#i just want to inject them all in my veins

[babydollisdead]

AGAPE - JINX X READER

contains: fluff, g/n reader, really short, no proofread

warnings: none

summary: you help jinx fall asleep.

A/N: This is my first time ever writing one of these!! I hope you enjoy. Sorry if she seems a little out of character, I’ll write a better one soon lolz.

“Jinx..?” You called softly from the couch in her.. “room.” She had been sitting at her desk for hours now, and all you could hear was mumbled curses and what sounded like power tools every so often. And the occasional spray paint can, of course.

When you didn’t get an answer, you huffed and rolled your eyes. She had said she’d be done a while ago. You trot closer to her, rubbing your sleepy eyes. But as soon as you see her hunched over form, you know something’s wrong.

Her shoulders are tense, and the way her hair is frizzy around her braids shows she’s been tugging at it. She fiddles around with some odd thing she’s creating, her nimble fingers making it look effortless.

“God dammit..” She mumbled, a small groan leaving her lips. You step closer slowly, tapping her shoulder. She slowly glanced up, a tired look on her face.

“You know, you said you’d be done a while ago.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. She rolls her eyes and smirks a little. “Got carried away. Sorry, toots.”

She goes to look back down at her.. well, whatever the hell she was making, and you quickly stop her.

“C’mon, Jinx. It’s late.” You give her a bit of a look, which earns a small groan from her. “You always are bothering me..” She huffs out as she stands up from her chair. You know it came from a place of love.

You were really one of the only people she trusted these days. Where everyone else failed, you seemed to not. It was almost fascinating to her. Jinx had gone so long keeping everyone at a distance, safe for the few she was close with.

But something about you.. just made her love you. She did kinda hate it. She’d say it was because you turned her into a lame sap, but deep down it’s because she’s scared.

Loving something meant you now have something to lose. And that was never a good thing.

She stretched, a few bones cracking. You smiled a little at how sleepy she seemed. “Those energy drinks ain’t working anymore, huh?” You teased, tugging lightly on her arm towards the couch. “I need to inject it into my veins.” She whined and you chuckled lightly.

You plopped down against the couch and she followed, flopping down right on top of you. A small sigh left her lips, and you could feel the tension leave her body. As if on cue, you rested a hand in her hair, running it over the blue braids.

“You ever gonna cut all this hair?” You spoke softly, watching as she cuddled into you. She shrugged. “I dunno. I think it’s part of my whole.. persona now.” She grinned and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“If you ever want to, i’ll help. Make it look all nice and not choppy.” You suggested. Her chin was resting on your chest. She gazed into your eyes for a moment, and it was a bit intimidating.

The way her eyes gleamed pink, almost blowing. You’d seen those eyes hold all different kinds of emotions, and still the intensity of them never failed to make you shiver.

Jinx then suddenly pressed a bunch of kisses to your face, and you squeaked before giggling. “W-what are you doing?” You spoke through giggles. She pulled away, a smug look on her face before she settled back down onto you. You could only imagine how dazed you look, all goofy and smitten with a bunch of dark kiss marks on your face.

“Just wanted to kiss you.” She hummed out, closing her eyes as she buried her face in her arms. Something she always did when she slept. You’d know. You spent so many nights just watching her as she slept peacefully.

You snorted. “God, you’re such a sap.” You spoke, continuing to play with her blue locks. “Your fault.” She retorted. A small smile remained on your lips as you sighed and cuddled close to her.

“Goodnight, Jinx.” You whispered softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She didn’t say anything, but you did hear her huff softly, and she cuddled closer into you.

Actions always speak louder than words.

[theogbadbitch]

Ugh I love these lovesick idiots so much

“She was pissed at herself for being so lovesick that her stomach churned. Sickening. This type of yearning was sickening.” Patrice JUST like me????

“We’re fine. James is not feeling very affectionate this morning for reasons unknown, but we’re fine outside of that.” The use of his middle name😭 oh she’s MAD

Then Terry matching her energy and using hers as well, they are so childish please 😭

“They watched each other step out of their shirts, socks, and pants, still pretending that some relationship chat was on the other side of their time together. “ They are both deeply unserious and SO freaked out😭

“Don’t hold back, Terrence. I’m all yours.” SO down bad for each other I love them

“A whimper escaped past his lips before a simple concession speech. “Oh…fuck.”

“Because I like you like that. You think I do all this for you to be normal?” A REAL man btw🙂‍↕️ #needthat

“Sorry for being a bitch. I’m working on it.” More and more I’m starting to think you were in my bedroom walls when you made Patrice cuz why she just like me????

“Ask for what you want next time. It’s yours. I’m yours,” Lord I have seen what you’ve done for others….

“Patrice pulled a way first to nuzzle her nose against Terry’s. “D’you wanna shower with me? It’s okay if you don’t. I just…need to spend a little more time together.” Look at lil miss “need my own space”

May I be added to the tag list? I need these two injected directly in my veins like cocaine fr

Spoiled

Summary: Tensions boil over on the Thanksgiving trip to New Orleans.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,060

Warnings: Smut (18+ content)

Previous: Sorry 2024

“Where’s Treece?” 

Terry couldn’t care less but entertained the question for his mother’s sake as he took the seat closest to the window at their reserved table for a late breakfast. 

“In the room pouting,” He grumbled with his annoyed glare focused solely on the breakfast menu. “She’ll be down eventually. Or not. I don’t know or care.”

Marvin chuckled over his mug of coffee. “I’m not all that convinced, son, but I’ll let you have it.” 

As much as they were lovers, Terry and Patrice were friends who bickered like siblings. Petty back and forths reared their ugly heads at inopportune moments, leading to heated, silent arguments. A refusal to raise their voices at each other out of respect resulted in hushed whispers and sarcastic jabs that were so ridiculous to those not involved that Terry’s parents often referred to them as live telenovelas. 

Their latest episode was the most trivial to date. 

Separate families stationed in conflicting parts of the country forced the newest Richmond couple to compromise on how they split their holiday schedule. With a family known for their culinary pursuits, Terry naturally claimed Thanksgiving for his side. Although she couldn’t bear the thought of missing her Nana’s fresh apple pie, Patrice compromised with the caveat that their New Year’s plans were neutral ground for them and them alone. Handshake and lip lock agreements set them on a path to plan for the final six weeks of the year. 

For all of his careful planning, Terry didn’t anticipate how his wife’s commitment to the pupils under her care would collide with his plans to spend extended time in New Orleans. 

“Baby, it’s just two days.” He explained to Patrice while he helped clear the table after dinner one evening. “I’ll get you on the first flight out Wednesday morning. Promise.” 

“I know, but still. I’m gonna miss you. We’re not apart that often.” 

“We’ll make it worth the wait once you get there.” 

Repeated promises to steal some alone time once reunited preceded quick kisses as Terry prepared to join his parents and siblings on a flight early Monday morning. But, once the sun set on their first day apart in months, loneliness and frustration set in for Patrice. Text messages slowed to a creep. Sparse voice notes attempted to fill the void left in their near-silent home. She wasn’t mad at Terry for enjoying time with his loved ones. She was pissed at herself for being so lovesick that her stomach churned. Sickening. This type of yearning was sickening.

Excitement took a backseat to unshakeable irritability on her solo flight to the Big Easy on Wednesday morning. No hugs, kisses, or meaningful conversation for 48 hours could send even the most solitary person over the edge. Terry sent messages in droves to share his excitement for her arrival and she fought the urge to snap back at him. His smiling face greeting her at the hotel’s front entrance briefly soothed her ire until the reality that they couldn’t shake his family’s company set in. 

Every private conversion came with an intrusion. Kisses meant to go further than a quick peck were interrupted before they could start. Attempts at sneaking away never came to fruition. Soon, Patrice’s sour attitude became Terry’s disposition. He knew his anger was misdirected, but couldn’t find the words to explain his annoyance. 

They didn’t speak before bed Wednesday night and barely looked at each other Thursday morning. One angry Richmond was enough. Two made everyone uncomfortable. 

“It’s time for breakfast, Treece.” What Terry intended as an innocent reminder came out as a gruff bark that he couldn’t take back before Patrice opened her mouth to respond. 

“I know! I can see the time!” 

“Then hurry up!” 

“Fuck it! I’ll eat by myself!” 

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Their silly exchange ended with Terry tossing the second hotel key on the bed before he stomped out of the room, allowing the door to slam behind him. 

The moment replayed in his head as he scanned the menu for something they could share in case she made her way out of self-imposed solitary confinement. 

“Well, I hope she makes it down. I wanted her to try a few things,” DeeDee added, unaware that the entire conversation was pushing her son to his limits. “The French toast is something.” 

Terry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, if you can get her off the third floor, do whatever you please.”

“She’s probably happy to have you out of her back pocket. My girl can’t catch a break,” Zorah teased. 

Zanah laughed and shook her head. “You haven’t seen Patrice. I swear she was trying to climb into his skin when the elevator doors opened last night. They’re equally insane.” 

“See what happens when you end up in grown folks’ business?” 

“Oh, please.” 

Zanah childishly stuck out her tongue and received a middle finger pulled out of his hoodie’s front pocket as a prize for her antics. 

“Stop it, you two.”

“I thought when y’all became adults all this shit would slow up,” Marvin groaned, shaking his head as his two stubborn children traded schoolyard insults just short of joking about each other’s mama. Movement in his periphery offered what he hoped was a change of pace. “Oh thank God. The guest of honor is here.”

Patrice offered a weak wave and smile upon her approach, hoping they couldn’t see the remnants of a frustrated cry on her face. Terry could, though. He flashed her a concerned look and she answered with eyes that begged him not to inquire further. A round of hugs and greetings sent her to the empty seat across from her husband. 

The friction between them was palpable. They didn’t extend each other the luxury of pet names and googly-eyed grins like they normally would. Time spent canoodling was replaced by stolen glances and tight-lipped requests to pass over utensils. 

DeeDee cleared her throat for their attention. “Um, hi. Mom checking in here. Is there a problem between you two that we should be aware of?” 

“No,” Patrice answered loud enough to eclipse whatever Terry attempted to share. “We’re fine. James is not feeling very affectionate this morning for reasons unknown, but we’re fine outside of that. Right, James? Just fine, huh?”

“Peachy. Nicole is throwing a tantrum over God knows what but Nicole refuses to say more than three words to me at a time, so, while I love Nicole, I will not spend my morning chasing her around because Nicole is not a child and can use her words.”

Terry’s rant came through gritted teeth, leaving him almost out of breath as he neared the end. 

Patrice couldn’t formulate a rebuttal despite wanting to take their spat to the next level. She could only hang on to the firmness in his tone, the words sounding more like a warning than an explanation for their distance. Terry caught the flicker of something mischievous in her eyes and how she slowly crossed her legs beneath the table before grazing her foot against his clothed calf. His frown faltered for a moment. An unspoken understanding was telepathically communicated.

Four sets of eyes stared back at the standoff in utter confusion. 

Zanah took a loud sip of water to snap them out of their trance. “Oh-kay. So, I was thinking about gettin’ this crawfish omelet. Daddy, you oughta get the quesadilla so I can get a piece of that and, Zo, you get the Benny.” 

“But I don’t wanna share my food with you.” 

“Zorah! We are twins. We share!”

Chatter about seafood dressing and late-night spades tournaments planned for the rest of the day swirled around Terry and Patrice as they maintained senseless anger, too committed to the misunderstanding to relent without feeling embarrassed. 

The quiet simmer of mixed emotions followed them after tabs were paid, cocktails were consumed, and the elevator lifting them to the third floor was emptied of spectating parties. Terry pretended to type into his phone while sneaking looks at the way Patrice’s ass sat up in her leggings. 

“You wanna talk when we get in or what?” 

Patrice turned to look over her shoulder. “We can.” Her eyes caught the slow lick of his bottom lip before flickering back up to find him already watching her. “If you want.” 

“Good. I’m tired of the attitude.” 

“Great because I’m tired of yours.”

Having a civil discussion became a background thought once the soft buzz and click of their room door put them seconds away from the privacy they so desperately craved. 

Terry covertly slid the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the outside handle before double-checking the deadbolt lock and metal latch. Patrice busied herself with the television remote, turning a rerun of CSI: Miami up to a reasonable volume. Just enough to drown out an explosive meeting of minds or bodies. 

“Ready?” Terry questioned as he pulled his hoodie up, then over his head to deposit it on the back of the nearby desk chair. “We only have an hour or so before we need to head out.” 

“I think we can settle this pretty quick. Don’t you?” 

“Depends. I got a lot to say.”

They watched each other step out of their shirts, socks, and pants, still pretending that some relationship chat was on the other side of their time together. 

Down to thin layers of underwear and insatiable desire, they met for skin-to-skin contact. Patrice set a pace that only Terry could match. Frantic hands gripped broad shoulders to hike one long leg around his waist. Heavy hands found a home beneath round ass for a full sensory experience. 

Patrice pulled away from a messy kiss for a deep enough breath to bark instructions at her phone for a 15-minute timer. The race was on. Friction would either bring a resolution or be why they found common ground. 

Words were hard to come by during a hungry heavy-petting period. Shared breaths and wandering hands communicated every need, peeling away the last barriers that kept them separated. Touch me like this. Kiss me there. I need you here. 

Soon, the itchy hotel carpet pressed into the delicate skin of Patrice’s knees while she looked up at a clenched jaw and flexed abs. She wanted to feel him grow to all of his glory inside her mouth, and he was happy to oblige her request. A fist full of knotless braids kept Terry feeling like he had control of the situation, though they both knew the truth. 

Gagging and gawking provided a filthy auditory masterpiece that he hoped to remember for as long as he lived. Curses meant as praise fueled her performance as she pressed crescent moons into his thighs to remain stable. Her lash extensions drooped under the weight of alligator tears. Her jaw ached from being stretched to capacity over and over. Her thighs burned from her kneeling position. None of the discomforts could deter her from the goal. 

Terry gently placed a warm palm on Patrice’s cheek, admiring her work with a hazy smile. “Missed me, huh?” he breathed out, earning a grin. 

“Mhmmm.”

“I missed you, too. Come here.”

“Missed” was an understatement. A flat-out lie. He was just as needy, just as excited to be inside her, just as ready to abandon demure social norms to unleash the lust and love brewing inside as she was. 

An indescribable pleasure emerged from using and being used. No holds barred. Unrestrained aside from muffled groans unleashed into crisp white pillowcases and skin slick with fresh sweat. 

Terry kept Patrice’s chest pressed into the bed with one hand splayed between her shoulder blades and the other tangled at her roots. She fisted the sheets to keep a grip on the bed and reality while her eyes went in and out of focus. An open mouth produced choked squeaks between sharp breaths. She listened to her name roll from her lover’s lips like a sonnet written just for her. 

He was close. His body tensed with every stroke. Sweet talk broke into throaty groans. Hips lost their rhythm as they sought deeper connection. It was a good angle, but Patrice knew it could be better. It had to get better. This had to be worth it. Who knew when they’d have the chance to fuck each other senseless in the city they made their first commitment to rekindle an almost forgotten flame?

“Let me see you,” Patrice moaned, her head turned just enough to get Terry’s attention. “Please. I wanna see your face.” 

Exhausted limbs shifted and reconnected at the head of the bed, dragging linens along with them. Patrice propped her body on one elbow to shorten the distance between their faces before pulling Terry into a kiss by the back of his head. He was equally tender and possessive, leading with full lips and a tongue eager to taste the remnants of juice and syrup left inside her mouth. 

Then came fingers. Patrice replaced her swollen lips with her middle and ring digits in search of lubrication for other pursuits. The dull ache between her legs needed concentrated attention to reach the promised land. Terry didn’t need further direction. He did as he was told with a gaze just playful enough to convey that he knew what was up. He couldn’t wait to witness what she had in store. 

Their foreheads pressed together as they focused on the slow, lazy circles Patrice drew on her pearl. Terry added his contribution according to her pace, drawing in and out so dazed that he wouldn’t have been able to repeat his name if prompted. 

His brow furrowed to match his effort. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” 

He meant his compliment for his wife though he spoke the words to the body responsible for his glee in the moment. She giggled and threw her head back like a cowgirl to enjoy the ride.

Terry readjusted his angle to chase her lips as a familiar tingle set in. His arms hooked one leg at the bend of her knee before pressing forward on one hand for leverage to drive faster. Harder. 

They were close again, each chasing an individual high harder and faster than before. 

Patrice tried to play innocent as her sultry voice egged him on with seemingly innocuous statements. “You’re so good to me, baby. What did I do to deserve you, hm?”

He tried to slow down, tried to prolong the moment despite his hips driving forward with more and more power. Patrice licked and kissed the shell of his ear to egg him on. 

“Don’t hold back, Terrence. I’m all yours.”

A whimper escaped past his lips before a simple concession speech. “Oh…fuck.”

An unraveling. Muffling broken words against lips curled into a triumphant smile, Terry came undone with his eyes clamped shut to see colors dance behind closed lids. Her orgasm crashing in wasn’t enough for Patrice to break eye contact. She stared back the entire time, mouth opened and eyes transfixed in a devious stare under low eyelids. She didn’t want to miss a moment of his chest heaving, arms tensing, and hips bucking to deliver her the perfect body high she could get without drugs. Earth-shattering, thigh-quaking releases had their place, no doubt. They could never replace the sensation of falling more in love with every electric shockwave brought forth by the love of her life. 

Terry floated back into reality feeling lightheaded, stress-free, and searching for sweet kisses to cap off filthy deeds. 

“Baby, you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?” he joked before pressing three quick pecks to Patrice’s lips. “Spoiled and gorgeous.”

She giggled along with him. “If that’s true, why haven’t I been able to get rid of you yet.”

“Because I like you like that. You think I do all this for you to be normal?” 

Light laughter and yet another round of theme song guitar synths rang out as they disconnected and found rest cuddled atop crumpled sheets. Patrice shifted to place her chest on top of Terry’s and traced her index finger along his beautiful cheekbones. 

“We’re playing with fire, TJ. I know you got the notification about this week being risky.”

“Don’t act like I was the one throwing a tantrum this morning.” 

“A tantrum is strong, okay! A tiny meltdown, maybe.” The sudden ring of her long-forgotten alarm cut their laughter short and drew attention to the nightstand. “Right on time.” Patrice stretched across Terry to handle the distraction, drawing his physical attention as he caressed and dropped kisses along her hip. She came back to him and kissed both of his lips separately. “Sorry for being a bitch. I’m working on it.”

“Ask for what you want next time. It’s yours. I’m yours,” He answered as he pushed a few stray braids over her shoulder.

“Use my words?” 

“Use your words.”

“I need more kisses. Or I'll melt. You wouldn't let me melt, right?”

Amorous feelings were back on the rise as they shared a slow, relaxed kiss unfit for two people on a tight schedule. 

Patrice pulled a way first to nuzzle her nose against Terry’s. “D’you wanna shower with me? It’s okay if you don’t. I just…need to spend a little more time together.”

She was bashful, almost refusing to look him in the face as if asking him to bathe together was somehow more revealing than what they’d just shared. 

“Not too hot on the water, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

Terry chuckled as another kiss and loose instructions sent Patrice on her way with a giddy hop in her step. He listened to her make arrangements in the bathroom while he made the room more like somewhere to sleep and not ground zero of a natural disaster. 

He placed clothes in neat stacks, straightened items that took a tumble in the heat of the moment and piled dirty sheets in the middle of their bed. When all was complete, he took a seat to contact the front desk. 

“Hey, could we get some fresh sheets later today? Room 335.” Patrice calling for him from the shower made him smile against the receiver. “Sure, extra towels too. Yes ma’am. I appreciate it.” 

Thank God for housekeeping. In one hour the room would return to pristine condition for another romp or relaxation. A night of good food and better drinks would decide their fate for them.

-------

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @blackmoonchilee

[bigassbowlingballhead]

the green creek novels have so much franchise potential. we've already got the books. it could make a killer HBO anthology series, a season (or two because they're so long) focusing on each book. there could be video games where you play as the pack. the merchandise? little stone wolves, wooden ravens, stick on tattoos, work shirts, costume contact lenses.

we could have everything.

[territorial-utopia]

Huzzah! It's birthday time! I'm slowly accumulating more and more things I like (latest additions this vest I made and a travel typewriter! Still need to fix the latter one though)

Sure has been a year.

[caccry]

watched the hobbit. I adored him.

[linguinibilly]

the song hatchet town from nerdy prudes must die is sooo good and just perfectly displays the panic and paranoia everyone in hatchetfield is feeling perfectly as well as being a bop!!!

[tommykinard217]

I'm honestly so excited to see more of Li-Sar and their interest in the detective, specifically when it comes to how each RO is going to react to Li-Sar and their....everything lmao.

Specifically, since I'm on a Mason kick lately, I've been wondering about how Mason is going to react with someone as blatantly into the detective as he is. The entire series so far has been Mason completely oblivious to the fact that he wants more from the detective than just sex. And then we've got Li-Sar who's got no qualms about saying that the detective will be theirs after 2 seconds of being a corporal being.

Mason is going to have to be watch someone who is adamant about how much they want ALL of the detective, while he himself doesn't know that's what he wants too.

He knows the detective is important to him, that he feels peace and comfort whenever they're close, that he fully feels like himself whenever he's with the detective. But he doesn't connect that to being in love with the detective

So to see Li-Sar, someone who knows EXACTLY what they want from the detective. Someone who is determined to get that as well. I can't imagine Mason would take very well to that lol.

I'm very curious as to how that...unease, I suppose, from Mason will manifest as well.

I'm just overall incredibly excited to see how everything is going to go and how it's going to affect Mason to the point where he HAS to acknowledge what's between him and the detective

[wellhalesbells]

the thing that fucks me up about rereading instructions for dancing is trying to pinpoint when it is that derek becomes obsessed with stiles and realizing the answer seems to be always. from the beginning. the moment they met. that poor bastard. he probably should have tried to be a little nicer about it, though, saved them both some hardship.

I think it slides so quickly from fear and annoyance that Stiles will steal Scott away to 'Oh no, oh fuck,' I'm not even sure Derek knows himself. Poor guy hamstrung himself by starting out with the 'I'm going to scare him away' mentality then wondering where the hell that went and trying to find it again through almost every subsequent interaction (while something so much bigger and so much worse - Derek's Thoughts™ - completely eclipsed it). Meanwhile Stiles also helps cultivate Derek's dickish-ness by assuming that original motivation to be his only interest in him at all, essentially until the moment Derek tells him he's in love with him.

Which is hopefully why it seemingly comes out of left field for Stiles and the reader, because that's what I wanted.

[sayheykid]

i genuinely don't think a story's worldbuilding and lore has ever drawn me in the way that check please did. it's been years and i still think about it every day. the characters and plot were always superb but i think what has stuck with me the most is the depth of the settings and how everything feels so lived in and tangible. everyone wants to make a fake world and town and university but no one else has EVER done it that well

[buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger]

Bucky and Touch Headcanons

Bucky x GN!Reader

Description: Just some Headcanons about Bucky and learning to trust human contact again

Warnings: fluff, a little angst, Bucky’s trauma, abuse at the hands of HYDRA, insecurities, self conscious Bucky, pet names, no y/n used, no pronouns used beyond "you"

A/N: if you haven't noticed I definitely have a type when it comes to fic and that fic is hurt/comfort with Bucky. I kinda feel like everything I've written is like the same thing in different fonts, but oh well 😅 anyways, Bucky re-learning that hands on his body doesn’t inherently mean pain and becoming super cuddly and touchy with someone he loves is my SHIT inject that into my VEINS man

((18+ only below the cut please and thank you!!))

It takes Bucky a really long time to get accustomed to human contact again, after you two got together it took him a while to even do something so innocent as hold your hand.

It’s not that Bucky hates it

He loves being close to you, he wants it so badly

And he’s touch-starved

He’s so touch-starved

But he went so long without positive human contact, and now that he’s free he wanted it so badly he could feel his chest aching for it

But it made him so nervous to want to try

After one night where you mindlessly reached up to casually touch his face and he flinched away hard, after all open hand coming towards his face had meant pain for so long, you two had a long conversation about his comfort levels

You two took things slow initially

You would sit on the couch together, watching a movie and talking with your fingers intertwined, your thumb stroking his knuckles.

Sometimes you’ll fall asleep on his shoulder, something he’s slowly started to accept

At the very least he’s stopped freezing when he feels your head droop to his arm

But now that he’s grown used to it and learned to love it? He wants to be touching you all the time

Bucky almost always has his arm around you, or a hand on your back, holding your hand, etc.

He would never admit it to anyone but you, but he’s SUCH a little spoon.

Bucky loves when you hold him, resting his head on your chest while you rub his back brings him a level of calm that he’s never felt before

Or when you hold him from behind and he curls into your body

You slip your hand under his shirt and run your hands along his tummy, gently stroking your fingers along his skin

You know he’s a lot larger than you, being a wall of muscle that has at least a head of height on you

But seeing him sleeping peacefully, wrapped in your arms with a little smile on his face he looks so small

He loves when you play with his hair.

It took him a long time to be okay with it (too many memories of handlers grabbing and/or dragging him by the hair), but now?

If he had it his way your hands would never leave it

Whenever you two are holding each other your hands always seem to find their way to his dark locks, brushing them out of his eyes or carding your fingers through it

You learned that the quickest way to get him to fall asleep is to stroke his hair, and put him to sleep like that every night

When it was long, Bucky loved when you combed it for him after a shower, or braided and unbraided it while he laid in your lap during a movie

Now that it’s cut short (thanks to you, he didn’t trust anyone else to do it) you’re pretty much always playing with it in some way

As much as you loved his long hair, his shorter cut is nice because it’s a bit more manageable and still just as soft

Bucky loves when you massage his scalp, feeling your nails gently scratching against his head makes him melt every time

He also loves when you bathe him or bathe with him

Bucky had a lot of anxiety around being naked in front of you, too many bad memories of being stripped and hosed down after missions or beaten within an inch of his life

But with lots of time and comfort and assurances he eventually opened up and got more comfortable

Long baths with you are his favorite thing.

Whether you get in with him or not, he loves how gentle you are with washing his body, massaging sore muscles and peppering his chest and back with little kisses

He especially loves when you wash his hair (I know, shocking).

Usually when you’re done washing him you’ll guide his head to lay in your lap while you stroke his hair.

When it’s time for him to get out you usually have to wake him up, it makes you smile

Peace looks so good on him, you just want to let him bask in it forever

And oh GOD he loves skin-on-skin contact so much

It took so long for Bucky to learn that he was allowed to want things

When he first started opening up with touch, he would wait until the aching in his chest got unbearable before asking if you would do some skin-on-skin with him

You never wanted to push him, but you tried to teach him that he was allowed to ask for things he didn't need immediately.

He didn't have to wait until he absolutely needed something to ask for it.

He was allowed to just want things.

Once he finally gets used to asking for things he wants skin-on-skin all the time.

Most every night you end up cuddled up in bed, sans clothing, Bucky pretty much on top of you, his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

He'll press little kisses to your chest, making you smile when his stubble tickles against your skin

“I love you,” he whispers into your neck, “how did I get so lucky, hm?”

You smile softly and kiss his forehead

“Believe me Buck, I'm the lucky one.”

[beauty-funny-trippy]

Reasons why we know there's something wrong with Grandpa:

• believes immigrants are eating their neighbors pets because he heard someone say it on TV (without any evidence) • thinks injecting disinfectant into our veins might be a good idea. (It's definitely not, don't try it.) • claims America's F35 fighter jet is completely invisible, even if you're right next to it (like Wonder Woman's plane)

• praises white supremacists and KKK members who were chanting antisemitic hate speech, calling them "very fine people" • focuses on imaginary issues like preventing children from changing gender while at school, but ignores real problems like school shootings • thought it was a good idea to give away our desperately needed Covid test machines to our adversary ("Grandpa, what have you done?" — he can't be left alone for a minute) • decided to believe Putin's lies, but dismiss findings from America's intelligence agencies • claims America had airplanes during the Revolutionary War

• believes in the Nazi ideology that immigrants are "poisoning the blood of our country," and says some migrants are actually subhuman "animals" • insisted that the U.S. would have fewer coronavirus cases if it conducted less testing (yes, a U.S. president in charge of controlling the crisis, actually said something this inept, repeatedly) • due to his incompetence and lies during the Covid crisis, the U.S. had one of the highest rates of Covid deaths in the world • thinks windmills cause cancer and kill whales • speaks endlessly about his concerns re: dying by electrocution from a boat battery or being eaten by a shark

• thinks he's above the law and, as president, should be able to commit as many crimes as he wants • is a billionaire who whines about how badly he's been treated, then he's chauffeured to his private jet • likes to discuss Arnold Palmer's penis • after NINE years of repeatedly promising to unveil his Healthcare Plan "very soon," he admits he still has no real plan —only "concepts of a plan" • has a bizarre attraction to the fictional cannibal and serial killer, Hannibal Lector (why? no one knows —and everyone's afraid to ask)

• advocates dangerous plots, like using the military against Americans who disagree with him, or using the DOJ to arrest them, or just telling people to "beat the crap out of them" and he'll pay their legal fees • thinks having a national day of violence is a good idea (we should never have let Grandpa watch "The Purge") • wants to be the "law and order president," yet this 34 time convicted felon incites people to riot and to commit criminal acts of violence • unable to take the loss of an election like a man, he had a temper tantrum like a toddler, that culminated in a treasonous insurrection

⠀This guy is so delusional, he claims he's a genius because he often speaks incoherently in something he calls "the Weave." Here are two examples: • "How disgusted were all when we see all of us are when we see three days ago when we viewed their parade." Asheboro, NC, 8/21/24 • When asked, "What specific legislation will you commit to, to make child care affordable?" He responded, “Well, I would do that, and we’re sitting down, you know; I was, somebody, we had Senator Marco Rubio and my daughter, Ivanka, who was so impactful on that issue. ...But I think when you talk about the kind of numbers that I’m talking about that because the childcare is childcare, couldn’t, you know, there’s something you have to have it, in this country you have to have it.” New York, NY, 9/5/24 ⠀If this was anybody else's Grandpa, the family would be having discussions about who's going to go with Grandpa to the doctor to find out what's wrong with him, and who's going to be in charge of finding him a nice convalescent home to live in. ⠀My suggestion is that it might be a good idea to elect a president who has no cognitive impairment and can tell the difference between reality and delusions. Personally, I think that's a rather important quality in a president.

[perlelune]

Glory And Gore | Feyd-Rautha

The trip to Giedi Prime you take with your mother should have been a mere diplomatic gesture. Instead, you find yourself prey to the inevitability of fate as it sinks its claws into your flesh.

Warnings: NON-CON, Deception, Parental Neglect, Cannibalism, Mutilation, Bene Gesserit Reader, Knives, Murder, Forced Marriage, Primal Kink

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

“I don’t want to.”

“You must.”

“Mother-”

“Use it!”

The authority dripping from your mother’s voice has you shrinking in your chair. You lift your gaze. A shudder slithers through your frame. Your fingers squeeze around the armrests, gripping so tightly you can feel the iciness seeping into your veins.

You study your mother’s face. 

An unsettling realization crashes over you.

You no longer are looking into your mother’s eyes…but at the Bene Gesserit. You steel your features and iron your resolve. 

You swallow a deep, calming breath.

“Give me the blade,” you repeat, for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. The exact count has evaporated amidst your heated nerves long ago. Your mother is unyielding today, pushing you further than she ever has before. While her purpose eludes you, the urgency etched in her manner from the moment she tore you from bed that day doesn’t. Today, your mother will not settle for surrender. She demands results. 

Results for all the years she spent drilling the Bene Gesserit ways into you.

There is no hint of being swayed in your mother, her handle on the dagger unwavering. No twitching. No slackening of her grip. Your spirits dim.

“Again,” she barks.

Pearls of sweat gather on your brow as you strain your mind once more. The humming courses through your blood, the echo of power swelling in your mind. Fiery tendrils trickle through the veil of hesitation and nervousness. 

You grasp at the threads, the fleeting wisps of control, pulling on them with all your might. Still, they slip through your fingers like sand. Frustration flares inside you with every attempt. 

You persevere, enduring through the agony bleeding inside your mind. Through the liquid fire sweeping through your veins. 

You meet your mother’s harsh stare.

“Give…me…the blade…” you articulate, injecting every bit of hazy conviction glowing inside you. 

For a while, you and your mother hold each other’s gaze. A battle of wills. An ephemeral, pathetic one that ends as it always does…with your mother snickering at your failure.

She shoots up from the chair, exasperation evident in the drawn-out sigh she unleashes.

“No willpower. Just fear,” she says, pacing across the room.

“Apologies, mother,” you mutter, lowering your head in shame. 

The Voice. The damned Voice. In eighteen years, you have never mastered it. 

She approaches you, kneeling in front of your chair.

“Child, you must never fear, because fear…”

“...Is death,” you finish. The Bene Gesserit words are woven into the very fabric of your mind, for you have uttered them so many times since childhood.

She places her forehead against yours, cupping your cheeks.

The combination of your two voices echoes in the room.

“Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me…”

As you recite the familiar prayer, a wave of serenity swaddles you in its calming tide.

Your eyes flutter open. 

Your mother’s fingers wrap around yours.

“Reverend Mother will see you tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“You are of age. It is time.”

“Time for what?”

A shadow flits across her eyes.

“For the Gom Jabbar.”

“Gom…Jabbar.” A crease appears on your forehead. “What is it?”

A tense smile spreads on her face, her grip on your hand growing tighter.

“You will learn soon enough,” she says.

Rest eludes you that night, your mother’s words weighing too heavy on your mind for it to float away in peaceful slumber. Tormented by nightmares, you toss and turn between your sheets. 

A beast chasing you, its claws sharp and long…Like knives. Darkness creeping on your every step. Fire shooting through your veins.

The world in flames, while you burn alongside it.

You awake drenched in your own sweat. 

Hugging your knees, you lean against the headboard. You stare ahead. Moonlight drizzles through your carved window, casting shapes of silvery light against your walls. The same granite walls you have known since childhood. Usually so familiar, comforting. Today the sight of them reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your thoughts churn, the storm of doubt and gloom within you grazing its peak.

Per custom, you are a disappointment to both your mother and the Sisterhood. The Voice. The Weirding Way. No matter which skill your mother and the myriad of Bene Gesserit teachers you had over the years attempted to drill into you…you failed to master every single one.

It’s not for lack of trying on your part. You wish you knew why. Why your voice always cracks. Why your hand always falters. Your mother has never given hope to lure a steel-mindedness out of you that was simply…never there. No part of you wishes to bend others to your whim or cause harm. You don’t crave control or power. Only serenity and peace. 

The next day springs forth in a haste, the blinding light of the sun arriving too quickly for your comfort. There is a deliberate languid nature to your motions as you get dressed, fussing with your hair and dress. A pointless attempt at delaying the inevitable.

Gom Jabbar. You mulled the words over and over in your non-sleep. Mighty oppressor or mighty enemy. The translations from Chaksobar to Galach are plentiful. While you don’t know what awaits you on the other side of the door, from your mother’s pinched expression the day before…unpleasantness is guaranteed.

You trudge inside the dark room, a chill shooting through your spine at the sight of the still figure of Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam sitting in the middle. Her pale, weathered features, wrinkled and creased like ancient parchment, stand out amidst the unsettling gloominess ahead. Even behind the black veil, the older woman radiates an aura of ancient, mystic power, her presence both fascinating and intimidating. 

No word unfurls from her tongue at first, her keen, bird-like eyes assessing you. Despite the urge to cower, you hold your chin high and stiffen your spine.

“Your Reverence,” you greet, bowing so low your nose almost grazes the tiled floor.

“Come closer, child.”

Your feet move on their own before you even register the command. Shock pulses though you as you approach the Reverend Mother. The Voice…She used the Voice on you. No Bene Gesserit ever did that before. None would even dare. Not on a Count’s daughter.

You land in front of her, stunned and shivering.

She collects a viridian metal fox from beneath her robes, its eerie light glowing ominously in the darkness. Your heart stutters as you note the chasm inside the box, a lightless void reflecting nothing but complete blackness.

“Put your right hand in the box,” she orders.

Her tone is bereft of the thrall of the Voice now. Willing compliance... you realize this is what she wishes from you. You stare at the pitch blackness inside of the box, the sight alone stirring your unease. Hesitation limns your fingertips. 

“I…”

The Reverend Mother’s firm voice booms across the air like thunder.

“Is this the respect you show to your elders?” she roars.

You flinch. Shameful heat lurks its way inside your cheeks. Mother would be embarrassed if she saw you now, denying the Reverend Mother herself, the Emperor’s Truthsayer.

You inhale a wide breath and place a tremulous hand inside the metal box. As the darkness engulfs your appendage, a cold wave creeps over it. The prick of a needle on your fingers follows closely. Sensations vanish from your hand, only an odd numbness remaining.

The old woman���s gaze sharpens. Her wrinkled hand shoots upward with a quickness that leaves you speechless, halting right beside your neck.

A glimpse of metal beckons you from the corner of your vision. Temptation to turn your head simmers within you but an instinct set deeply into your bones screeches at you not to move. 

You yield to to the second hunch.

“I hold at your neck the Gom Jabbar,” she informs. “The high-handed enemy.”

“Poisoned needle?” you absently wonder.

You catch the shadow of a smile through the black veil.

“Your mother did say you were a clever one.” She tilts her head slightly, reminding you of a vulture circling its prey, gauging the right moment to swoop down and sink its claws. “A soft heart with a sharp mind.” Dread coils around your heart. “The test is simple, girl. Your hand must remain in the box. Keep it in the box, you live. Withdraw it, you die.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Pain.”

Tingles begin to spread.

Your breath snags, needles starting to dig across the back of your hand. But unlike before, the sensation lingers this time. Growing and growing. Uncomfortable at first, then unbearable. Then, it turns blatantly hellish. Fire licks your flesh, the flames causing your entire body to break out in sweat and your breaths to come out labored and uneven.

Pain such as this cannot be of this world, you begin to think.

The kind that grows more vile and intense every second. You writhe, tears rushing to your eyes. Your free hand clutches your stomach, twisting the flesh in desperate need of an anchor amidst the unnatural agony. The room fogs around you, your quick, panicked breaths and the wild drumming of your heart filling your ears. 

The longing for death comes and goes, the impulse to withdraw your hand teetering over a precipice. At least, death would bring release from the unfathomable pain. 

Blessed freedom. You nearly surrender to that wayward instinct. Nearly.

In the end however, the acute, overwhelming awareness of the lethal needle less than an inch from your neck keeps your hand inside the box.

“An animal in pain would chew its own leg to escape a trap,” The Reverend mother says calmly, unfazed by your tears and sobs. “But a human would bide its time, suffer through the agony until he might remove the threat to his kind. This is a test of humanity. This is what us Bene Gesserit do. Set humans apart from animals.”

An eternity in the pits of hells seems to drag along before she gives you permission to withdraw your hand, her hand dropping from your neck. 

“Enough,” she says.

You tear your hand out of the box with a trembling exhale, astonished when your gaze tumbles upon smooth, unharmed skin. You turn it upside down, flabbergasted. It looks the same. Yet the furnace within the box made the burning feel so real, so vividly, terrifyingly real, that you were convinced the flesh and bones were devoured by the flames. You expected a lump of bleeding, smoking flesh. In disbelief, you fold your fingers several times. You wince. Phantom pain still sits in your hand, your nerves alight with embers of ache.

Suppressing a fresh surge of tears, you lift your eyes to the Truthsayer.

“Your tolerance for pain is sufficient,” she states. “Congratulations, child. You are human enough to serve our purposes.” She hums in thought, a sliver of satisfaction seeping through her solemn inflection. “You may not be a complete waste of genetic material after all.”

“You almost failed the test, I hear.”

You shift in the bench opposite your mother, her imperious tone ripping the wound of your glaring incompetence open once more.

Your attention wanders above the closing gate of the starship. You commit the luxurious plains of your planet to memory. Your chest twinges with preemptive melancholy. From what you heard, Giedi Prime is a dry, depleted rock where trees are replaced by rows of factories and metal skyscrapers which only blot out the dusky skies even more. A nightmare from the sounds of it. Though your mother insisted you join her on the trip, arguing your presence is key to the success of the treaty.

So you swallowed your reluctance and agreed to come.

“I thought I would lose my hand,” you mumble, your fingers clenching. The awe over the flawless state of your limb hasn’t left you.

“Her Reverence would never maim a prospect,” your mother argues.

You nod, gaze colliding with hers.

“Just kill them if they fail to prove their humanity?”

You still recall the sharp, poison-dipped tip pointed at your neck. The oppressive weight of impending death nipping at your flesh.

The line between surrender and success had been thin. Too thin.

Your mother’s stern brow furrows.

“Pain is always a possibility…One you must embrace.”

“Why? Isn’t the Gom Jabbar a singular occurrence?”

Instead of answering you, your mother lifts a black, oblong chest from beside her. You noticed it before but forgot to inquire about its purpose.

The metal and dark accents of the object mimics the Harkonnen style. Your fingers sweep over the symbols engraved on the box. 

“What is it?” you ask.

“Open it.”

You do as instructed. The inside of the chest reveals a set of knives, a long obsidian one and a short silvery one. The blades glimmer as you lift them, their sharp edges catching the artificial light of the cockpit. 

“They were forged from the finest steel on Alderan,” your mother says. You give a puzzled stare. Your mother elaborates, “You must gift them to the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen upon arrival. For his coming of age.”

Right. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s birthday celebration. You were told there would be a grand spectacle in the arena, that he was a great warrior, revered and admired by his people…perhaps even more than his uncle the Baron Vladimir. Day after day before the trip, your mother has impressed upon you the importance of attendance, of embracing the Harkonnen customs as if born into them. Every single one, however uncanny, crude or brutal.

So, much as the concept of spilling blood for entertainment repulses you…you shelf your disgust for now. Personal feelings must capitulate to diplomacy.

Your critical eye sweeps over the knives. These must have cost a fortune. Sinister beauty and artful skill fused in ominous synergy inside a finely made instrument of death.

“It’s fine craftsmanship,” you say. Your fingertip drags across the curved edge. A crease appears on your forehead. “But the edges…they could be sharper.” Your eyes light up. “I could finish before we land.” 

You sift through one the heaps of precious stones and minerals lining the walls of the cockpit. 

Victory floods your being as you find what you sought. A flat whetstone that shall serve your purpose well. You find a spot on the floor and begin your task. The knives shine brighter with every swift glide of your hand.

The frown on your face deepens.

“I hope the Baron’s nephew is pleased with our gift.” 

You know next to nothing of him. Though you surmise if your families are to start trading with each other, getting along would be wiser.

Your mother smiles at you though it fails to reach her eyes.

“I have no doubt he will be very pleased with all the gifts you bring him, daughter.”

The frosty, pollution-heavy winds of the lifeless planet whip your face as you set foot outside the car. Your eyes roam over the large building housing the Harkonnen arena. The imposing structure casts an intimidating shadow against the nebulous, gray sky above it. Dormant volcanoes peek through the horizon in the distance, the only remnants of natural landscapes.

Hopelessness surges through you. 

Despite having landed less than an hour ago, a fierce longing for Alderan’s endless green fields and snowy mountain peaks roars inside you. Every cell in your body screams to go back inside the ship and return home.

But you can’t. Such a display of rudeness would be a disaster for diplomatic relations. So you plaster on a smile and ignore the potent stench wafting around you.

You exert meticulous sovereignty over your expression when the Baron floats toward you and your mother. Nothing could have prepared you for this. The sight of the bald, massive man hovering towards you and your mother in his suspensor chair. 

The floating figure of the baron stops in front of you and your mother. A circle of servants, clad in black clothing, follows behind him. You note their bowed heads, the way their eyes never rise high enough to look directly at you or your mother. A brand marks their necks, one you recognize as the sigil of House Harkonnen. You’re reminded how ubiquitous the slave trade is on Giedi Prime. Your mother mentioned it but the harsh reality of it didn’t strike you until now.

“Welcome to Giedi Prime,” Baron Vladimir greets. His gristly tone surprises you, eliciting a chill across your spine you swiftly suppress.

“My Lord,” your mother says, sinking into a graceful bow.

You mimic her. The baron leers at you.

“She is even more exquisite in person.”

You recoil, the glint in his calculating stare stirring your unease.

Your mother’s gaze sweeps across her surroundings.

“The na-Baron isn’t in attendance?”

“My dear nephew is preparing himself in the gladiator pit. There are rituals we Harkonnen observe upon one’s coming of age.” Your mother nods. 

The baron smirks, his focus swinging to you. “Perhaps you could pay him a visit, little one?”

You clutch the small chest in your hands. 

“I…”

“Go on,” your mother urges, shoving you forward. 

You gasp, almost tripping in your shock. The baron’s commanding voice rises.

“Slave!” 

One the cowering servants leaps from the circle. 

“Yes, sire?” the boy mumbles.

“Escort the girl to my nephew at once.”

The servant approaches you. His gaze briefly lifts before finding the floor again. A pang of empathy twists in your chest as you note the fear etched in the servant’s eye. You find yourself wondering what these eyes have witnessed, what horrors lurk on the wretched rock.

“Follow me, my Lady,” he says. 

As you’re led away from the welcoming party, you toss a glance at your mother above your shoulder. The message written in her eyes and stern expression is clear as lake water.

Do not cast a veil of shame upon our house. Remember your duty.

Sucking a deep breath, you turn away.

You and your retinue of two guards and an attending maid are taken to the bowels of the arena. A horrid stench clings to the walls as you trudge through the dim walls. It grows more potent the closer you get to the pit. Your chest heaves. The urge to empty the meager contents of your stomach in the sand tickles your dry throat. You quell your disdain with a shake of your head.

You are here to present your house in a positive light, help Father’s treaty with House Harkonnen be a success. 

As you enter the room, you get your first look at Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Warmth finds your cheeks. He’s almost bare, his rippling, pale muscles on full display. Two servant girls paint broad, black strokes over his carved back. The dark color stands out against his alabaster skin. Not a stray hair covers him and you suppose he’s as smooth-skinned and hairless as the rest of his kind. 

When his dark gaze settles on you, you take tremulous steps forward. 

You open the chest and present the knives to him.

“This is a gift for you, Lord na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” you say, your voice cracking at the end. 

Silence hangs for what seems eons, Feyd-Rautha cocking his head as he gauges you. It takes every ounce of bravery inside you not to flinch. His presence alone has every hair on your body stand at attention. 

There’s a cold intensity in his glare, a tautness on his slender features. 

You feel as prey being assessed. The urge to run itches your flesh. Your mother’s quiet warning echoes in your head. Remember your duty. You dig your feet into the ground, willing your roaring pulse to steady.

You hear him speak for the first time. His voice is hoarse and deep. Like the scratching of a stone over a sharp object.

“Would you like some fresh meat, my darlings? Lungs, a liver, perhaps?” he offers, smirking at three women sitting in a corner of the room. Their inky, whiteless orbs and ravenous grins send a chill through your spine. 

His eyes fall on the knives inside the chest. His hand sweeps over the blades, an odd gesture almost reminiscent of a lover’s caress. He places the silver knife against his tongue, as if to taste the sharpness of the weapon. You shudder as you watch him, a foreboding feeling spreading across your flesh.

For a brief span of time, the well of your buried childhood memories tugs you to its depths. You recall a day when you were little. Your father took you hunting in the forests of Alderan. You chased a butterfly and got lost. You fell across a field. When you rose, you were nose to nose with a fierce predator. It stared at you a while, so still as its slanted, yellow gaze pinned you to your spot that you thought you were safe. You didn’t notice the calculated way it was prowling towards you, its maw opening slowly in anticipation of its next meal. The gift of tender, unsuspecting flesh. It’s not until your father speared the creature with his sword that you realized the jaws of death almost closed in on you. As it sprawled across the field, it unleashed an ear-piercing dying howl.

You were struck with shock that day.

A similar shock rocks you to your core when Feyd-Rautha slices the throat of one of the servant girls at his side and stabs the other repetitively. Time freezes as the lifeless bodies of the slave girls hit the sand with a loud thud. 

Speckles of dark blood stain the bottom of your light tunic.

Your wide gaze lands on the other slave girl, tucked in a corner of the room. You watch her shrink in fear, the quaking in her hands so intense she nearly drops the tray she’s holding. 

Horror fills you. She isn’t wondering if she’ll be next…but when.

Feyd-Rautha’s attention swings back to you. Dread coils around your heart. 

“Hm, these are shockingly adequate,” he purrs appreciatively, grabbing the other knife from the chest.

It’s hard focusing on his words. Behind him, the three bald-headed women are swooping down on the poor servant girls’ corpses like vultures ripping a carcass to shreds. One of them pulls out a knife and slices the girl open from neck to gut. They bury their hands inside the girl’s body and grab fistfuls of her soft insides that they greedily shove into their mouths. Pieces of guts and dripping flesh jut from their pale lips, trickling down their chins and necks.

One of the women catches you staring and flashes you a blood-drenched, black grin. 

You shudder. The maid at your side chokes on a sob, her hand flying across her mouth. Even your guards are appalled by the display, one of them averting his eyes.

A whispery croak slips through your lips.

“I s-sharpened them myself this morning,” you say, your fingers tightening around the chest. 

A crooked smile unfurls on the na-Baron’s lips.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises, pet.” 

His smile expands. “How rude of me,” he says, tossing a casual glance at the ghoulish spectacle behind him. The women are still gleefully feasting on the slain slave girls. “Would you like a bite as well?” His mirthful gaze flicks over your heaving chest. “Fresh heart, perhaps?”

You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing a placid smile onto your face.

“I-I’m quite alright, my Lord. I already ate.” The chomping noises of the cannibalistic women rises, one of them tearing into the slave girl’s side with her sharp nails. 

Sickness spreads through your being. You avert your gaze.

“I shall leave you to get ready for your entrance, my Lord,” you stammer as you give a quick bow. 

“I look forward to our next meeting, my Lady,” Feyd-Rautha says, the amusement never leaving his face as you scurry out of the room.

A tremor still lingers in your hands as you join your mother in the golden box above the triangular arena. The moment you sit at her side, she questions you.

“So, what did you think of him?”

“Who?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

She sighs. “Feyd-Rautha.”

You press your lips. The crowd chants his name as he steps into the arena, clutching the blades you gifted him at his sides. He walks slowly, with purpose. Yet there’s a hint of tedium in his haughty gait. As if today was no different than any other day for him, and the taking of more lives were nothing more than a mere footnote in his long list of tasks for the evening.

Sadist. Psychopath. Deranged. 

These are some of the few choice words that surge inside your mind in response to your mother’s inquiry. 

You utter none of them.

“Why does it matter? Our stay on Giedi Prime will be short, will it not?”

You peer through the binoculars your mother hands you. There’s a gut-wrenching brutality to the na-Baron’s practiced motions. 

You watch him cut down two Atreides gladiator-slaves with ease. It’s clear something has been done to the men, their wobbly, confused steps through the arena a painful scene to witness.

Your chest seizes every time his blade tears into the poor mens’ flesh. He snarls after a series of successful strikes, seeming more beast than human when he bares a row of black teeth.

A shiver ripples through your spine.

“You must keep an open mind,” your mother heeds.

The last gladiator-slave is different. You note it right away. There’s a lethal precision in his movements that was amiss in the other Atreides soldiers. Panic swarms the golden box. Baron Vladimir’s advisor begs him to cancel the fight.

“This one isn’t drugged,” he says, fear lacing his tone.

“This will spoil my nephew’s birthday,” the baron rumbles, dismissing the man with a withering glare. He remains disturbingly calm. “Show me who you are, dear nephew.”

You take a deep breath. The rest of the fight veers to an unusual route. Feyd-Rautha removes his body shield, welcoming the challenge the Atreides soldier offers with open arms.

A psychotic smile decorates his lips as he fights for his life. For the first time since the fight began, he comes alive in the arena. 

The vicious trading of blow after blow has bile rising to your throat. Unable to stomach it any longer, you bolt to your feet and mumble a rushed apology to the Baron.

“I shall retire to my chambers,” you say.

As you exit the golden box, the excited clamor of the crowd as they scream Feyd-Rautha’s name follows your hasty steps.

You sneak a glance through the high, blue doors. The sight inside the vast hall has your blood curdling. Debauchery the likes of which you have never witnessed unfolds before your eyes. A  peculiar blend of orgy and slaughter occurs in the hall. You’re failing to comprehend what you’re seeing, relief coursing through you that you refused the Baron’s invitation.

Once more, you are stunned by the vast cultural differences between your people and the Harkonnens. Sickened, you step away from the doors. Twisted curiosity led you there, and blatant disgust will take you straight back to your room. 

The dusky, barren walls of the Harkonnen keep are a stark contrast to the colorful tapestries that can be found all over Castle Alderan.

Homesickness tugs at your heart strings. This alien world is hostile, wretched. You long for the familiarity of your bed and the warm, soothing winds of your planet.

As you roam the hallways, a prickling across your nape has you whirl.

Your sight fills with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Your chest clenches. Your head whips around, a fresh urgency livening your steps.

“Should you not be celebrating your grand victory, my Lord?”

“Frivolous pleasures do little to sate me,” he says, easily keeping up with you. His gravelly baritone ripples across your spine. “This isn’t for me…It’s for them. And my uncle knows it.” His arm brushes yours. You bristle. Amusement bleeds in his tone. “Where are you running off to, pet?” 

Pet. You tense at the belittling moniker, the one he forcefully bestowed upon you. 

“To my chambers. The evening has exhausted me.”

“You left early.”

You cast a puzzled frown upon him.

“In the arena," he specifies.

Your fingers curl into fists. The unfairness of what you witnessed still staggers you. The Atreides soldiers weren’t given a chance. Pigs led to their inevitable slaughter. And Feyd-Rautha plucked joy from their misery, seeing every slave as a tool to satisfy his unquenchable thirst for blood. 

“I have no stomach for violence, my Lord.”

A humming sound pours from his throat.

“Perhaps it was careless then.”

Confusion flutters through you.

“Careless?”

A wicked smile tilts his lips skyward.

“Of my uncle to hand me such a delicate flower…one whose petals are bruised so easily.”

You let out a hollow laugh, dread gripping your insides. Loathing the way his dark gaze slides over your frame, you set your eyes forward.

“You say such strange things, my lord.”

“Do I?” He adds casually, “After all, you were promised to me.”

Your heart falters, missing a beat. He must be drunk, you ponder, in a feeble attempt to placate yourself with reassurance.

“Perhaps you ought to sleep the evening off, my lord. I believe victory may have gotten to your head, warped your perception.”

His sinister chuckle bounces against the walls.

“A pet with a sharp tongue. How fortuitous.”

It’s the only warning you receive before he snatches your wrist and slams you into a nearby wall. 

You gasp. He pins your wrists beside your head, trapping you between him and the wall. You squeal, eyes bulging at the abrupt impact. You can already feel bruises form beneath his steely grip.

You fight to get free but he doesn’t budge. Sadistic enjoyment contorts his features as he admires your fruitless struggle.

He leans close to you. Your pulse soars.

“What are you doing?”

His lids sag as he drinks you in.

“Well…sampling my other gift, of course,” he whispers, lust oozing in his voice.

His mouth crashes over yours. You go dizzy. The kiss is bruising, staggeringly possessive. A brutal, sloppy clash of lips, teeth and tongue. You give his lip a harsh bite but it only draws a cheerful laugh from Feyd-Rautha. The acrid tang of metal coats your tongue. He moans against your lips and starts exploring your curves. 

As his hands pluck at your soft flesh, fear surges through you. 

“Let me go,” you scream, trying to use the Voice. There’s a flicker in his eyes and you feel hope…but it swiftly vanishes. One of his hands fastens around your throat while the other charts a dangerous path under your tunic. His fingers crudely poke and prod the apex of your thighs.

Your panic swells. 

“Unhand me this instant!” you shout, a trickle of power rushing in your words. 

Feyd-Rautha shakes his head, your thrall only seeming to last a few seconds. Mirth shimmers in his inky orbs as he studies you. 

“Are you trying to use Bene Gesserit tricks on me?” The hand around your throat tightens. You claw at his arms, your vision flickering as he taunts, “Why don’t you try again, little witch?” He sinks two fingers through your dry entrance. Tears swim in your eyes at the aching, sudden stretch. His cruel voice flows against your temple. “Perhaps I ought to slice your tongue and shove it down your throat for our wedding.”

The hammering of your heart grows deafening. You swallow your tears and look into his eyes. You gather a thin breath to speak.

“Back away…” you croak weakly, desperation flailing inside your chest. 

He gives a slow blink. To your surprise, the hand around your throat slackens. His eyes narrow as he leans away from you, a dazed expression on his face. You don’t take time to bask in fleeting relief, racing to your mother’s room as soon as his hands aren’t on you anymore. 

Once you reach your mother’s chambers, you fling yourself into her arms.

Her arms wrap around your shuddering frame. She caresses your hair, gently whispering, “Daughter, the hour is so late…Is something the matter?”

You release a shaky breath, sinking further into her embrace. 

“May we return to the ship? Go back home?”

“Why?”

You cast a tearful gaze towards her. 

“Haven’t we done our duty, mother? Is it not enough?”

A long weary breath flows from her lips. Her hands curl around yours. She takes a deep breath before speaking again. 

Her face becomes stern, impenetrable.

“Apologies, sweet child. We cannot.”

You search her harsh gaze. A heavy silence settles between the two of you. You retreat, horror clogging your airways as unsaid words hang in the air. 

“Mother…What have you done?” you mumble, a fresh wave of tears breaking past your lashes. 

“You are to marry Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen in three days’ time,”she bluntly announces. Your jaw drops as you take another step back. “All the arrangements have already been made.”

Your voice trembles.

“And Father agreed?”

“It was his idea, approved by the Reverend Mother herself.”

The deepest pits of hell welcome your plummeting heart. You sink to the floor, the weight of your kin’s treachery growing too heavy to bear. 

“And you did not speak against it?” you mutter, disbelief confining your breath. 

Your mother falls to her knees, joining you on the floor.

She cradles your face. “It is your destiny. We are Bene Gesserit. We exist only to serve.”

“He is a monster.”

“I’m afraid it’s irrelevant.”

A sharp breath spills from your throat. Your head snaps up.

“Is this all I am to the Sisterhood?” You unleash a dry laugh. “A broodmare to be sold and used to further their plans? To you and father…”

Her mouth wobbles. “Our way is not to question, but to answer when duty calls.”

You bring a quivering hand to your throat. You can still feel his harsh fingers crushing your windpipe. 

“Do you see what he has done to me?”

“Mother, please…”

A flash of regret appears on her face. It barely lasts a second before a mask of indifference drapes over her features again. 

“You should rest,” she says, cupping your cheek. “You will need your strength for the days ahead.”

You take in your mother’s blank expression. The blatant lack of emotion despite her knowing what Feyd-Rautha did to you. You swallow a shivering sob. It might have hurt less if she struck you across the face. Or drove a dagger through your chest.

The room chills around you as you reach a sinister conclusion. 

You are completely alone. 

Packing your scarce belongings takes little time. You didn’t bring a lot with you on Giedi Prime. The trip was supposed to be short after all. A mere courtesy visit to honor your father and the Baron’s alliance. How naive you were.

In the end, you are just a pawn for the Bene Gesserit and your father to move around. You always knew marriage would come eventually. It is what you have been prepared for your whole life. But you harbored the faint hope that your future husband would be kind, or at least a decent man.

As you recall every instance of Feyd-Rautha’s cruelty, horror clutches your insides.

There isn’t a sliver of kindness in him. You venture he may even draw sick pleasure from others’ misery. The smile that touched his lips when you struggled against him still chills your veins.

It stuns you that someone like him, who seems more animal than man, even passed the Reverend Mother’s test, that he somehow withstood the pain, and maybe even embraced it. 

Logic dictates that he must have however. Otherwise the Reverend Mother wouldn’t ratify the crossing of your two bloodlines.

The mere thought fills you with dread. He is dangerous. A monster who thinks, who plans, who schemes, who gathers joy from pain.

You come to a decision. You will not be Feyd-Rautha’s bride. 

You must find your way back home. The sisterhood can find another sacrifice to fulfill their prophecy. It will not be you.

You wait for the keep to be quiet, not a sound lingering in the cold, blue hallways. You conceal a few belongings beneath your cloak. Another set of clothes, a compass, some jewelry and other valuables you’re hoping to trade for safe passage on a starship. Doubts wander inside you. 

Where will you go? What will you do? Will you survive the weather conditions and atmosphere of a completely different planet? You still remember your brief visit on Salusa Secundus for the Princess Irulan’s coronation day. How you couldn’t move without fire rushing to your lungs. How every single step felt like you were taking a hundred. You could die. 

Still, the prospect scares you far less than what awaits you in the Keep.

Uncertainty lies in your future. But you do know one thing. You must run as far away as you can from Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Getting past the guards is easy enough. 

You use what you remember of your Bene Gesserit training to sneak outside the fortress. 

Harko city welcomes you in all its dull, somber rotting glory. You cross past discarded piles of rubbish and large oily puddles as you race through dark alleyways. Everywhere your gaze rests, it’s assaulted by sheer decay and putrefaction. Unlike the clean, cold, pristine interior of the Keep, the city is crumbling. 

The putrid stench rising from the streets almost causes you to turn back. In the end, you refrain, steadfast as you rush through the busy streets. Every second is precious. You could get caught, dragged back to the Keep.

The back of your neck prickles. Your pulse escalates. The presence of three men hovers at the edge of your sight. Pretending you didn’t notice them, you subtly hasten your strides. 

They catch on quick, too quick. 

One of them pounces on you. You keel over and collapse on the harsh, dirt-covered ground. You try to crawl away, fright engulfing your senses.

Another of the men grabs your ankle and yanks you towards them.

Leering smiles float above you in the dim light of the alley.

“Hm, we could fetch a good price for that one,” the last man says. “Such a pretty little thing with pretty, pretty hair…”

The man who caught you barks a derisive snicker.

“An outworlder. How exotic.”

The second one bends closer to sniff the air around you. Your throat constricts as you turn your head.

“Not just any outworlder,” he says, his head tilted in curiosity. “This one smells like royalty.”

Elated chuckles burst in the darkness.

“That royal bitch will make us rich.”

The man who smelled you licks his lips. 

“But shouldn’t we sample the goods first?” Fear shoots through you. “Never had me a highborn gal before.”

“Me neither.”

“This is a once in a lifetime-”

The man chokes mid-sentence. Your mouth drops as a blade is driven through his neck from behind, practically beheading him. Blood rains over you. Wet spots drip onto your face and dress as each of the men is gutted by a swift, ruthless opponent. You watch one pull a knife. He doesn’t get to use it, unleashing a blood-curdling scream when his hand is sliced at the wrist. The fingers of his severed hand twitch as it hits the floor. He sinks to his knees, wailing while cradling his bleeding stump against his chest. He meets his end with a brutal smash of his head into the stone wall. Gray matter spills from his skull as his eyes roll back and he falls in a dark puddle lifelessly.

The last one tries to run but is dealt with in the same merciless fashion. 

Your wide, horrified gaze sweeps over the massacre. The speckles of blood on your face are still warm with the heat of the dead men’s bodies.

A shaky breath spills from your throat.

Your head rises. You come face to face with Feyd-Rautha’s expressionless stare. He picks up your trembling frame from the ground and tosses you over his shoulder. He strolls over the men’s corpses as if they weren’t even there, huffing a deep sigh of annoyance.

“You should be glad I found you in time, pet,” he says.

He throws you inside a car. The door slams and you huddle in a corner. Feyd smirks at your shrinking form.

“Truly? Nothing to say after all that fuss?”

Tremulous words trickle through your lips.

“Just let me go home.”

He slants his head, the corners of his lips lifting slowly. “No.”

“You could say that you didn’t like the look of me,” you insist. “That I repulsed you.”

Feyd-Rautha snorts.

His hand shoots out, moving too fast for you to comprehend. He leans over you, fingers squeezing your throat. “Pet…you were mine before you even set foot on Giedi Prime.” His dark gaze drags over you. You get a glimpse of black teeth as he grins. “The only place you’re going tonight is my bed.”

Once the car reaches the Harkonnen keep, you’re roughly pulled from your seat. Your chest tightens as you note the severed heads of your guards and maid lined in a neat row near the gates. Their lifeless eyes are wide open, staring at nothing. 

You stumble back, hands flying to your mouth. 

Satisfaction twinkles in Feyd-Rautha’s dusky orbs.

“I had to kill these incompetent fools, of course. They let my precious bride slip away.”

You gawk at him in shock. Guilt presses inside you. If you hadn’t tried and failed to escape, those poor people might still be alive. Tears swell beneath your lashes.

The na-Baron exhales, gripping your arm and tugging you along when you refuse to move. He smiles. “Do not worry, pet. We will find you new servants. Better ones.”

You end up in a large room inside the Keep. A tub filled with water sits in the middle. Feyd-Rautha’s concubines flash black-teethed smiles at you as you crash into a heap on the floor.

“Get her ready for me,” he says.

“Yes, master,” the three women reply in concert.

Your eyes swing upward in alertness.

“Ready for what?”

His inflection is chillingly matter-of-fact.

“Well, our wedding ceremony, of course.” You unleash a whimper as his fingers twine in your hair, twisting your neck backwards. His feral gaze seems to peel the layers of your blood-soaked tunic. “Why wait a few days when I can have you as my birthday gift tonight?”

His hand coils around your jaw, forcing your head to pivot. Your gaze falls on a slave girl standing fearfully in a corner of the room. You’re struck with recognition. She was in the arena before his fight, tending to him along with two other girls. Two girls who are now dead. Courtesy of Feyd-Rautha. She glances at you before her eyes tumble to the smooth black tiles again.

“Do you see her?” he whispers, his chest brushing against your back. 

Feyd-Rautha beckons the girl with two fingers. She staggers forward. 

“Speak, slave,” he orders.

The girl opens her mouth. However, instead of uttering words, only distorted whimpers come out. Horror twists your insides as you realize something crucial is missing inside her mouth.

“W-What happened to her?” you ask, dreading to hear what you already suspect.

His dark chuckle resonates in your ear.

“She can’t talk anymore. Do you know why?” His lips graze your cheek, his raspy tone lowering. “Because I took her tongue.”

Your stomach sinks.

When you attempt to turn away, his grip on you becomes harsher. He forces you to keep your eyes on the girl.

“I want you to take a good look at her.” His hand spreads over your chest, right above your hammering heart. “Try any of your Bene Gesserit tricks on me again…and I will feed your tongue, and perhaps even other parts of you to my darlings here.” He snorts. “After all, I only need one part of you intact to make me an heir.”

“Do you understand, my love?” he inquires, his husky bass dripping mockery upon the last two words.

You swallow a large gulp of air. “I-I understand.”

He storms out of the room and you sink to the floor. His concubines dive upon you. They nudge you to the tub and remove the clothes off your quivering frame.

The blood, grease and dirt is scrubbed off your flesh. Scented oils are massaged into your skin and hair. A dress is wrapped around your body. 

You numbly let it all happen, defeat sinking its hooks deep inside your soul.

The farce of a wedding ceremony flies by in a blur. 

Baron Vladimir and your mother are both in attendance, the two wearing satisfaction on their faces, albeit in different manners. While the Baron is smug, your mother is attentive. Not a single emotion betrays her face and you feel thoroughly abandoned. 

Before the ceremony, she mumbles in your ear that the Reverend Mother requested a girl-child. You know the process, have been taught how it’s done. But it’s a cruel reminder…that you are nothing more than a tool in the larger schemes of the Bene Gesserit. 

And that perhaps, your entire life you have simply been your mother’s mission. Maybe she even feels relief to be delivered from her duty. 

The thought overwhelms you with sadness. 

You stand before Feyd-Rautha in a flowing white dress while he dons black from head to toe. 

He astonishes you by uttering his vows with the utmost seriousness, swearing to protect and cherish you until death forces the two of you apart. Death...In that moment, you find yourself silently wishing for its swift, imminent arrival.

When the Harkonnen priest whirls to you, the words stick to your throat, refusing to unfurl from your tongue. 

“Does the bride consent to the match?” the officiant repeats.

Shell-shocked, you shiver in your spot. Feyd-Rautha’s mouth quirks upward.

“Oh, she consents. She is simply too overwhelmed with happiness to speak,” he replies on your behalf, openly taunting you.

You grimace as he slices the inside of your palm with a dagger and brings it to its lips. Your blood coats his mouth and his tongue flicks out. He hums at the taste, a smile blooming on his face. He does the same to himself, digging even deeper in his alabaster flesh. You flinch as he presses his bloody palm against the bottom of your face. 

The Harkonnen wedding ritual concludes with him planting a rough kiss on your lips. He shoves his tongue inside your mouth, pulling you against him. 

When the ceremony ends, he hoists you in his arms and takes you to his bed. 

As promised, he lays his claim on your body right away. 

Your wedding dress is ripped open with a few precise slashes of his knife. Your insides coil, the fear of him driving the weapon through your soft flesh keeping you docile underneath him. You don’t say a word, your tongue shackled by his earlier threat. He takes a moment to drink you in, relishing the rapid rise and fall of your chest as he drags the tip of his blade across your skin. He savors your fear like the sweetest offering, growing harder against your thigh as you tremble beneath him. 

His black-toothed grin freezes the blood in your veins. 

“My pretty little pet…all mine to play with, finally,” he rasps. 

There’s no gentleness in the way he explores your body, scratching and nipping at your flesh as if to make sure no one dares doubt whom you belong to when you leave his chambers. Every plea for him to slow down is met with renewed ferocity. He tastes and fondles every inch of your quivering flesh. Your nipples pebble under his palms. Your core ignites below his tongue. Pleasure and pain mingle in sinful, twisted harmony. 

Your back folds and your eyes roll back as a myriad of confounding sensations assaults your senses. 

As he buries himself inside you to the hilt, he frees a satisfied grunt. 

Pain clamors through you when he starts to move. Your walls catch fire at the aching, brutal stretch.

Holding your wrists above your head, he pours every ounce of lust and aggression inside you. You feel it in every stab inside your core. 

His pale, muscular form pins you to the bed as he thrusts deeper inside you, reaching a tender spot that has you releasing an ear-splitting scream. You squirm over the soaked sheets as he takes you again and again, the mix of blood and arousal coating his length easing his blunt intrusion. Your helpless wails mingle with his feral moans. 

Raspy words in the coarse Harkonnen tongue are heatedly whispered into your ear. You don’t understand any of them and it makes your terror grow.

You feel as if you will break, shatter at the seams beneath his rough, careless touch.

The agony seems to stretch into eternity. 

Feyd-Rautha’s lips skate across your bruised cheek. 

“Do not fret, pet. I shall aim not to break you just yet,” he teases, sinister promises lurking in his lewd inflection. “Not when our fun has just begun.”

A single wayward tear traces a slow path down your cheek. 

He greedily licks it, purring at the taste of your misery. 

You feel him strain against you as he nears his peak, his thrusts getting slower and deeper. He comes with a deep roar.

The na-Baron spills his seed inside you. Your eyes shut. Power flows inside your womb as you conjure the right outcome.

A girl they desired. A girl they shall have. As you writhe beneath Feyd-Rautha, forced to bear his rough, bruising touch, you wish your daughter fierce and strong.

Strong enough to pluck the stars from the heavens. Strong enough to unweave the tangled threads of time.

Strong enough to twist the arm of fate itself if she wills it.

[magerightsmagefights]

I know people tend to forget Wyll a lot in this fandom (I wonder why. What Could Possibly Be Different. Can you spot the difference?/s) but I'm genuinely surprised at the lack of Durge x Wyll content. Especially if you're going Redeemed, there's that inherent flavor of "My lover cannot know the truth, I am horrible and they would hate me, they would be correct to hate me." And with Wyll it's just... so juicy, he's so pure and shining, and Durge is so filled with filth and misery that there's barely a person left underneath.

Idk, as a femme romance reader I've spent so many years reading the "love redeems" arc where a FMC plays beauty to an MMC beast, in every genre, medium, budget, etc. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but beauty and the beast as a story structure has never done it for me.

until it's reversed, apparently, because Wyll as the beauty to Durge's beast needs to be injected directly into my veins like yesterday. All the other companions are good and sweet, don't get me wrong, but their reactions are coded like 'i accept you,' where Wyll to me comes off much more as 'we will heal you.' He doesn't have any funny little quips about you trying to bite him, no innuendos, no "I Will Put You Down" a la Laezel, he's just... so good, and he believes in your inherent goodness, he so easily sees "you" and "your urges" as wholly seperate entities he would step between if he could.

Speaking of which!! The coronation scene, when everyone finds out you're Bhaalspawn? I never see anyone talking about Wyll's reaction compared to other companions getting angry (even Dark Shadowheart will yell at you) because Wyll seems to be the ONLY PERSON who immediately separates you(the person he knows) from you(the person you used to be). Astarion isn't angry, he even appreciates your scheme freeing him from Cazador, but he also kinda falls into the whole "I will talk to you as if you are the exact same person who did these things, this is Your True Nature and I feel positive about it."

Wyll's reaction feels like the only one saying "You WERE that," instead of "You ARE that." It also feels like the only one that kinda-sorta acknowledges Durge's actual amnesia, because he doesn't treat this revelation like a betrayal the way the other "good" companions do. They be saying "The real evil was hiding within our ranks all along" like wym hiding? Durge didn't know either, how tf they supposed to tell you?

Wyll doesn't even blink. Once he knows what you are, his No.1 priority is reassuring YOU about it. The fact you're Bhaalspawn isn't a betrayal; it's a Horrible Burden and he's sorry you have to bear it, but there have been others like you who were good, who overcame, and your blood isn't who you are. His first instinct is to offer hope, to reassure you that there's a way out, he believes so hard that your urges are a defeatable enemy and he's ready to fight them with you.

(I also fall into the Durge And Gortash Fucked camp, and I cannot overstate the tastiness of Durge waltzing into the coronation of their ex, the Worst Man Alive, while bringing along their new boyfriend, the Best Man Alive)

Idk, I've just never engaged in a romance where I played the part of the Beast. As much as people rag on pure, princely archetypes, I don't actually see them that often. I genuinely don't remember the last time I read/saw a male lead behave like Wyll, but I've seen plenty of Astarions, Fenrises, Rhysands, etc. Romance loves a fixable MMC, but so rarely an MMC who wants to do the fixing.

Anyway. Justice for Wyll or whatever. I can only cross my fingers that future DLC will include more romance content, because we all deserve to have a Beauty for our Beast sometimes.

[imloyaltoscoups]

reckless plan | choi seungcheol

As you and your friends stood outside the dimly lit bar, the vibrant buzz of the night enveloped you. You leaned against the brick wall, a few drinks deep, feeling the warmth of the alcohol coursing through your veins. Suddenly, a thought sparked in your mind, and without much filter, you began to vocalize it.

"Guys, hear me out on this okay?" you slurred slightly, gesturing emphatically with your hands, "I want my first time to be in a one night stand."

Your friends exchanged glances, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Whoa, slow down there," one of them chuckled nervously. "Isn't that a bit… reckless?"

You shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "Maybe. But think about it. No strings attached, no pressure. Just pure, unadulterated fun."

Another friend chimed in, concern evident in their tone. "But what about safety? And you know...emotions?"

You waved their concerns away dismissively. "I'll be careful, don't cha worry. Plus, I have a condition."

Now thoroughly intrigued, your friends leaned in closer, awaiting your next revelation.

"I want it to be with a foreigner," you declared boldly. "Think about it. If it's with someone from another country, the chances of running into them again are slim to none. It's like a perfect one-time thing."

Your friends erupted into laughter, shaking their heads in disbelief. "You, my friend, have some wild fantasies."

But you remained undeterred, a glint of determination in your eyes. "Just watch. It'll happen, and it'll be amaziiing."

As you took a sip from your drink, swirling the liquid thoughtfully in your glass, you added another criterion to your list.

"He's gotta be handsome as fuck," you stated emphatically, punctuating your words with a decisive nod. "And taller than me obviously. Body can be anything, as long as he's got that irresistible charm."

Your friend couldn't help but interject, a mischievous glint in their eye. "But what if this handsome guy turns out to have… well, you know, a micro penis?"

You paused, considering the question for a moment before responding with a shrug and a playful smirk. "We can always find other ways to have fun, right? Inserting his small dick isn't the only option. Besides sex toys were made for a reason"

Your friends burst into laughter, shaking their head in disbelief. "You really do have it all planned out, don't you?"

You chuckled in response, raising your glass in a mock toast. "Hey, when it comes to giving away my virginity, I've gotta have some standards."

Your friend grinned, teasingly remarking, "So, looks is still important to you, huh?"

You simply grinned back, raising an eyebrow suggestively as you took another sip, leaving the question unanswered.

As the conversation flowed and the night wore on, one of your friends suddenly declared, she needed to head back to the hotel, her words slightly slurred, you couldn't help but groan in disappointment.

"But it's only 11 pm," you whined, feeling a bit betrayed by the early end to the night.

Your friend shot you a glare, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Gurl, we started drinking at 7 pm at the restaurant, remember?"

You blinked, trying to recall the earlier hours of the evening through the haze of alcohol. "Ohhh, right," you muttered sheepishly.

Your other friends chimed in, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, it's probably best to call it a night. We're not as young as we used to be," one of them remarked with a chuckle.

Feeling a twinge of sadness at the premature end to the evening, you couldn't resist teasing them. "Is this what being an adult feels like? Can't even hang out past midnight without feeling exhausted?"

They laughed, acknowledging the truth in your jest. "Guess so," one of them replied with a shrug. "We just don't have the same energy we did back in college."

As your friends continued to express their exhaustion, you interjected with a playful smile "You guys, we're on vacation!" you exclaimed, trying to inject a spark of enthusiasm into the conversation. "Getting tired is a big no no."

Your friends exchanged tired glances, but a hint of amusement flickered in their eyes at your insistence. "Yeah, but even on vacation, we need to pace ourselves," one of them reminded you gently.

You sighed, realizing the truth in their words, but still unwilling to let go of the excitement of the night. "I know, I know," you admitted reluctantly. "But can't we just pretend to have the energy like in our teens?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of their lips as they shook their heads affectionately. "Nice try, but reality calls," another friend replied, already starting to walk in the direction of the hotel you guys staying to.

As you all walked together, the glow of the streetlights casting a soft halo around your group, one of your friends piped up with a mischievous grin, "Hey, why don't you stay here? Who knows, you might just find that handsome foreigner you're looking to hook up with."

You paused, considering her words for a moment. Why not, indeed? The idea of finally shedding the weight of your virginity had been on your mind for years, and now, in your late twenties, perhaps this was the perfect opportunity.

With a determined nod, you made up your mind. "You know what? Yeah, I should stay" you replied, a spark of excitement igniting within you.

Your friend's eyes widened in mock shock before she quickly recovered, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. "Just make sure to use protection! We're not ready to be aunties yet!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and genuine concern.

You laughed, waving her off dismissively. "Stop worrying, I've got it covered", you turned around to your friends to head back to the bar, a sudden rush of nerves fluttered in your stomach.

As you walked back towards the place, lost in thoughts of anticipation and excitement, you suddenly collided with someone, jolting you out of your reverie. Startled, you looked up, and the first thing that crossed your mind was, "Deeym, this man is handsome af."

Your eyes met his, and in that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still. His features were chiseled, his gaze intense yet inviting. A rush of adrenaline coursed through you as you felt a magnetic pull towards him, a primal attraction that you couldn't ignore.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, caught in the intensity of the unexpected encounter. But then, a sheepish smile spread across his lips, revealing the subtle dimples that adorned his cheeks. He then extended a hand to help you regain your balance.

"Sorry about that," he said, his voice smooth and velvety. "Didn't see you there."

You managed to stammer out a response, your heart pounding in your chest. "No problem. My fault, really."

As you straightened yourself up, you couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter was somehow significant. Instead of heading inside the bar as originally planned, you decided to take a detour, you scanned the area for a quieter spot to gather your thoughts. Spotting a cozy bench nestled in a nearby alcove, you made your way over and settled onto it, relishing the moment of solitude.

Pulling out your phone, you quickly typed out a message to your friends, your fingers dancing across the screen as you recounted the unexpected encounter.

"guys, u won't believe what just happened! ran into the most handsome guy eveeer existed. keelll meee 😭" as you hit send.

Your phone began to buzzed with notifications from your friends, you eagerly opened the group chat to see their reactions. Their messages flooded in, filled with playful encouragement and teasing.

"MAKE A MOVE! NOW!!11!" one friend exclaimed, followed by a chorus of emojis and cheeky remarks.

You chuckled at their enthusiasm but couldn't help but feel a twinge of shyness creeping in. "im shy, u girls know that," you typed back, accompanied by a sheepish emoji.

Their response was swift and merciless. "Shy? Come on, You?! Where's that boldness you were talking about earlier?" another friend teased, their message punctuated by laughing emojis.

Feeling a mix of amusement and embarrassment, you shot back, "hey, flirting and making the first move are two different things! 🫠🫠"

But they weren't about to let you off the hook that easily. "true, but how do you expect to seal the deal if you're not even willing to make a move? go get that dick!🤪🥴💦🍆🍆" another friend quipped, their message followed by a string of emojis.

You couldn't help but laugh at their relentless teasing, knowing they only had your best interests at heart.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you fired off one last message to your friends. "just go to sleep, seniors. see ya tom 😘"

As you slipped your phone back into your pocket, you felt a presence beside you. Glancing up, you found the handsome stranger you bumped into earlier, standing before you, a can of beer in hand, and a tentative smile on his lips.

"Mind if I take a seat?" he asked, gesturing to the empty space beside you.

A surge of excitement washed over you as you nodded eagerly. "Be my guest."

As he settled onto the bench beside you, you couldn't help but steal a glance at his profile. Up close, he was even more striking, his features illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. His eyelashes, long and delicate, frame his eyes like curtains to a captivating show. His nose, perfectly proportioned, gives his face a distinct charm. And his lips, a soft shade of plum, seem almost inviting, teasing your mind with the thought of how they might feel against yours.

Before you could let your mind wander, you decided to mustered up the courage to strike up a conversation. "So, what brings you out here?"

You blinked in surprise at his straightforward response, momentarily taken aback by his boldness. But a spark of amusement danced in your eyes as you processed his words.

"A hook up, huh?" you replied with a playful smirk, trying to match his cheekiness. "Well, that's certainly... direct."

He chuckled softly, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes as he took a leisurely sip of his beer. "Life's too short to beat around the bush, don't you think?"

His nonchalant attitude caught you off guard, but you couldn't deny the allure of his confidence. "I suppose you have a point," you conceded, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But isn't it a bit risky, being so upfront about your intentions?"

He shrugged casually, his gaze meeting yours with a steady intensity. "Maybe. But sometimes, taking risks is the only way to get what you want."

As he took a leisurely sip of his beer, he leaned back against the bench, a casual demeanor masking the mischief in his eyes. "You know," he began, his tone casual yet tinged with intrigue, "I overheard a rather interesting conversation earlier."

Your eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of recognition dawning as you realized what he was alluding to. "Oh?" you replied, attempting to maintain your composure despite the sudden rush of embarrassment.

He grinned knowingly, his gaze locking with yours. "They were talking about this wild idea one of them had. Something about wanting to have a one night stand with a foreigner, just to lose their virginity," he teased lightly, his words sending a flush creeping up your cheeks.

Suddenly, he turned to you with a cheeky smile, offering you his drink. "Care for a sip?" he asked, his gaze playful yet intense.

Caught off guard by his boldness, you felt a rush of nerves coursing through you. But you couldn't resist the temptation, so you nodded and accepted the drink, taking a tentative sip.

As the cool liquid slid down your throat, you couldn't help but glance at the can, your voice barely above a whisper as you muttered, "Was I really that loud?"

As he continued the conversation, his tone playful yet probing, he raised an eyebrow in mock curiosity. "So, let me get this straight," he began, his gaze fixed on you. "You flew all the way out here just to lose your virginity?"

Your cheeks flushed crimson at his bold question, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "Well, it's not like it was the sole purpose of the trip," you hurriedly explained, attempting to downplay the situation. "More like… a bonus plan, you know? And I'm with my friends, so it's not like I'm flying solo or anything."

His lips curved into a knowing smirk as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ah, I see. A little adventure on the side."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at his understanding response, grateful that he didn't judge you for your candid admission. With a shy smile, you took another sip of the beer, savoring the moment.

Taking a deep breath, you shifted the conversation, handing his drink back to him with a playful smile. "So, if you're out here looking for a hookup, what brings you to this very spot?" you asked, curiosity lacing your words.

He accepted the drink with a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Touché," he replied, taking a leisurely sip before meeting your gaze. "I guess I just needed a change of scenery. Figured I'd try my luck out here tonight."

His response intrigued you, prompting a surge of questions to bubble up inside you. "And has your luck been good so far?" you pressed, unable to resist the urge to tease him.

He chuckled, his laughter echoing in the night air. "Well, let's just say I've had worse nights," he replied cryptically, his smile widening.

Your heart raced as you entertained the bold idea swirling in your mind. Summoning your courage, you took a deep breath before speaking. "You know," you began tentatively, "why don't we cut to the chase? You're looking for a hookup, and I… well, I'm in the same boat. So, why don't we just… have sex?"

The words hung in the air between you, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous anticipation. It was a daring proposition, but the logic seemed valid, two consenting adults with mutual desires, seeking a simple solution to satisfy their needs.

He regarded you with a mixture of surprise and intrigue, his gaze searching yours for a moment before a slow grin spread across his lips. "Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?" he replied, his voice laced with amusement.

Relief flooded through you as you realized he was on board with the idea. As he rose from his seat, a confident smile gracing his lips, he extended an invitation towards you. "Well then, why don't we take this somewhere more private?" he suggested, his voice low and inviting. "My place isn't too far from here."

You nodded, a thrill coursing through you at the prospect of what lay ahead. "Sure, why not?" you replied, a smirk playing on your lips.

As you walked side by side, he broke the silence, introducing himself as Seungcheol. You couldn't help but smile at the gesture, realizing that despite the hours of conversation, you had never exchanged names.

But when he turned to you, expecting your introduction, you simply shook your head, a hint of playfulness in your tone. "No need for names tonight," you said. "After all, this is just a one-time encounter. Why bother with formalities when we'll likely never see each other again?"

He grinned, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Fair enough," he conceded, his hand gesturing towards the direction of his place. "Let's just enjoy the night."

As you entered his house, you slipped off your shoes and followed Seungcheol further inside. The air was thick with anticipation, each step echoing the pulsing beat of your heart.

Casually, he glanced at you, breaking the silence. "So, have you had other forms of intimacy before?" he inquired, his voice low and probing.

You paused, considering his question before responding. "Just third base," you admitted, a hint of nervousness tinging your voice. "Nothing more."

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "Third base and no sex, huh? What were you waiting for?" he teased, his words laced with playful incredulity.

You bristled slightly at his teasing tone, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your voice. "I wasn't ready that time," you replied, your tone firm.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. "And now you are?" he teased, his gaze lingering on you suggestively.

You met his gaze with determination. "I wouldn't offer you to fuck me if I wasn't ready, Seungcheol" you retorted, your tone tinged with conviction.

Seungcheol chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, that's true," he admitted, his tone light and teasing.

As he led you to his bedroom, you felt a surge of excitement coursing through you, the anticipation building with each step. Unabashed by his gaze, you decided to seize the moment, shedding your clothes with confidence.

He watched you undress, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed your boldness. "You really want to lose your virginity, huh?" he remarked, his tone teasing.

You met his gaze head-on, a cheeky grin spreading across your face. "Gonna make the most of it," you replied, your voice laced with playful determination.

Feeling the heat of the moment intensify, you closed the distance between you and Seungcheol, your hands sliding sensually over his shirt as you asked him, "Are you gonna leave me hanging?"

His eyes smoldered with lust as he met your gaze, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Not a chance," he murmured huskily, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Now, lay down on the bed."

Obeying his command, you positioned yourself on the soft sheets, your heart pounding with excitement as you watched Seungcheol begin to undress. Each article of clothing fell away, revealing more of his toned physique, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of hunger coursing through you.

As he stood before you, completely exposed, you couldn't help but admire the sight of his body. Relief flooded through you as you realized he didn't have a small dick—on the contrary, it was quite big and thick, with prominent veins snaking along its length.

You gulped down nervously as you lay on the bed, feeling the weight of Seungcheol's gaze upon you. Thoughts raced through your mind as you contemplated whether his sizable member would fit inside you.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize that Seungcheol had noticed your hesitation until he spoke up, his tone teasing. "Backing down already?" he mocked, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

You bristled at his taunt, a surge of defiance rising within you. "Of course not," you replied, mustering up your courage. "Just... admiring the view."

His smirk widened at your response, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Well, don't take too long," he teased, his voice dripping with innuendo. "I'm not one to wait around."

As Seungcheol approached the bed, a mischievous glint in his eyes, you felt a surge of anticipation coursing through you. With a confident posture, he climbed onto the bed beside you, his gaze never leaving yours.

With a devilish grin, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizing kiss. The kiss was slow and sensual, igniting a fire within you as you melted into his embrace.

Breaking the kiss, he trailed feather-light kisses along your jawline, down your neck, sending shivers of pleasure cascading down your spine. His hands explored every inch of your body, tracing patterns of desire along your skin.

His touch was electrifying, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you as he teased and tantalized every nerve ending. His lips trailed lower, tracing a path of fire across your chest, pausing to lavish attention on your sensitive nipples, sending bolts of pleasure shooting through you.

You couldn't help but moan in response, your hands tangling in his hair as you urged him on. "Don't stop," you gasped, your voice laced with desire.

With a wicked grin, Seungcheol obeyed, his mouth continuing its journey southward, leaving a trail of hot kisses along your abdomen. He reached the apex of your thighs, his breath hot against your skin as he teased you with feather-light touches.

Your breath hitched in anticipation as he teased you, inching closer and closer to where you ached for his touch. "Please," you begged, your voice thick with need.

With a devilish smirk, he finally gave in to your pleas, his tongue flicking out to taste you, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. As he delved deeper, exploring every crevice with expert precision.

A low moan escaped your lips as he found your most sensitive spots, his movements sending sparks of ecstasy dancing across your skin. You arched your back, urging him on, lost in the whirlwind of sensation that enveloped you.

Feeling emboldened by your response, Seungcheol shifted his focus, his fingers replacing his tongue as he delved deeper into your core. With each stroke, you felt yourself unraveling, your body responding eagerly to his expert touch.

Your hips began to move instinctively in response to the rhythmic motion of Seungcheol's fingers, each stroke sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned softly as the intensity of his touch heightened, your senses overwhelmed.

His tongue joined the fray, swirling and teasing your swollen clit with a tantalizing expertise. You gasped as the dual sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through every nerve ending, your back arching off the bed as you surrendered yourself completely to the overwhelming sensation.

As you reached waves of pleasure, you gradually let it subsided, Seungcheol's voice cut through the haze of bliss, his breath hot against your ear as he made his request. "Could you do the same for me?" he asked, his tone filled with desire.

You nodded eagerly, your own desire fueling your determination to bring him the same level of pleasure he had bestowed upon you. "Of course," you replied, a smile playing on your lips.

Kneeling down next to the bed, you positioned yourself as he instructed, your arms bracing yourself on either side of his hips. With a sense of anticipation coursing through you, you bent your arms at the elbows and leaned on them, balancing your body as you prepared to pleasure him.

Seungcheol lay back on the bed, his hips spread apart, his legs hanging off the edge. His gaze locked with yours, filled with a potent mix of lust and anticipation, as you prepared to take him to the heights of his own ecstasy.

With a steady hand and a sense of purpose, you began to lavish him with your touch, your lips and tongue exploring every inch of his throbbing length. With each flick and swirl, you could feel him tensing beneath you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as pleasure built within him.

Lost in the rhythm of your movements, you focused all your attention on bringing him pleasure, determined to repay him for the ecstasy he had given you. And as you felt him teetering on the brink of release, you redoubled your efforts, eager to send him over the edge into blissful oblivion.

And finally, with a guttural moan of pleasure, Seungcheol surrendered himself to the overwhelming sensation, his body trembling with ecstasy as he reached the peak of pleasure. And as he collapsed back onto the bed, spent and sated, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that you had brought him the same pleasure he had bestowed upon you.

As he released himself, his essence flooding your mouth. Without hesitation, you swallowed it eagerly, savoring the taste of him on your tongue.

A satisfied smile curved Seungcheol's lips as he brushed his thumb across your lips, collecting any lingering traces of his release. He brought his thumb to his own mouth, tasting himself with a low groan of pleasure.

"God, you're incredible," he murmured, his eyes smoldering with desire as he gazed at you.

His words sent a thrill of satisfaction through you, but as he reached for a condom, you stopped him with a gentle touch.

"Wait," you said softly, meeting his gaze with determination. "I want to do it raw. I'm on birth control, so it's fine."

A smile spread across his lips as he nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of desire and trust. "If that's what you want," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Confidently, you positioned yourself on your back, anticipation coursing through your veins as Seungcheol hovered above you. But as he entered his length, you gasped in surprise, the sensation overwhelming you as you realized the full extent of his size. Tears welled in your eyes as you underestimated just how much you could handle. "Is it... all the way in?" you managed to ask, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Seungcheol responded with a low growl, his desire evident in the way he pressed himself deeper into you. "Not even halfway," he murmured, his voice husky with need.

Holding him tightly, you buried your face into his neck, the sheer size of him overwhelming you. "It's too big," you whimpered, your voice trembling with emotion. "Please... don't move."

Seungcheol could feel your distress, but he also felt a surge of pleasure as you embraced his cock. Despite his own arousal, he was quick to offer you comfort. "We can stop if it hurts too much," he reassured you, his voice tender and caring.

Shaking your head, you refused to give up, determined to see this through. "No," you whispered, your tears falling freely now. "Just... stay still for a moment."

As tears continued to fall down your cheeks, he gently kissed them away, his touch soothing against your skin. "Take a deep breath," he murmured softly, his lips brushing against yours.

Following his instruction, you took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself against the overwhelming wave of sensation. And as you gathered your courage, you whispered a request for him to move slowly.

He nodded in understanding, his movements becoming more measured as he began to thrust into you. Unable to bear the intensity of the moment, you instinctively covered your face with your hands, seeking refuge from the overwhelming sensations.

But Seungcheol was having none of it. With a determined growl, he took your hands and pinned them above your head, his gaze intense as he demanded your full attention.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice firm but gentle. "I want to see your face."

Meeting his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and desire. As Seungcheol's thrusts grew rougher, the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you soared to new heights. You couldn't help but moan his name in ecstasy, your body responding eagerly to his every touch and word.

His dirty talk only fueled the flames of desire burning within you, sending shivers of pleasure racing down your spine. "Your pussy feels so good, baby," he growled, his voice laced with primal need. "Clamping down on my cock like that."

His words sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and as he placed his lips onto you, devouring your insides with a hunger that matched your own, you whimpered in bliss.

With each thrust, he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, his movements becoming faster and more urgent as he chased his own release. And then, with a primal growl, he came inside you, filling you with his essence as you both collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs and ragged breaths.

As you caught your breath, savoring the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through your body, Seungcheol's voice broke through the haze.

"You haven't come yet," he accused, his tone teasing yet insistent.

Before you could respond, he swiftly turned you over, positioning you on all fours. Gripping your waist firmly, he pulled you closer to him, his hips moving with a primal urgency as he penetrated you deeply from behind.

The new position allowed him to penetrate you even more deeply, intensifying the pleasure as he thrust into you with a relentless rhythm. With each powerful movement, you felt the tremors of pleasure building within you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

As Seungcheol's hand found its way to your swollen clit, the sensation sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your body. With each thrust, his fingers worked magic on your sensitive bundle of nerves, intensifying the pleasure to dizzying heights.

"Seungcheol," you moaned, your voice a breathless plea as your body trembled with ecstasy. "You're hitting me so deep…"

His words only served to fuel the fire of lust within you, and you couldn't help but respond with desperate moans of pleasure. But as the intensity of his thrusts grew, so did the rawness of the experience, and soon tears began to fall from your eyes.

Despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you, there was a hint of pain mingling with it, a testament to the roughness of his touch. "Cheol," you whimpered, your voice choked with emotion. "It's… it's too much…"

But even as your tears fell, Seungcheol showed no signs of relenting, his thrusts growing even rougher as he continued to drive you towards the edge of oblivion. And as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming sensation, you couldn't help but wonder if this was truly what sex was meant to be—raw, intense, and filled with a potent mix of pleasure and pain.

As Seungcheol felt your voice reverberating around him, a primal growl escaped his lips, driving him to new heights of arousal. With each moan and whimper that spilled from your lips, he felt his length growing even bigger inside you, stretching you to your limits.

"Fuck," he hissed through gritted teeth, the sensation driving him wild with desire. With each movement, he pinned your back against the bed, his hand pressing firmly against your skin as he continued to thrust into you with a relentless rhythm.

The combination of his rough touch and the overwhelming sensation of his length filling you completely sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Despite the intensity of the experience, you couldn't help but respond with desperate cries of pleasure, your body trembling with bliss beneath him.

As the overwhelming sensation consumed your body, you couldn't help but succumb to a second climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless waves. Your body quivered with ecstasy as you rode the wave of ecstasy, your cries of pleasure mingling with Seungcheol's primal groans as he followed you over the edge.

With a guttural moan, he collapsed on top of you, his body heavy with exhaustion as he caught his breath. Despite his weight pressing down on you, you welcomed the intimacy, relishing the feeling of his warm skin against yours.

He shifted to the side, spooning you from behind, his cock still buried deep inside you, you felt a surge of contentment wash over you. With each pulse of his cock, you could feel him releasing more of his seed, filling you with a sense of completeness that you had never experienced before.

Feeling the exhaustion creeping over you, you began to close your eyes, the events of the night still swirling in your mind. Seungcheol's voice broke through the silence, but you were too drained to respond. Sensing your fatigue, he simply hugged you tightly, closing his eyes as he drifted off into sleep.

The next morning, you were roused from sleep by the vibration of your phone on the nightstand. As you reached for it, you felt a strange sensation between your legs, and to your surprise, you discovered that Seungcheol's cock was still inside you. Trying to stifle a gasp, you carefully removed it, ensuring not to disturb him as he slept peacefully beside you.

Quietly fixing yourself up, you slipped out of his place and made your way back to the hotel. However, upon your return, you were greeted by the surprised faces of your friends, who presented you with a cake adorned with the words "I just had sex."

With a playful smile, you accepted their jests, but as you made your way towards your bed, exhaustion washing over you again. But before you could even settle in, your friends eagerly gathered around, shaking you with excitement, urging you to spill the details of your escapade with the handsome man.

As your friends gathered around, eager to hear the details of your night with Seungcheol, one of them expressed concern about your abrupt departure. "Did you even say goodbye?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

You shrugged nonchalantly, dismissing her concern. "It's a one night stand, that's how it works," you remarked, trying to downplay the situation. "You have sex, and then you're done. No need to linger."

Your friends exchanged uneasy glances, clearly feeling bad for Seungcheol, but you brushed off their concerns. "He was looking for sex too, remember? It's a win-win situation," you insisted, trying to convince yourself as much as them.

Despite your outward bravado, deep down, you couldn't help but question whether losing your virginity in a one night stand was truly the right decision. But as you pushed aside your doubts and buried yourself under the covers, you knew that the night's events had left an indelible mark on you—one that would linger long after the morning light had faded away.

....... ≿━━━━━༺S.COUPS༻━━━━━≾ .......

[gretavanlace]

Sleeping Beauty

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual contact, language, somnophilia (nothing drastic), subby jake, etc.

In response to this ask. I loved it so much and I’m terribly sorry for your wait, lovely anon. I hope you’ll forgive me ❤️

Jake should leave you in peace, and he knows it.

He’s melted into you twice already tonight, gently working you into a quiet euphoria…nails stinging into his back, soft moans and delicate sighs a song against the shell of his ear.

Yes, he knows he ought to let you rest - and don’t you sound so pretty resting? With your rhythmic breaths and gentle hint of a snore?

He should, but he won’t. Can’t.

You’re too warm, skin like satin bared to his hungry, wandering touch. Your hair, freshly washed and smelling of perfumed fruit. Your shoulder, of the loveliness that is so innately you.

If he could render it down, that intoxicating scent, he would inject it into his veins like an addict…let you swim inside him until he was buried under and lost. Comfortably numb.

Your thigh twitches. Just a blip of a movement, but it makes him smile. What is his girl dreaming about?

His grip has pulled you nearer now, tucked in close - a little spoon cradled safely in his love. His fingers, tender, yet insistent, kneading at the swell of your breasts, sweeping across your nipples, feather-light, until they begin to respond to him.

He wants them in his mouth, under his tongue, but he doesn’t want to disturb you any further than he already has, so this will do just fine.

A slight arch in your back tugs a tiny grin to life upon his lips, he wonders if his touch has made its way into whatever dreamworld you happen to be floating through. Do you search for him even while stumbling through strange and unfamiliar terrains?

He would like to think you do. He dreams of you more often than not.

Your nipples are drawn up tightly now, pebbled and peaked, as you press forward again, almost imperceptibly.

But on you slumber. His very own sleeping beauty.

With a slow pinch, he allows himself a bit more boldness. Perhaps, as he gives way to his need, he cares a little less about your rest.

All hope is lost when an airy sigh slips off your pretty tongue, and his hands begin traveling in languid earnest. Squeezing and tugging and pressing as his hips rock into you just barely.

He whispers your name as his mouth travels along your neck, and then groans into the crook of it when your hand reaches back, searching to bury into his tangled waves.

You hum a breathy, “Hi, baby,” into the night, eyes still closed.

”Hello, sleeping beauty,” he answers with a dreamy simper coloring his tone. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You sure about that?” Even with your toes still dipped into the ocean of drowsiness you can’t help but quietly tease him.

”You just feel so good,” he sounds like he is positively aching for you, and that’s because he is. He always is.

His tongue laps lightly over your shoulder just before his teeth find purchase, sinking in with a slow suck that brings a blushing bruise to life.

Admiring it in the moonlight, a lazy, satisfied warmth fills his chest, “Looks pretty on you, my love.”

Nose nuzzling into your tousled locks, he draws in a lungful of you, pressing your breasts together and running the pad of his thumb down the seam they create.

He’s imagining that perfect place, slick with sweat, and his cock - hard and desperate, sliding back and forth, pillowed and snug. How soft you would feel, how warm, how fucking perfect, how you might lick at the tip each time it slipped upwards to say hello.

”I really did want to let you sleep,” His words ghost over the shell of your ear and you long for him to whisper to you this way forever. “You snore, you know?”

The quietest giggle, hardly a sound at all, escapes you, “I don’t snore, Jacob Thomas, stop making things up.”

”Yes, you do,” it’s a sing-song argument, still but a whisper. “It’s adorable. And endearing. I like it.”

Confession too innocent for the way he’s making love to your breasts with his talented hands, you roll to face him…his arms wrapped around you all the while.

“Hi, liar,” you smile once you’re nose to nose.

“M’not a liar,” his voice is gravelly, and he’s a little thirsty with sleep, but not enough to leave your side in search of a glass of water. “You do snore. But it sounds dainty, and sweet. Everything you do is pretty.”

Your cheeks warm, ever the shy one under the spotlight of a compliment. Instead of enduring more - no matter how you secretly treasure them, you guide his mouth downward with a gentle grip fisted in his hair.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he nuzzles against you like a sleek and stunning house cat, and then curls the tip of his tongue over your nipple…sucking the bead of it into his kiss for just a moment. “Is this what you want?”

”I think this is what you want.” The challenge you’d hoped for in your tone drifts off into a shivering sigh when he nips at you.

“I do.” He nods, licking and lapping his tongue over them, suckling and biting. “My pretty girls…my exquisite, pretty girls.”

“Exquisite?” You smile, eyes drifting closed. He responds with a soft sound of confirmation, but can’t be bothered to stop.

A particularly nice flick of his tongue drags a shaky moan from your lungs and he hums right along with you, blissfully. “Feel good?”

”Really good,” your fist tightens in his hair, but your touch remains gentle in this languid and lazy moment. “Do it again?”

You offer it up as a question, which seems absurd to him…as if he would ever deny you. As if you don’t own him completely. As if you hadn’t stolen his heart the moment he laid eyes on you.

He does it again for you, because of course he does, and then again and again, until you’re pressing closer into him and whining so timidly it makes his heart ache and his cock throb.

It twitches against your thigh, hard and flushed hot, sweeping against your skin like velvet. You close your eyes and picture it resting between your bodies, so thick, and thrumming with his frantic pulse, cashmere skin stretched taught with his want, and all for you.

You suddenly need it more than you could ever put into words. Great scholars and poets alike couldn’t begin to describe your ache for him.

You burn and your stomach twists, somersaulting over itself for Jake. For everything he is. For everything he ever will or won’t be.

”Can I touch it?” You whisper, peppering kisses into his bed head as he contentedly licks and sucks away at you, kneading at the soft swell of your breasts carefully. Babying them as though he is tragically in love…and he is. God, how he loves them.

In lieu of tearing his mouth away to respond, he backs his hips away from you just far enough to allow your hand to slip down and wrap around the root of his cock.

You find him fiery to the touch and so hard as a breath huffs out of his nose with a palpable fever.

Thumbing over his head, you find it soaked and swollen as you press into the slit gingerly, just the way he likes. “Your cock is so wet, baby…” you’re trying to tease him, but the words tremble, sounding as needy as you feel, “So hard.”

Thick and pulsing, he strains and flexes in your grip, and then there are those beautiful words. Words no more than a whimper that is bordering upon shy, “Make me cum…”

”Yeah?” Your hand, slick with his need, begins a slow journey up and down the length of him, twisting off at the head before sliding back down. “Does Jakey need it with my tits in his mouth?”

A muffled ‘fuck’ is buried against you as he sucks harder with a nod.

“Are you sore?” He knows he’s already fucked you blind tonight, and he’d rather die than hurt you.

And maybe you are sore, but not enough to not want this, so you offer a soft ‘no’ and then there are his fingers, nudging between your thighs, slipping inside of you, curling and beckoning like a beacon into your favorite spot.

”Goddamn,” he groans, teeth clenched into the tip of your breast, “You’re so warm inside…pretty little pussy opens right up for me. Faster, sweetheart.”

He goes right back to making love to your tits with his gorgeous mouth as your tightened fist flies rapidly over his cock. Squeezing at the head, thumb paying close attention to his favorite spot.

Rolling into his touch, your clit, swollen and soaked, presses flush against the heel of his palm, and it earns a groan of lust-drenched gratitude from somewhere deep in his chest, “That’s my girl, fucking use me.”

Jerking wildly into your palm, he finally gives up and rests his cheek against your chest, panting into your glistening skin.

“Just like that,” he’s thrusting in time with you now, hunting down his release fervently “Fuck, please, just like that.”

”Come on, baby,” you coax quietly, kissing over the crown of his head, gentle demand falling hushed into his tangles, “Cum for me.”

Further into your breasts his face presses as his fingers fuck you closer and closer to the edge, “You, too, sweetheart. Give it to me… I need you to— fuck, please, please…”

The soft pads of his fingers are circling inside you like he sculpted your body with his very own hands. He knows every inch of you. Where to touch, Where to press and tease. Where to pinch and smack and bite when you ask for it to hurt a little.

But when he leans into a touch of submission, as he is now? That lights you up with a frenzied, crazed fire that only he can extinguish.

He feels you tightening, strangling his fingers so forcefully he absently wonders how he ever fits his cock inside the heaven that lives between your thighs, “That’s it…” his face is shoved between your breasts, rendering his praise muffled, “That’s my fucking girl. C’mon, you just relax and let me make you cum. Let me, sweetheart,” he’s babbling now, repeating himself, whining, betraying how close he is, “just wanna make you feel good, let me get you off, just— let me, come on, baby, please…”

Like some sort of twisted, subby bully, he’s shoving you closer and closer, until, with a wild sob of his name, you let go, spilling into his palm as he, in turn, spills over your fist.

A wandering stream of expletives tumbles off of his warm, pink tongue as he sucks and mouths at your overheated skin…fingers tucked up into that lovely place inside you until you can stand it no longer.

“It’s too much, Jake…” your voice is a mirage of itself, “too much.”

With a sound that says he’s sad to leave, he slips out of your fluttering grip, and then shudders with a gentle, sleepy laugh when you squeeze and tug at his softening, sensitive cock. “You’re an evil woman.”

”But I’m your evil woman.” You counter, pulling away, if only to lick at the milky white pearl of him that is rolling down your wrist.

”Yes,” he nods, watching in the darkness with rapt attention, “You’re mine.”

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[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 17: Face-sitting

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Face-sitting (✨)

Summary: Face-sitting. That's it.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral f!receiving, face-sitting, face-riding, dirty talk

Word Count: 846

A/n: I know I did a fic like this for another prompt, but I do kind of love this prompt.

Read Me On AO3! (Coming soon)

His fingers dig into your hips, nails leaving crescent moon indentations in your tender flesh as you move your cunt against his tongue. 

“Sit,” he’d said and spread your legs over his head. “Ride my face until you come. Please, use me.” 

He needed to lose control. He’d had such a rough week at work and needed to just let go. When he said use me, he meant it. He meant for you to take what you need until he can’t breathe, and then some more. He needed you. 

You have a tight grip on his hair, more than eager to comply with his request. Ride my face until you come. On his tongue is your favorite place to be, after all. 

You chase the heat in your belly with abandon, wanting moans tumbling from your parted lips like an orchestra of pure and unbridled pleasure. His tongue has nowhere to go but through your folds, right where you want him to be, around your clit and inside of you. 

Your walls engulf him as he tastes you from the inside out. Goosebumps erupt on your skin; he traces his fingers over them, gently, reverently, and he hums in approval at the way your walls clench around him.

He holds you, he explores you, and you are so fucking close you might lose your battle with self-control any moment now. Matt can barely breathe with how tightly you’re holding his face against your perfect pussy, but he would gladly suffocate in this position. There is no place he would rather die than drowning in your cum, where the only sound audible to his sensitive ears is the rushing of your blood through the veins in your thighs.

Your scent in his nose, your taste on his tongue—you’re all over him. He may be drinking from you like you are the elixir of life, but you are the one consuming him. You are the one who makes the noise of the world disappear. And when you finally become the death of him, lost in pleasure like this, his headstone will read that he died doing what he loved: eating out the woman he loved as though she were his last meal.

“Touch me,” you plead. 

Matt slides his hand from your hip to your breast. Your nipples are already hard and aching for him to touch, and he greedily starts to play with those sensitive bundles of nerves he likes to wrap his lips around. Your body is his playground, his to love, and his to command. You are completely at his mercy even when he is not in control because you crave him like a dangerous drug. 

You need to inject him into your bloodstream.

“That’s it,” your moan echoes across the room. “That’s it, don’t stop.”

Your hips start to move faster, more desperately against his tongue. He flattens it against your folds, circling your clit whenever he gets the chance. Air has started to become a luxury, his face slick with the wetness pooling out of you, but he would be damned if he tapped out now. 

Time has stopped; only God knows how long he has been waiting for this—craving this.

Before long, the tight coil in your belly snaps, filling you with a warmth that goes straight to your head, and then you’re coming. You lose control of your limbs, falling forward into the mattress as you cry out his name into the void. 

Your pussy keeps dragging along his tongue to chase those electric shocks of pleasure, the feeling that curls around your core like a noose. You are so addicted to that feeling that you drive yourself into overstimulation, his beard burning marks into your thighs. You know you will be sore for days, but oh, it was fucking worth it.

Below you, Matt is groaning and moaning, drinking up every last drop of you until you have nothing left to give. His balls tighten, his cock twitches; Matt buries his teeth in the soft flesh of the inside of your thigh, muffling himself as he spills into his black boxers. You exploded like a bomb in his mouth. He couldn’t hold it back anymore, he had to come. 

It’s pathetic, he thinks, coming untouched like a teenager who never had sex before, but he had to come for you.

He had to come with you.

Matt is incredibly sensitive to what you’re feeling as though he lives inside you, and so for just a little while, he turns into a horny teenager who comes in his underwear. 

You roll off, falling to the mattress beside him. “Holy fuck,” you choke out. 

The words refuse to form. He takes a deep breath. When he exhales again after a few seconds of floating in a boneless bubble, all the tension falls from his shoulders. For the first time in days, Matt is at peace.

“You okay?” your voice reaches through to him. 

He nods, lips curling into a smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay.”

And it is all because of you. 

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