching for something deeper. “In my dreams, I see them too,” he confessed, his voice taking on a distant quality. “I see the priests, the flames, and... you. I see you standing in the fire, guiding me toward—”

But you raised a hand, stopping him gently. “Paul, I think it would be wise not to share too much of your dreams with me. You know as well as I do that Jessica—your mother—would not want you speaking of such things with me.”

Paul’s expression hardened slightly, a flicker of defiance crossing his face. “I don’t care what she wants, Daenys. She doesn’t understand what I’m seeing, what I’m feeling. And she doesn’t understand you.”

There was a moment of silence as his words hung in the air between you, charged with a tension that neither of you could easily dispel. You studied him, seeing the conflict in his gaze, the battle between the weight of his mother’s expectations and the mysteries that seemed to call to him from the edges of his dreams. And you realized that whatever path lay ahead, Paul would not be easily swayed from it—not by Jessica, not by the Bene Gesserit, and perhaps not even by you.

But even as you held his gaze, you felt the echo of Jessica’s warning lingering in your mind, a reminder of the dangers that surrounded Paul and the forces that sought to shape him. And you knew that this moment, this conversation, was but a small part of a larger game, one that stretched far beyond the walls of Arrakeen.

You offered Paul a small, enigmatic smile, your tone softening. “Be careful, Paul. There are shadows in the desert—and in the dreams—that are not always what they seem.”

Paul’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded, his resolve unbroken. “I will,” he said. “And maybe... one day, we’ll see what the dreams truly mean.”

You inclined your head, acknowledging his words, and then turned to leave, feeling the weight of his gaze lingering on your back as you walked away into the shadows of the stronghold, your mind filled with thoughts of visions, fire, and the secrets that burned at the heart of Arrakis.

The evening air of Arrakeen was cooler than usual, a rare breeze slipping through the stronghold as Leto Atreides sat with Gurney Halleck and Thufir Hawat in one of the more private observation rooms. The room was low lit, the glow of data-screens creating the only source of light as they pored over the reports gathered by Vaegor and his men. The Targaryen Master of Whispers and his agents had been thorough, combing through the corners of the city and uncovering more remnants of Harkonnen sabotage, their findings meticulously cataloged and organized. Yet even with the progress, there was a lingering unease in the air, a wariness that none of them could quite shake.

Hawat leaned forward, his eyes scanning the latest report as he spoke. “Vaegor’s team has found traces of communication relays that the Harkonnens used to mask their movements in the city. It seems they had help from... within.” He paused, glancing at Leto. “I’ll continue to look into it. But for now, it seems we are dealing with multiple layers of deception.”

Leto nodded, though his mind seemed elsewhere, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the edge of the table. Gurney, ever watchful, noticed the distant look in the Duke’s eyes and exchanged a knowing glance with Hawat. It wasn’t the first time they had seen Leto like this—distracted, thoughtful, as if wrestling with something beyond the tactical complexities of their current situation.

Finally, Leto broke the silence, his voice more casual than the weighty reports they’d been discussing. “Tell me, Hawat, Gurney—what do you think Dragonlord Aenys drinks?”

The question caught them both off guard, and Gurney couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at Hawat. “Well, my Lord, if spiced red wine has no effect on the Targaryens, I’d wager he’s not the kind to settle for anything ordinary.”

Hawat’s lips twitched into the slightest smile, his usually serious demeanor softening. “Indeed. Perhaps something exotic, something they’ve kept hidden away on Albiron for centuries. Some kind of spirit that the Imperium hasn’t even heard of. Or perhaps... just water from one of their sacred springs, untouched by any additives.”

Gurney nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Or maybe he’s got a taste for firewater that could burn a hole through your insides. I hear their dragons like the heat, so why not the Dragonlord himself?”

Hawat’s amusement deepened, but there was a glint in his eye as he turned his attention back to Leto, who had been listening to their speculations with a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “But I must ask, Duke, what brought this particular question to mind? It’s not often that you concern yourself with Targaryen drinking habits.”

Leto’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful frown. He looked down at the documents on the table, the proposal he had sent to Aenys weighing heavily on his mind. “Because, Hawat, if Aenys decides to visit Arrakis in response to the offer I sent... I would rather know what to serve him than risk offending him further. If he arrives in good spirits, I’ll need something fitting for the occasion. And if he comes here... less than pleased, then I’d rather have something that might soften his mood.”

Gurney raised an eyebrow, the amusement in his expression shifting to interest. “Ah, so that’s it. You’re worried about how he might respond to the proposal.” He glanced at Hawat, who nodded in understanding. “You know, my Lord, you could just ask his daughter—she might give you a hint as to what her father prefers.”

Leto sighed, his hand reaching up to adjust the signet ring on his finger. “It’s not that simple, Gurney. I don’t even know how to tell her about the offer I sent to her father. It’s... delicate, and I fear that if I mention it, I might say the wrong thing.”

Hawat leaned forward, his voice quiet but firm. “You know, Leto, you’ve faced armies and scheming barons without hesitation. Don’t let this proposal become something you fear. Daenys respects you. If you’re honest with her, she might surprise you.”

Leto glanced at Hawat, then at Gurney, and he allowed himself a small, wry smile. “Perhaps you’re right, Hawat. Perhaps I’m overthinking this. But if Aenys does come, and if he is displeased, I’d rather have a bottle of something on hand that won’t worsen the situation.”

Gurney chuckled again, raising an imaginary glass in a mock toast. “To drinks, diplomacy, and whatever else might come our way, my Lord. We’ll make sure Arrakis is prepared for all kinds of guests, dragonlords included.”

Leto’s smile lingered, and he nodded, a sense of resolve settling over him as they turned their attention back to the reports.

...

The night was deep over Arrakeen, the moons casting a silver glow across the desert city. Within the Atreides stronghold, you sat in the quiet of your private chambers, a space granted to you by Duke Leto during your stay. The room was simply furnished, but there was a comfort in the way the stone walls insulated it from the heat of the day, creating a quiet haven amid the events swirling through the stronghold.

A soft knock on the door drew your attention, and you rose to open it, finding Vaegor standing on the threshold. His expression was as grim as ever, the shadows of the corridor playing across the sharp angles of his face. Without a word, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him before handing over a sealed folder.

“My Lady, this is the latest report,” he said quietly, his tone flat but with a faint edge of urgency that you recognized well. “There are... developments that you need to see.”

You took the folder, breaking the seal and unfolding the pages inside. As you scanned the contents, a frown deepened on your face. The words blurred for a moment before crystallizing, each new line adding to the weight in your chest. “Are you sure about this?” you asked, lifting your gaze to meet Vaegor’s eyes. “This is not something we can afford to get wrong.”

Vaegor’s expression remained impassive, but there was a hardness in his gaze that spoke of certainty. “Almost, Daenys. There are... whispers, things I’ve picked up that point to something larger. The Emperor’s Sardaukar and Harkonnen troops—they are moving. They’ve been seen loading onto Baron’s starships. Their destination seems to be Arrakis.”

Your breath caught for a moment, and a cold dread settled in the pit of your stomach. “And you haven’t informed the Duke?” you asked, forcing your voice to remain steady. “He needs to know if Shaddam IV is planning to strike at House Atreides.”

Vaegor shook his head, his expression unyielding. “Not yet. Not until I am absolutely certain. If I tell him now, it may alert the wrong people—and that brings me to another issue.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “I believe there is a mole within the Atreides ranks. Someone has been leaking information to the Harkonnens.”

The implications hung heavy in the air between you, the shadows in the room seeming to thicken with the weight of his words. You clenched your hands around the papers, struggling to keep your emotions in check. “Then this news is even more dangerous than I thought,” you said, your voice tight with the effort of control. “Send word to Aelor and Maelor at the base. They need to know what might be coming.”

Vaegor gave a curt nod, his face impassive but his eyes sharp with the intensity of the situation. “As you command, cousin. I’ll have the message transmitted immediately.” He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway, casting one last look over his shoulder. “Be careful, Daenys. If the Emperor truly intends to make his move, we may not have much time.”

You watched him go, his footsteps fading into the halls beyond, leaving you alone with the heavy knowledge of what his report implied. You paced back to the small window, staring out over the city, the distant lights of Arrakeen flickering like stars against the darkness. The desert winds whispered against the stone, and for a moment, the world outside seemed as still as the depths of space.

The choice before you loomed like a shadow—to tell Leto of the threat immediately, or to wait until Vaegor could confirm his suspicions. A warning given too soon might expose them both to danger, but a warning given too late could doom House Atreides and everyone within it.

Your thoughts turned to Leto, to the warmth in his eyes when he spoke to you, to the hope that had begun to bloom in your chest when you thought of the future you might share. But this was not about feelings—it was about survival, about strategy, and about choosing the right moment to act.

Would he understand if you held back, waiting for certainty? Or would he see it as a betrayal when he learned how long you had known?

You closed your eyes, taking a slow breath to steady yourself, and tried to quiet the conflicting emotions that warred within you. For now, all you could do was wait and hope that Vaegor’s whispers would soon give way to truth. And as the shadows lengthened across the city, you wondered whether time was on your side—or if it was slipping away faster than either of you could grasp.

...

The Atreides stronghold stood against the desert night, its stone walls cool in the evening breeze as the last rays of sunlight faded into darkness. Within its halls, Leto Atreides waited, standing in the doorway of the library, a room filled with the quiet presence of ancient books and tomes—some of the few treasures he had brought from Caladan. The room smelled of aged parchment and leather bindings, a scent that reminded him of home, far from the dangers and secrets of Arrakis.

Tonight, though, he was not alone in the quiet sanctum of his family’s history. He had invited you to join him, hoping to share a piece of the Atreides past—and perhaps find a few moments of peace amidst the gathering storm. As you entered the library, Leto turned to greet you, a warm smile breaking the serious lines of his face.

“Daenys,” he said, gesturing to a nearby table where several volumes lay open, their pages yellowed with age. “I thought you might enjoy seeing some of House Atreides’ history, the kind of stories that aren’t written down in the Imperial records. These books... they’re a part of who we are, and I wanted to share them with you.”

You glanced over the tomes, curiosity glinting in your lilac eyes as you ran a hand over the embossed cover of one of the volumes. “You honor me with this, Leto. I’ve always been fascinated by the stories of other Houses, especially those with a history as rich as yours.”

Leto’s smile softened, and he gestured for you to join him at the table, where the two of you settled into a comfortable silence, paging through the books and sharing stories of the past. He told you of Caladan’s storms, of the sea that roared against the cliffs of his ancestral home, and of the responsibilities that came with the Atreides name. In turn, you spoke of Albiron, of the legends and lore that had shaped the Targaryen exile, and of the struggles your family had endured to build a new life in the shadows.

For a time, it was easy to forget the politics, the threats, and the danger that loomed over them. There, in the quiet sanctuary of the library, it felt as though the two of you were simply people, sharing your stories and your dreams.

After a while, Leto leaned back, his gaze settling on you with a mixture of fondness and curiosity. “I’m glad that Paul has found a companion in you, despite what Jessica might say,” he admitted, a note of sadness in his voice. “He never had many friends growing up—none that could truly understand him. Not with the way Jessica trained him, and with Hawat always nearby.”

You studied Leto’s expression, seeing the worry that lurked beneath his words, the father’s concern that he carried alongside the weight of his duties. “He is a remarkable young man, Leto,” you replied gently. “I think he sees more than even he realizes. And... perhaps that’s why he seeks out my company. He sees something of himself in me.”

Leto nodded, his gaze turning back to the books for a moment, but you could see the warmth that lingered in his eyes. When he looked at you again, there was a softness there that you had rarely seen, a look that spoke of something deeper, something he had tried to keep hidden.

“I’m grateful for your presence here, Daenys,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’ve brought a... a light into these halls, into my life, that I didn’t know I was missing.”

You felt your heart tighten at his words, a warmth spreading through you, and before you could think, you reached out to touch his hand, your fingers brushing against his. Leto responded, covering your hand with his own, his grip gentle yet firm, as if afraid to let go.

The moment seemed to stretch between you, filled with unspoken words and longing that had been building since Arctis. And then, almost without realizing it, Leto leaned closer, his eyes searching yours for a sign, for permission. You didn’t move away, and he took it as a sign of acceptance. His lips met yours in a soft, tentative kiss, a touch that was filled with all the questions and hopes he had not dared to voice.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to lose yourself in the warmth of the kiss, in the way his hand cradled your cheek, in the feeling of possibility that bloomed between you. But then, just as quickly, you broke the kiss, pulling back as the reality of your situation crashed down around you.

Leto blinked, his brow furrowing in concern as he searched your face, trying to understand what had gone wrong. “Daenys, what is it? What’s wrong?”

You took a step back, your heart pounding in your chest, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze, knowing that there was no turning back now. “There’s something you need to know, Leto,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, the weight of the truth heavy on your tongue.

...

The library fell into a tense, almost unnatural silence as Leto looked at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern. The warmth of the moment between you dissipated, replaced by the gravity of your words, the urgency of what you had come to reveal. He searched your face, trying to find some sign that you were not serious, but the earnestness in your eyes left no room for doubt.

“You’re telling me that... the Emperor and Harkonnen forces might be en route to Arrakis?” Leto’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but the edge of shock in it was unmistakable. He took a step back, his mind clearly racing as he tried to process what this meant, the implications of such a betrayal.

You nodded, holding his gaze, your own expression steady despite the turmoil swirling inside you. “Yes, Leto. Vaegor has intercepted whispers, information that suggests Shaddam IV and Harkonnen troops are preparing to move against you. He believes they’ve been using Baron Harkonnen’s starships to mask their movements.”

Leto’s hands clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he turned away, staring into the shadows of the library as if seeking clarity there. The weight of your words settled over him like a stone, pressing down on his shoulders, but he did not let himself crumble under it. He took a breath, steadying himself before he turned back to you, his gaze sharper, more focused. “And you’re certain of this?”

You shook your head, your voice remaining low and urgent. “Vaegor isn’t entirely certain yet, which is why he hasn’t brought it to you directly. But the risk is too great, and I couldn’t wait any longer. If they find out he knows before he has proof, before he makes his move, we’re all in danger. You needed to know, to be ready in case this assault happens sooner than expected.”

Leto remained still, absorbing your words, and for a long moment, it seemed as though the world had shrunk to the space between the two of you, the silence heavy with the unspoken fears that hung between you. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a precipice, staring into the abyss of what might come.

“I knew the Emperor and the Harkonnens would try to make their move eventually,” Leto said finally, his voice rough with barely concealed anger. “But I thought we’d have more time. That they’d at least be more subtle about it.”

You could see the pain in his eyes, the realization that Arrakis was more vulnerable than he had ever imagined. And beneath that, there was something else—betrayal, the feeling that one of his own people might be working against him, selling out his House and his family to their enemies.

“Do you have any idea who it might be?” he asked, his tone hardening as he forced himself to focus on the immediate threat. “Who is leaking information to the Harkonnens?”

You hesitated, the weight of your cousin’s suspicions pressing down on you. “No, not yet. Vaegor is trying to pinpoint the source, but he hasn’t found enough to act. It could be anyone—someone who sees an opportunity, or someone who’s been bribed or threatened into doing their bidding. We need more time to figure it out.”

Leto’s jaw tightened, and he paced the length of the library, his mind clearly racing through the possibilities, the suspects. But he paused, turning back to you with a look of determination. “I trust your judgment, Daenys. And I trust Vaegor’s. We’ll prepare for whatever assault is coming, and we’ll find this traitor before they can do any more damage. But this... this changes everything.”

You met his gaze, seeing the resolve that burned there despite the fear that lurked in the shadows of his expression. “I wish I could give you more than just a warning, Leto,” you said softly, your voice tinged with a note of regret. “But you deserve to know the truth, even if it’s not what you wanted to hear.”

Leto moved closer, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder, his touch both reassuring and grateful. “You did the right thing, Daenys. Whatever happens, I’d rather face this danger with my eyes open than be blindsided. And I’m... I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me.”

You allowed yourself a small nod, but inside, the fear remained, gnawing at the edges of your mind. The danger felt closer than ever, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the shadow of the Emperor’s forces and the Harkonnens was already creeping toward Arrakis, preparing to strike.

And as you stood there, side by side with Leto in the stillness of the library, you both knew that the balance of power was shifting, and that the alliance between your Houses would be tested in ways neither of you could yet imagine.

39 notes · View notes

korpuskat · 2 years ago

Text

Core Voltage [Ramattra/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: Explicit WC: 3,750 Warnings: technically mild somnophilia & mild dubcon, wireplay

“I need your assistance. It is… a delicate issue.” He says. The hesitance in his voice box immediately piques your interest. “I am in the process of some upgrades. The housing for my power unit is failing and needs to be replaced.”

“Upgrading yourself sounds pretty normal, Ramattra.” You shrug. “Why would you need my help?”

“The power unit itself must be disconnected before the housing can be replaced.” He says flatly. You stare at him, not quite understanding yet. His shoulders drop and he rephrases: “I must be offline to replace the housing.”

“Oh.”

Ramattra lifts himself onto the worktable, gestures for you to come closer. All around the room, he’s surrounded by a variety of tools and screens. You won’t need these he had assured you. You hope he’s right.

“All you will have to do is remove my power unit, remove the original housing, place the new housing, return the power unit, and restart me.” He says it like it’s nothing, not even giving you his full attention- his hands are at his rib-like adornments. You don’t even know what he’s doing- until the seals release and the front of his body opens before you. Warm air rushes out freely, usually confined to exiting through the vents on his back.

Inside, his machinery is whirring, fans spinning rapidly, wires of all colors wrapped around his chassis, leading in and out of various computational squares you can’t identify on sight. Almost all components were never produced or designed by human hands.

“Here.” He says, and points to a silver cylinder in the upper part of his chest. It’s surrounded by a black metal box- that may once have had a front lid from the hinge on the top. It doesn’t now, of course- and you inch ever closer to see the remnants of broken, aging solder. You swallow, “Is it already loose enough to come off?”

“It’s only held on by the wires that pass through it.”

You cringe and look again. Sure enough, the rainbow of wires are threaded right through tiny holes at the base of the box, leading into the bottom of the power unit.

“Once I shut myself down- and wait for me to be completely offline- rotate the power unit clockwise, then place it somewhere safe.” Left unspoken is the I cannot boot without it, or the ever worse There are very few R-7000 power units left in the world. “Then remove the wires from the power unit base. All you need to do is re-thread the wires into the new housing and plug them in. I can finish the attachment when I have rebooted.”

“How will you know when to power on? Do I have to reboot you?”

Ramattra nods once, the ribbon cables on his head and dysfunctional housing swaying with the movement. This time he reaches up to his face- and his face plate comes right off. He continues motioning, pointing somewhere under his optics. His exposed optics. You can’t really hear what he’s saying.

They actually look like eyes, even the servos’ casing attached had once been painted red. You can’t help but stare- watching as they spin and twitch, focusing. Or- or the rest of his face, for that matter; the LEDs of his forehead exposed, the glow much more diffused without the face plate’s pinpoint openings- two wires running along the surface of his not-skull like veins.

He stopped talking at some point. There’s something uncomfortable in the room. As much as your fascination has made you stare, something darker is settling in Ramattra’s shoulders.

It’s somehow worse that he doesn’t emote without the faceplate. With it, at least it’s obvious there’s no moving parts exposed that he could emote with-- no eyes to meet your gaze. Now, he should be able to have eyebrows, to squint at you, to scowl.

His voice is slightly clearer. “I apologize, I forgot you had not seen this.” The words are polite, but his tone is curt, short and sharp. He’s offended.

“Sorry,” You say and step closer. “I’m sorry.” You reach out to him and touch something familiar; his knee, then one hand. He lets you, but does not reciprocate when you squeeze. “You’re right, I hadn’t seen this before. It’s…”

“Unnerving? Threatening?” He spits. Is that what he thinks? That without his faceplate you can only see him as a Ravager?

You scowl at him. He should know you better. “If I took off my skin, showed you my organs, and said ‘hey come take this one out’, you’d be pretty unnerved too.” You step closer, fully between his dangling legs now.

“That’s hardly the same thing.” He counters, but the bite is already gone from his voice.

You reach up, almost having to stretch to touch the side of his face. You’re careful, only caressing his jaw, nothing that’s been revealed to you- just in case. “Promise it’s easy?” You hesitate, “That you’ll come back?”

“I promise.”

With nothing else to say, Ramattra leans back on the table, seems to hesitate on his elbows, before sighing and laying down entirely. His eyes don’t close, he doesn’t adjust to get comfortable, his version of falling asleep is nothing so human. The LEDs that adorn his body turn off first, then slowly the fans and soft hums of machinery quiet down until all that’s left is your own breathing.

Still, you give it a moment. Completely offline is what he had said, if there’s any data that hasn’t yet been cleared, you don’t want to know what happens if it doesn’t disperse on its own.

“Ramattra?” You ask quietly.

The silvery shell before you doesn’t answer. It’s as good a cue as any.

It occurs to you immediately that working on him from the side of the table is completely out of the question. It’s much too awkward an angle to reach up and over his sides and then down into… well, into him. So you crawl up onto the table itself and situate yourself across his lap. If you weren’t actively performing omnic heart surgery, you’d let your mind wander on the more enjoyable possibilities of your thighs bracketing his waspish waist.

Instead, you swallow and reach into the cavity of his chest. The power source is easily removed- only a half-turn to the right and something clicks, disconnecting it from the base. You set it carefully, oh so carefully, on the table near his shoulder. Here, it was a little trickier- only because you had to disconnect each wire individually. At least the brackets that held the wires in place a few inches out from the housing box made it easy to know where each wire would be plugged in again. Tediously, you got to work.

Finally, with the multicolored wires standing free, you grasp the housing box itself. It breaks off, leaving a dusting of solder as you take it. “Fuck,” you mutter. The pieces are too fine for you to pick up; you just have to hope it’s not going to hurt him.

You place the new box where the old one was and work in reverse- threading each wire in through the pre-drilled holes and then plugging them into the silver circular base. It’s repetitive, boring work, but you can’t let yourself get distracted; you’re almost done. When they’re all woven through, each and every color lined up distinctly with its correct port, you pick up the cylinder again. It’s a curiosity you’d never really wanted to investigate before- but as it is, the power source reveals nothing to you. You slot it into the place, exhale slowly, and rotate it counter-clockwise until it again clicks and locks.

You swallow thickly. Well, it’s done… one way or the other. You reach up to his face- and oh, it’s still so strange seeing beneath the faceplate. The aperture of his optics is relaxed, entirely open, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling with a flat, black gaze. You touch the structure that would be his cheek and shudder with the intimacy of it. None of this was meant to be touched by human hands, but here you were. Mimicking the motion Ramattra had shown you, you found the input just inside his skull.

Immediately his body begins thrumming with electricity- and you sigh with relief. At least you got that part right. The LEDs along his body light up automatically, smaller lights along his inner cavity glow white, Something inside him begins humming. You sit back into his lap again, watching the small changes of how his platform boots up.

You should get off him- it’ll be a minute before he’s truly conscious. You know this.

Instead, you touch the edge of the opening, along the ridge where the front of his chestplate will join together. The air inside him is already beginning to warm, but his fans have a leisurely pace- cooling fresh air is taken in by his entire front opening, keeping his system well below thresholds. It’s captivating- so much of the process you can’t actually see, contained within CPUs and GPUs and the hundreds of little wires that run through his entire body. But you’re watching him wake up, staring down at him while he’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him.

You dip your thumb around the ridge this time, gently tracing a red-white-green bundle of cables that twist from one little chip down the inside of his chest.

He’d never talked about it. No, you had heard from another omnic. One of his lieutenants, but you’d never tell Ramattra that. Most omnics were not originally built with… well, any means of direct, raw pleasure. Some chose to get that hardware upgrade later, but for the rest there was usually a workaround. It hadn’t particularly appealed to you before.

“We could try that for now,” You had suggested once, before he’d designed his own upgrade. Just an idea, so you could do something for him. Ramattra had scoffed at the idea, made some dismissive comment. You never knew if it was because he was truly uninterested or if he simply didn’t trust you that much yet.

It’s different, somehow, actually staring into the thrumming heart of him. The temptation of finding out which wires are which, of making a little catalog in your mind- each color getting a little flag for how much they make his synth glitch, if they make his optics go snowy, which ones would make him tip his head back and sigh. You shouldn’t, but you rock against the curved plating of his pelvis, sate yourself with a chaste touch along the inside of his casing again.

It’s the whirring of the apertures you hear first. Looking up confirms it: without yet raising his head, his optics have shifted downward, focusing on you. The haze clears from your mind, replaced by shame.

“Really?” He says, exasperated. “You’re insatiable.” Your cheeks burn, immediately you drop your head and begin to scoot off him. His hands are at your hips before you can even lift a leg. Instead he’s pulling you closer, pulling you down against him, igniting more of that quiet friction you were aching for.

Normally, you’d brace your hands on his chest, but as it is your awkward grasp around his ribs gives you too little leverage. Ramattra must realize this too, holding your still-grinding hips in place as he sits up. It doesn’t, however, help that him sitting means you’re still face-to-chest with the same wires that had taunted you into this situation. It takes all your will power to wrap your hands around his neck, instead.

“What is your obsession with this?” He doesn’t let go of your hips, keeping you in place- a quiet sign he expects an actual answer from you.

“I’m not obsessed.” You whine, and, well, it was true. It hadn’t even crossed your mind again since you’d first mentioned it. “I never get to see you like this; you looked so… vulnerable. It’s all foreign and new.”

Ramattra draws back a little, creates a breath of space between your bodies. Between it and his locked grip on your hips, you wilt and prepare to concede your whim. It’s fine, really, so long Ramattra will at least fuck you properly- sooner rather than later. But instead he stares down at you- which is actually somehow worse than his open displeasure. It makes the skin at the base of your neck prickle, your fingers slide cautiously over his broad shoulders.

And at long last- Ramattra sighs. You brace for the lecture, the sour explanation of how dangerous it is (you know), that you have no idea what you’re doing (you know), that he’s never- “Go on then,” He says- and leans back, bracing himself on his hands.

You blink up at his unarmored face- his revealed optics making it all seem so much more personal. Really? With trembling hands you skirt down from his shoulders, over his sides, fingertips catching on each rib, but not delving into the dark gaps between. “You’re sure?”

“I can’t say I haven’t been… tempted.” His voice drops, low and cautious. “It has been… some time since I last indulged that particular whim.”

You can’t help but grin and embrace the flood of warmth that follows his confession. “You’ve done this before?” You ask, aware of the thin ice you’re treading on. In exchange you let one hand dip inside him and slide along the black protective box you just installed. His head drops, optics following your wrist into his own chest. Can he feel this yet- can he feel that at all? you wonder.

“A few times.” Ramattra all but murmurs. You trace your index finger along a thick, black-rubber coated cable that winds down to his hips. A simulated inhale is your reward. “You can be firmer with the bundles.” He advises, then adds, “Lots of insulation.”

The specifics of just how this worked had never actually come up, leaving you with a general idea and an abundance of curiosity. Immediately you follow his recommendation- taking the cables entirely in hand and squeezing. It’s hardly enough to bend the heavy coating- and yet Ramatra’s fingers curl around the sides of the worktable, his head drops back, the ribbon cables of his mane falling off his shoulders. The ends of each clatter together loudly, but not loud enough to cover the half-muted buzzing that slips from Ramattra’s vocoder.

Your hips move against him of their own volition- and that leads to an actual growl from him. This time, your fingertips dance over a webbed array of wires of various colors. Ramattra’s shoulders jerk, an actuator moving on its own momentarily, followed by his ventilation speeding up, fans humming despite the openness of his chest. It’s intoxicating. You single out a bright red cord and gently twist it between your fingers. “Fu-uck.” The aperture of his optics whirs closed and he doesn’t bother trying to keep himself upright, sliding down to be resting on his elbows.

“What is it like?” You ask, but don’t slow your explorations. How could you, when the possibility of his voice box glitching out is so tantalizingly close?

“It’s static.” He says, shuddering as you walk your fingers across a twisted set of blue and white wires. You spot a bright yellow wire that runs straight up into his throat. “White noise in my syst-EMS!” His tone doesn’t actually change to an exclamation- his raw volume blows into a buzzing mess before clicking off and restoring itself. “It’s different th-an just pleasure.”

“So what if I was riding you at the same time?” Devilish, you can’t help yourself but to once again rock down against the outer plating of Ramattra’s lap.

The worktable damn near creaks with how hard Ramattra grabs it, then follows with a deep groan, “Are you trying to crash me?”

You spy a little bundle of wires, bound together as they run along one of the horizontal struts of Ramattra’s back. “Maybe,” your murmur, and find a place where they wind together, then split, some entering deeper into his frame. “Isn’t that the point? Can’t you cum from this?”

You don’t actually give him a chance at all. Which is extremely rewarding when he modulates a scoff, “A roll-ing -ing” His voice box glitches then cuts out entirely. You rub along that junction of wiring, tugging gently one way then the other.

Ramattra goes completely still- and silent as he is you’d almost think you did crash him, if it weren’t for the sudden brightening of his LEDs. It’s… refreshing to see him laid so bare for you. As he partially reloads yet again, you stroke his exposed cheek, swiping a thumb below his optics. After a minute, Ramattra’s synthesized breathing resumes and you prompt him “Rolling?”

“Rolling partial shut down,” He says, almost dreamily. “Different from a human orgasm.”

“Sure.” You’ll let him have it for now, even if the outcomes look identical. “Then is that something I can do for you?”

A long silence ensues- the metaphorical gears in Ramattra’s head must be turning, weighing his options. The longer you’re manipulating his sensitive innermost parts, the higher the chance you hit something bad- and a predictable, replicable, intentionally programmed orgasm from fucking must be wildly safer than whatever random data overload you were wreaking across his systems. And yet, the reward must outweigh the risk because he sighs. “Yes.” He adjusts again, lays himself entirely down and cautiously adjusts his hands to drape over the sides of the table. “Just- keep doing that.”

It’s all the approval you need to grin wildly and dig into him. At the same juncture you pinch the entire bundle of wires and roll them. Immediately Ramattra groans, loud and sustained- his voice box struggles to keep the pitch even. Instead, his back arches towards you- and you’re not even sure if it’s because of how you’re manipulating his wiring. You squeeze tighter, feel the thin rubber insulation flatten under your thumb- and Ramattra’s optics tick upwards, too sharp to be controlled.

His groan lowers into a deep rumbling from his speakers. He’s much too put-together, the only option is to double down. So as you keep thumbing at that bundle of wires, your other hand sinks inside him. For a moment, you just barely touch the same thick, black cable you’d started with- and you can feel the stutter in his ventilation. Then, you give it the exact same treatment. Taking the cable into your hand, you squeeze it, move the pressure across each of your fingers- and with each one Ramattra twitches in a new way- his wrists, neck, knees each giving unbidden jerks as you massage the heavy rubber.

Ramattra’s hands curl into fists, but he doesn’t grab the table. Instead, his head rolls to the side, still making soft noises that may have once been moans before the distortions you’re feeding his systems. It’s still not quite enough- he’s close, if you had to bet. You keep him there- repeating the same motions over and over, just to watch him twitch and writhe. It’s a rare treat and you have every intention of burning the memory into your head before you bring him over the edge.

It’s almost fuzzed out entirely, lost into a crack of his voice: “Do it,”

You almost snicker, of course he can’t entirely give up control, but you can’t say no to him. Your weight comes on to the handful of wires- more on the thick cable than the twisting junction. That alone makes his thighs jerk, his heels scraping on the table. But that’s just a bonus: you lean all the way over him- and first, lay a kiss to the corner of his purple jaw piece, soft and sweet.

And then you move to his throat.

The metal of the actuators there is cold- and tastes of oil as you lick up one length. It’s enough to bring on another staticky moan- all sexual. But when you take another one of his thick black cables- the same ones that run along his neck- into your mouth and tug it away from his head, it’s all over.

A hundred servos all get wrong information at the same time; each joint of his fingers bending a different way- but every single one of them tenses. His head tips back, exposes the same cable to your teeth. And then- it’s like you’d turned off an old radio, his voice dies out with a crackle and then a click. And then silence.

The hum of his electronics, the motors to his fans have all turned off.

You let go of his wiring and sit back. Even the lights on his LEDs have gone dark.

He’s even courteous enough to not let you get anxious about him; before the thought really crosses your mind, he begins to hum once more. It sounds nice- smoother, somehow. The apertures of his optics whir, flexing open and closed as they begin to focus. From this angle, you can just barely make out a red light from within.

Unlike a human, his actuators did not relax as soon as he shut down. Instead, now that he’s conscious again, they each slide down into what must be their default position- simulating relaxation.

You don’t speak, giving him a moment to get his bearings once more. He must appreciate it, because after a few moments, his large hands rest on your hips. They’re just a comforting pressure- and you must know you’ve really made a mess of him because he hasn’t even tried to slide them under your shirt.

“How was that?” You ask anyway.

Ramattra makes a noise- what may have been a scoff. “I have 492 warning messages and 2,304 caution notifications.”

You cringe and stroke your thumbs over the hard ridges of his rib adornments. “Nothing serious?”

The red in his optics seems to flicker- his HUD updating as he navigates the errors. “No, nothing serious.” He says finally- and you can actually relax. He waits a moment, then raises one hand to your low back, dipping into the curve there. “It was… refreshing.”

The praise makes your cheeks flush. “I’m glad.”

His fingers slide along your spine, slowly pulling your shirt up with it. “Now, must I fuck you immediately or may I finish repairing my power unit housing first?”

#ramattra x reader #Ramattra #overwatch #overwatch x reader #Ramattra x you #overwatch x you #reader insert

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year ago

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I see alien and conspiracy theorist reader who is also hilariously oblivious/ refuses to believe the fact Alien is an alien. Like they're too OBVIOUS about it and it doesn't line up with their theories about what the ACTUAL aliens walking among us are like. Like, it can't be Alien, they don't have crab claws or a lizard tongue or anything. They don't even have a tail rendered invisible by hologram, but Alien doesn't mind when reader grabs their ass to check.

This is exactly where I was going with that-

Alien wouldn't even be in reader's radar for potential suspects. Their frequent insistence they're just a regular human guy is a little suspicious, but no real alien would walk around wearing a mask like his because it'd just draw unwanted attention to them. Writes off their glowy bones as paint. The fact they're more flexible than rubber is just a genetics thing.

Alien thinks it's nice to have some recognize them as human at first - but eventually they start to think how hot cool it would be to be the extraterrestrial reader scraps to a table in their study and grills for hours about their anatomy and the place they originate from.

"Did you bring the stuff?"

"Yea, gimme a sec."

Fiddling with the gate to the laboratory, your assistant turns their back to you as they retrieve a small vial from their pocket. Alien pushes the gum they'd been chewing against the wall of their mouth, gathering the saliva collected from their glands on their tongue and filling the bottle with the blackish substance. They grab a bag of white powder from another pocket and dumps it into the small opening. The concoction bubbles, fumes crawling along the cylinders walls as they face you once more. They push you behind them - sealing your body with theirs as they raise their fist.

Hurling the vial, its glass shatters on impact in an explosion of black sludge and white smoke. The slime eats away at padlock holding the gate closed and enough of the wall for you to poke your head through before Alien finally kicks what remains open. They stand off to the side, bowing as they extend their arm forward.

"After you."

Your eyes linger on the smoke wisping into the air. "What... was that?"

"My spit. Mix it with baking soda it becomes corrosive..... or was it acidic?"

"...Right. Well, let's get this over with before anyone arrives. We're lucky this was all this place really has in terms of security." You ease past Alien who skips behind you as you march towards laboratory's doors. Not wasting what little time you have, you pull off your backpack as you walk - removing the test tube brought with you from its protective sleeve. Alien eyes the teal tinted fluid sloshing around in the container curiously - a strange sense of unease hitting their stomach like a brick.

"So.... if I'm allow to ask questions - what uh... what are we doing here again?"

You hold the vial up for then to see - contents fluorescent in the moon light. "I found this strange substance on a tee shirt I left in my bathroom. It's oddly sweet, but left my mouth with a tingle sensation after I tasted it."

Beads of sweat roll from their neck down their shirt. "You... tasted it?"

Alien thinks for a while. They had broken into your house while you were away. They found your shirt in your bathroom. It smelled just like you. Kinda tasted like you too. They thought they cleaned up everything after they were done. They did not.

"Well I had to make sure it wasn't something I ate. This is clearly a sign. Once I get my hands on the microscopes in this lab I'll finally have concrete proof of aliens!"

Alien snatches the vial from you and throws it into the tree-lining. "On second thought let's just go hunting for aliens like normal people."

"What the hell-"

Alien tightly grips your shoulders. "You can have another taste once we're official, but you are not putting my fluids under any lenses until we are engaged!"

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #alien my oc #yandere drabble #tw yandere

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worldhistoryfacts · 1 year ago

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It wasn’t just the Greeks that imagined their leaders in combat with lions. On a piece of ancient Egyptian pottery dating to around 1100 BCE, we see an unnamed pharaoh doing battle with a lion. He’s aided by a trusty dog and, like the Greeks, portrayed as being in very risky close combat against his prey:

Sometimes, the lions were depicted in an exaggerated way — in this Elamite cylinder seal, the lion is more like a monster in an action movie, attacking on its hind legs despite having an arrow in its head!

More here:

{WHF} {Ko-Fi} {Medium}

#history #ancient #egypt #lion #hunt

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prosourcediesel · 1 year ago

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In this blog, we'll delve into five crucial aspects of an engine: sensors and wiring, electrical charging and starting cooling components, and fuel systems.

#Electrical charging starting #Engine components #Fuel Line Sleeve Seal Kit #Engine Block and Cylinder Head

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taevisionceo · 2 years ago

Link

TAEVision 3D Mechanical Design Tools GarageTools Repair RepairTools Tools for the cleaning and reaming glowplug housings and sealing seats in the cylinder heads... ▸ TAEVision Engineering on Pinterest ▸ TAEVision Engineering on Google Photos

Data 221 - Jan 31, 2023

#TAEVision #engineering #3d #mechanicaldesign #tools #garagetools #autotools #automotivetools #repair #repair tools #repair cylinderheads #Tools for the cleaning and reaming glowplug housings and sealing seats in the cylinder heads

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my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction · 7 months ago

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The Taming of Man: chapter Fourteen - Dragon Shifting!Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

yet another chapter, as I said I will be writing for a greater "ending," but don't worry, It's not an ending for real! I just like to tell myself silly little lies sometimes! On a more serious note, After the true story ending, I'll still write some domestic stuff with Reader and Katsuki. That might give you some insight into how the story truly ends, but to be fair, there are only 2 requirements for romance, and that's a central love story and an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending. Google it, it's true.

Words: 3,538

This is incredibly based on the song The Willow Maid by Erutan, I highly recommend giving it a listen for the best experience.

Warnings: Cursing, reader is She/Her and is AFAB, Talk of impregnation, talk of menstruation and ovulation, Katsuki is VERY sexy

Even the baths were different here. the tub was a half-cylinder, long enough for anyone to lay down in, and given that it was made out of sealed wood you were pretty sure it was part of a hollowed and carved out tree.

the thick sides had 6 divots, each filled with different types of bathing products. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face wash, body oil, and hair oil. Katsuki told you not to use the body oil, as it was made specifically for the tougher Dragonborne skin, nails, and scales.

The only scented items were the oils, and they smelled like Katsuki. It led you to believe that the burnt caramel and musky smell was all him, and the smoke, leather, and spices were the body oils.

It was nice, being surrounded by his scent as you soaked. Well, it wasn't really soaking. The servants filled the tub up about 3 inches, so if you wanted your body completely wet you had to turn or run a sponge over yourself. It made sense, water was hard to come by here, but being someone used to being fully submerged made this process annoying. Still, you managed to wash all over, to clean your hair, you even added a bit of that hair oil.

by now you were done, just sitting in the water and thinking. Hoping Ochako was ok, hoping all the scary things were over, hoping Katsuki truly still loved you after everything. It was all anxiety at this point, especially that last one. maybe it was time to get out.

You looked around for a towel, only to realize you left it on the bed. You sighed, standing anyway. Katsuki was having lessons right now, he said he'd be gone for an hour, so you should be safe to run out real quick and dry off. You took ginger steps to the door, doing your best to not make puddles, and walked out of the bathroom.

He was gone, just like you thought. you took a glance around, quickly noticing the white towel just where you left it. you sighed and grabbed it, unraveling the fabric and bringing it to your body.

Just as you were about to wrap it around yourself, the door swung open. You screamed, quickly throwing the towel across your body in a haphazard way of covering it up. Whipping around, you saw Katsuki, beet red, with a few books and a bundle of fabrics in his hands.

"Oh, It's just you," you sighed, relaxing a bit and properly wrapping the towel around yourself.

"What the hell are you doing," he asked, clearly flustered, head turned to the side to avoid looking at you.

"Relax, I just left my towel out here," you explained, raising your brows at how embarrassed he was. You honestly didn't see it as that big of a deal, you were fast enough so that he didn't see much.

"You shouldn't be walkin' around like that, what if someone else saw you?"

He was being weirdly defensive about this, it wasn't that big of a deal.

"But someone else didn't see me, you barely saw me," you countered, furrowing your brow in annoyance and confusion.

He pressed his lips together, physically shutting his mouth to keep from arguing too much, and yet a few grumbles about doing stupid things and springtime seemed to slip out.

what was with him and spring? It had to be about mating, right?

before you could ask, he handed you the fabrics and set the books on the bed. "What's this," you ask, your attention no longer on your frustration with him.

"Clothes," he answered shortly, glancing down at your body for a moment. "You should wear them."

If you didn't know any better, he was telling you to cover up. "I will. later."

"What do you mean later? Are you just gonna walk around in a towel," he asked, not buying it.

"Maybe I will," you taunt, setting the bundle down. there were 6 dresses, as well as some intimates that had been hiding in the center of the bundle. he did his best to keep his eyes on yours, and not the underwear. You didn't get him, he could be so crude some days and so bashful others. They were just clothes, it was just your body, what was the point?

"You'll catch a cold," he huffed, his fingers reaching to touch the ends of your wet hair. You sighed, glancing to the side as you thought of an answer.

"y'know what? You're right, Katsuki, I should change." You drop your towel right then and there, taking your time grabbing a dress and underwear to put on. He practically chokes on air, looking away with a fire red blush. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Getting dressed," you say plainly, slipping on a deep purple dress. It was just like the other red one, it might be from the same shop you went to before, except this one had a corset style back. "Lace me up?"

"You need to think before you do things, idiot," he grumbles. Despite how flustered he was, he still reached out to do as you asked. He pulled the strings as tight as they would go, a bit of vengeance for your behavior. It wasn't actually too tight, it wasn't a real corset, but it elicited a light gasp from you. "What? should I just not put on clothes," you ask tauntingly, crossing your arms.

you could practically hear his eyes roll, a heavy sigh leaving him. "You argue too much," he scoffed, taking the laces and beginning to tie a bow. Before he could, though, something caught his eye. Your bra's back wing. The pretty deep blue that complimented your skin so well, accompanied by golden lace detailing.

He didn't have the guts to pick all your intimates out, but those nosey shopkeepers figured out what he was doing and picked them out for him. He was annoyed at first, but now that he saw how good just the back-strap looked on you, they were forgiven. He took in a breath and undid the cords again, causing you to turn your head back a bit. "What're you doing?"

"It's not tight enough." "Oh."

You figured, even though he yanked on them earlier, it wouldn't actually lace it up enough.

He pulled it all out, opting for simply redoing it from the start. You sighed, standing and waiting for him to finish. He stared for a moment, admiring your figure, unable to look away from the part of your back that was on full display. Every mark seemed so perfect to him, so exactly you.

He swallowed and looked down at the cord in his hand, beginning to thread it through the holes. You glanced back every once in a while, taking in his focused face. At one point, he felt you were too far away, and so he grabbed your waist and pulled you backward a step or two, his calloused thumbs resting on the small of your bare back.

"Couldn't you have just walked forward," you ask teasingly, to which he shook his head. "hey, who's helping who right now? I do what I want."

"Alright, alright," you shrugged, putting your hands up to say you were dropping it. The proximity allowed you to feel his breath fan across your shoulder as he breathed out his nose, and hear as he breathed in.

He could smell that hair oil, he could smell himself on you, and vice versa. You slept in his bed, you just bathed in his tub, and apparently now you used his oils. It was such a rush, something in him craved more of those things.

You could feel his knuckles brush against your back every time he had to thread a cord under instead of over, the repetitive sensation moving down your body the more he threaded. He'd pull the cords as he made his way down, being sure the fabric was sutured together perfectly, until he finally made it to the last set of eyelets. he tied a tight bow at the bottom, being sure it'd be easy to take out later, even taking the time to check if the strings were even.

He took you by the hips and turned you around, wanting to see if it was tight enough in the front. You looked up at him, watching as he studied your waist to be sure the dress fit nicely. He was focused, truly just wanting to make sure it looked right.

He glanced up from your waist, taking a brief stop at your bust, before meeting your gaze with an expression only described as impassioned. "'m done," he stated huskily, one hand dropping from your body, the other moving up to your waist.

You glanced down at his lips for a moment, before bringing a hand to his face, your fingers right below where his jaw, ear, and neck connected. You leaned in, and he met you in the middle, his lips colliding with yours, his free hand on the side of your neck as the two of you kissed.

It was another instance of those passionate kisses, ones fueled by the flames in your stomachs. you felt his tongue slide across your bottom lip, and without question you opened your mouth, your head tilting to the right as his tilted to the left. The two of you turned a little, your back now to the bed, and he took a step forward. You stepped back, falling to a seated position on the bed as he leaned over you, the torrid kissing unyielding. you shifted uncomfortably, you were sitting on something hard.

Opening your eyes, you looked down, seeing you were sitting on top of the books he brought earlier. He opened his eyes too, slowly pulling back, a string of saliva momentarily holding the two of you together.

They were the books you hadn't finished the last time you were reading. "Oh, yeah," he mumbled, gently pulling you to the side so that you were no longer on top of them. "It'd be easier if you just read 'em here, so I went and got 'em," he explained, eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips.

"Aw, thank you," you say happily, taking a look at what he brought, your head turned. "Yeah yeah, I'm the best," he said, leaning back in and impatiently kissing at your cheek and jaw, wanting you facing him again. You laughed, turning your head and catching his lips on yours. He let out a soft groan, more like a sigh, his hand idly caressing up and down your side.

Suddenly, there was a sound at the door, someone knocking. Katsuki huffed, he was tired of being interrupted. "What the hell do you want," he called out, turning his head a bit to ask before attacking you with a few more sloppy kisses.

"It's me," the voice called. Kirishima. "The queen wants to see (Y/n)."

"Tell her we're busy," Katsuki barks. "It's fine, I should go," you say, sitting up a bit. He scowls, but allows you to get out of bed. "I'm coming," you call, teasing your damp hair a little out of nervousness. Katsuki grabs your wrist, pulling you back in for one final kiss, this one deeper and more intense than any of the others thus far. "Hurry back, idiot."

"I will," you whisper, a smile on your face as your cheeks grow pinker. He glances away, the way you look up at him still makes his knees feel weak, no matter how many times you've done it.

You leave the room, greeting Kiri and asking what the queen needs.

"Not sure, but she doesn't seem angry, so you'll be alright," he says cheerily, patting you on the back as he leads you to the garden, where she'd like to meet you.

Meanwhile, Katsuki was sitting in bed, staring off into the distance, lost in thought. He told you to hurry back, but...what would he do once you got here? kiss you more? The way things were going, the next natural conclusion would be to have sex. Was he ready for that? He was 23, he was more than adult enough, but he had some other inhibitions. He had no experience...you hadn't even said "I love you" to each other yet...but then again...

Mating season was coming soon, this might be his last chance before having to worry about getting you...no, this wasn't his last chance. He had a couple weeks. He wanted to do it now, physically at least, but he couldn't. The cons outweighed the pros. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't do a little research.

He got up, walking to his dresser and opening the bottom drawer. He pushed away piles of old clothes, pulling out a heavy book. The Lystens Buch. His dad gave it to him to do some "self discovery" when he gave him the talk. Absolutely mortifying for an 11 year old, which is why he hid it away. It was a book full of everything to do with sex, sexuality, love life, tons of stuff.

He'd be focusing on the sex.

What it is, how it works, and most importantly, how to make it pleasurable. He's pretty sure he's got the first two covered, but just in case. It was made by Dragonborne a long time ago, but it covered other races beyond Dragonborne, ones who had different anatomies. Maybe it had stuff about faeries.

When you arrived at the Garden, Mitsuki was already waiting, seated on a bench between two rows of sun kissed roses. She shooed Kiri away after a quick thank you, then gestured for you to sit with her. You obliged, swallowing a little with nerves.

"I'd like to know...how much has Katsuki told you about Dragonborne mating?"

That was out of left field, but whatever.

"Uh...not much...M-Ma'am."

"Please, call me Mitsuki," she laughed, finding your nerves amusing.

You laughed a little, looking down at your feet. "He's told me a few things, he said it's like getting married, that it's mainly about s-sex..."

You struggled to think of much else, although you knew there was some other stuff.

Mitsuki shook her head, sighing as she looked up at the sky. "That boy, How does he-" she cut herself off to sigh again, looking to you.

"Well, there are some things you have to know, if you plan to stay with him-"

"I do," you answer quickly, maybe a little too quickly.

she lets out a breath of laughter, giving you a big smile. "Do you love him, then?"

You pause, looking down again and thinking. Finally, you look up to the palace and say with a firm tone, "Yes. Very much so."

"Good...that's good. But, I have to be honest with you, these next few months might be challenging."

"Will they?" You cock your head slightly, concerned.

"It will be spring. Do you have spring, where you're from?"

You pause, the question felt absurd, but the more you thought the more you realized it was good she asked, given she knows next to nothing about your people.

"Well...what is spring like here?" You didn't want to answer too quickly, you might have different definitions.

She smiled, saying, "It's lovely. It gets a little cooler, the grass brightens up, the trees get some color...love is in the air..."

You smile too. "Ah...then it sounds a lot like my spring."

"Well, during the spring, we Dragonborne have a certain...well, a biological inclination..." she rubs her brow, frustrated.

"There's just so much to cover, I'm not sure where to start...alright...all mating is done during the spring. Dragonborne can fornicate during other times, but are unable to reproduce until springtime. Do you faeries have anything like that?"

"I don't think so...we can reproduce all year."

"I see...Katsuki will be going through some changes, and I'm not sure how he'll react to you. Male Dragonborne cycles are largely effected when they sense their desired mate is ovulating, it does a big part in starting their mating process, besides the time itself. With you and your...different system, I don't know what will happen..."

You can see why she's the queen, she's extremely well educated, at least in this field.

"Um, if It helps, female ovulation is on a monthly cycle. There are usually around 6 days of possible fertilization, but about 24 hours of time actually ovulating...t-that'd be on the 3rd day."

Looks like those books on reproduction back home paid off.

She hummed in thought, taking in the information. "and...when would you say your next ovulating day is?"

God, this was so weird. The sudden realization made your cheeks flush red. "Uh...well...my last period was...so It should be...in a week, I guess?"

She nodded, looking down. "I'm assuming you won't want a child, just yet?"

"No, not yet," you say hurriedly. You've always wanted children, but it was so early in the relationship, and you weren't anywhere near ready.

"We may just have to separate him."

"Separate him?"

"In order to keep him from doing anything rash...Spring is just a little too close..." she looked to your face, seeing your concern.

She gave you a reassuring smile, saying, "He will be ok. This is somewhat common, for people who do not wish to have children. He will be kept in the treasure room, and believe me, every dragon, part human or not, is happy with treasure."

A treasure room? You suppose it's how it sounds.

"How...what will he be like?"

She sighs, standing. "The hormones will certainly affect him, especially with how sensitive he is."

Sensitive was never a word you'd use to describe him, but now that you thought of it, it fit well...volatile, that was an even better word. You stood too, and the two of you began to walk back to the palace.

"At his worse, he'll be desperate, frustrated. For him, that will look like anger...violence....but, before hand, you might find him to be quite sweet. I don't know, he hasn't been sweet a day in his life," she scoffed, laughing.

You laughed too, but said, "I find him to be quite sweet rather often...he treats me well."

Mitsuki's face seems to change a little, from laughter to something like quiet pride. She's proud of her son.

Eventually you reached the castle once more, and before you go inside she takes your hand. "If you have any questions, please find me...and if Katsuki tries anything alarming let me know."

You nod, and the two of you go inside, eventually going your separate ways. By now, you were able to find your way to Katsuki's room...nowhere else, though.

When you walked in, you were greeted with the sight of Katsuki laying in bed, concentrated on a book.

The title was scrawled on the front, Lystens Buch, and you took a couple steps closer. He didn't even know you were there, he was so focused. You kinda wanted to scare him, but he finally noticed you once you touched the bedpost.

His eyes shot up to you, before he sighed and shifted. "How the hell are you so quiet," he asked, setting the book to the side.

"Whatcha reading," you ask, not knowing the language the title was in.

"None of your business...what'd Ma want with you?"

You glanced to the side. You shouldn't lie, no point in doing so.

"She wanted to fill me in on all the crap about mating you never told me," you said, your tone accusatory as you cross your arms.

He rolls his eyes, standing up to walk over to you. "like what," he asked, Taking a lock of your still damp hair and twisting it in his fingers.

"Like, all the important stuff," you answer, poking him in the chest.

"What, like we turn into full dragons during the entire mating season?"

"Y-you do?!" Just the thought of having sex with him like that made you cringe, even if you weren't going to do anything together anyway.

He cackled, grinning from ear to ear. "No, stupid. You believe anything, don't you," he asked, flicking your forehead.

"Ugh, you're such an asshole," you huff, pushing his chest gently, turning away to hide your intense embarrassment.

"You love it," he teased, not moving an inch from your pushing.

"I love you, not that," you scoff, not even realizing the words that came out of your mouth.

His laughing stopped, almost instantly, his gaze hardening as he became serious. "What?"

You froze too, looking to him as you searched for the words. "Uh...I...I love you," you repeat. No going back now.

He looked no where but your eyes for seconds, before looking down with red cheeks. "G-good. I love you too...so there."

You smile, sighing with relief. Gently, you take his face in your hand, coaxing him to look at you by kissing his cheek. He turned his head, greeted with a kiss on the lips. With your eyes. Loving eyes. Perfect eyes.

"I love youuu," you coo tauntingly.

"Don't push it dumbass."

"You're not gonna say it back?"

"...I love you..."

I'M BACK BABY, I made it out of the block and I couldn't be happier! Also, might be weird, but I feel proud of myself for managing to write in a version of the Kama Sutra. On another note, does anyone read these? I'm sure someone does. Hey, people who read these, put something in the comments. A ⭐, it'll be our little secret. Love you as always, stay safe out there.

@sky-angel101 @the-galaxy-fiend @chixkadee @ssplague @sappho-the-kitten-tamer @andysdrafts @daria-rona @tanjirofan63 @aizawaslut09 @tsukiiomii @me1297

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