#let them drip in decadence

[buumbaby]

Glam Date

[abijahfowler]

Never underestimate my ability to turn evil men into evil milfs

[physalian]

How to make your writing sound less stiff

Just a few suggestions. You shouldn’t have to compromise your writing style and voice with any of these, and some situations and scenes might demand some stiff or jerky writing to better convey emotion and immersion. I am not the first to come up with these, just circulating them again.

1. Vary sentence structure.

This is an example paragraph. You might see this generated from AI. I can’t help but read this in a robotic voice. It’s very flat and undynamic. No matter what the words are, it will be boring. It’s boring because you don’t think in stiff sentences. Comedians don’t tell jokes in stiff sentences. We don’t tell campfire stories in stiff sentences. These often lack flow between points, too.

So funnily enough, I had to sit through 87k words of a “romance” written just like this. It was stiff, janky, and very unpoetic. Which is fine, the author didn’t tell me it was erotica. It just felt like an old lady narrator, like Old Rose from Titanic telling the audience decades after the fact instead of living it right in the moment. It was in first person pov, too, which just made it worse. To be able to write something so explicit and yet so un-titillating was a talent. Like, beginner fanfic smut writers at least do it with enthusiasm.

2. Vary dialogue tag placement

You got three options, pre-, mid-, and post-tags.

Leader said, “this is a pre-dialogue tag.”

“This,” Lancer said, “is a mid-dialogue tag.”

“This is a post-dialogue tag,” Heart said.

Pre and Post have about the same effect but mid-tags do a lot of heavy lifting.

They help break up long paragraphs of dialogue that are jank to look at

They give you pauses for ~dramatic effect~

They prompt you to provide some other action, introspection, or scene descriptor with the tag. *don't forget that if you're continuing the sentence as if the tag wasn't there, not to capitalize the first word after the tag. Capitalize if the tag breaks up two complete sentences, not if it interrupts a single sentence.

It also looks better along the lefthand margin when you don’t start every paragraph with either the same character name, the same pronouns, or the same “ as it reads more natural and organic.

3. When the scene demands, get dynamic

General rule of thumb is that action scenes demand quick exchanges, short paragraphs, and very lean descriptors. Action scenes are where you put your juicy verbs to use and cut as many adverbs as you can. But regardless of if you’re in first person, second person, or third person limited, you can let the mood of the narrator bleed out into their narration.

Like, in horror, you can use a lot of onomatopoeia.

Drip Drip Drip

Or let the narration become jerky and unfocused and less strict in punctuation and maybe even a couple run-on sentences as your character struggles to think or catch their breath and is getting very overwhelmed.

You can toss out some grammar rules, too and get more poetic.

Warm breath tickles the back of her neck. It rattles, a quiet, soggy, rasp. She shivers. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. Sweat beads at her temple. Her heart thunders in her chest. Ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump-ba- It moves on, leaving a void of cold behind. She uncurls her fists, fingers achy and palms stinging from her nails. It’s gone.

4. Remember to balance dialogue, monologue, introspection, action, and descriptors.

The amount of times I have been faced with giant blocks of dialogue with zero tags, zero emotions, just speech on a page like they’re notecards to be read on a stage is higher than I expected. Don’t forget that though you may know exactly how your dialogue sounds in your head, your readers don’t. They need dialogue tags to pick up on things like tone, specifically for sarcasm and sincerity, whether a character is joking or hurt or happy.

If you’ve written a block of text (usually exposition or backstory stuff) that’s longer than 50 words, figure out a way to trim it. No matter what, break it up into multiple sections and fill in those breaks with important narrative that reflects the narrator’s feelings on what they’re saying and whoever they’re speaking to’s reaction to the words being said. Otherwise it’s meaningless.

—

Hope this helps anyone struggling! Now get writing.

[shotmrmiller]

a little prologue before i eventually write the schmeat.

pornstar au!

f!reader

Simon retired from the adult entertainment industry at 38 years old, but he'd been in it for a decade and a half.

He left his mark, going down in history as one of the greatest of all time in pornography. Simon was a living legend, and his cock was equally legendary which even attracted the attention of famous personalities. In fact, he made sure they signed an airtight NDA just to have the privilege of having his phone number.

It eventually became dull, however, and decided it was time to call it quits. He'd had his fun and now explicitly works behind the scenes with the casting and directing.

Not for the lack of trying on his hires' part though. He cannot recall how many times he's had actors trying to entice him into bending them over the black leather couch or fuck them against the walls of their dressing rooms.

Simon had retired and meant it.

That was, until you.

A fresh face, a rookie in the business but he's completely mesmerized by the video he's watching featuring his protege, Johnny. The scene itself was nothing special, just a dad's best friend script, but you...something about you was extraordinary.

He felt his manhood stir as he watched your lips parting in a silent scream as a climax washed over you, causing your toes to curl and fingers to dig into Johnny's biceps as he split you open on top of a kitchen counter.

Your eyes clenched tightly in bliss; head thrown back in pleasure. You weren't faking it in the least, not that it was ever in question— there was a frothy, milky cream around the base of Johnny's cock, your body twitched with the aftershocks of it, and he's had more than a lifetime's worth of women and men underneath and on top of him to know what a real orgasm looked like.

You looked delectable. His mouth watered as he thought of getting a taste of you— he wanted to eat that pretty pussy of yours like it was to be his last meal, push his thick fingers into your slick hole and make you ride his hand until you hunched over and gushed arousal down his wrist and forearm.

Simon palmed himself roughly outside of his trousers and hissed when Johnny covered your mouth with his as he rubbed your slippery clit under the pad of his thumb until you broke away to let out a choked scream— another peak that Johnny takes as his.

He fucks you through it with a slow undulation of his hips, just like Simon taught him, and only when your limbs are loose, syrupy, does he finally relent and in a few thrusts, he's pulling out and covering your glistening slit with his spend.

Simon grips his phone so hard, it makes a cracking sound. He's had A-list celebrities with unrivaled beauty begging for him to see them again. He's had Aphrodite in his bed and Adonis on his knees.

And yet none compare to the sight of you, skin dewy with saliva and sweat, damp hair sticking to your forehead, and another man's cum dripping out of you.

He's enthralled.

Simon tosses his cell and briskly walks toward his kitchen island, where his laptop sits. In a matter of minutes, he's sent an email to the company you work for and told them to name their price, he'd pay anything to get you in his studio.

They readily agreed, of course. No one denies Simon anything.

Simon runs his tongue over his teeth in anticipation; he's gonna lift you to the very stars.

Ghost is about to make his long-awaited return and only for you.

[introloves]

higuruma apologizes when his nose bumps into your clit while he’s going down on you.

assumes it had been a reaction of displeasure with how eager he had been, trying to be mindful of the placement of it while he salivated at the mere thought of swiping his tongue up your weeping hole.

he felt bad for her. poor cunt going unattended, knowing it was something that should have happened the first time you had touched each other- noisily leaning down and huffing hot air against you.

it’s desperate and he should be ashamed of the way his mouth practically drools for the chance to make you cum, tongue sliding noisily against your folds. fingers reaching to grab at your thighs to pin them down, gentle and stoic demeanor lost.

eyes that usually held a sort of sadness and discontent for nearly everything now looked, mean. strands of thick, black hair pressed against his forehead, a blur with the way he shifted his head up and down.

the ridge of his nose slipping up and down your swollen, throbbing clit- the singular bump of it sending tingles down the very core of your being. thigh jumping up in attempt to clamp down against his head- stopped meanly with a strong hand.

he looks up at you- focused gaze instead of the wild frenzy while he had been leaned down into your soppy cunt. see's with lidded eyes the way your knees try to jump off the bed with a singular press of his nose to your swollen, licked clean clit and it takes seconds for him to reign in the impending orgasm when he realizes you like it.

you love the way the curved line of his nose digs in, heated air of his own breath pairing well with how hot you are- shoulders shaking when he tilts his mouth in further, tries to press more of his tongue inside of you.

you fear hiromi is trying to swallow you whole.

"oh- god!" you plead to no one in particular. try to keep yourself down while he keeps you right there- no longer trying to tilt his head to the side, no longer apologizing for the fact that his nose is too hooked, too big. higuruma leans into it, swiping side to side- making sure to smear the remnants of your arousal across his nose.

he should have pulled away and asked if you were okay, should have backed off and verbally inquired about why you were shaking this bad. but if hiromi was wrong, he'd atone for it tenfold.

pride simmering deep in his chest, cock throbbing with the chance that you were reacting so fervently thanks to him or more specifically his nose.

words dying in his throat, any thought slowly melted away- following you to that orgasm he knew was coming so, so soon.

closing his eyes to let you ride him- hands grabbing at you, pulling you closer despite desperate movements.

you were okay, he was here. hands holding you with a revered delicacy despite the frantic bumping of your clit to his nose, or the way his tongue fucked in and out of you over and over.

heated coil finally snapping in mere moments after the way he realized why you shook so hard.

and hiromi curses for letting you slip, unable to hold onto you with how frantic you twitched- sitting up to watch you tip your head back into the bed, pretty mouth popped open to scream a broken chant of his name.

leaning to curl over you, forearm splayed against your head while he himself panted. face dripping, nose shiny- reflecting the utter tenderness he had treated, revered you in.

waiting for you to come back to him, trying to keep his own lowly groaning down- drinking it all in.

"hiromi." you finally cried- pichy and high. shaky fingers reaching for the front of his pressed, white shirt. wet at the collar.

"yeah, i'm here baby." he responded, voice low- bringing himself in to kiss your waiting mouth. sighing when you licked at the line of his lips. greedy little thing.

hypocritical for the singular thought when hunger struck deep in his core the second he rose up off you and saw the line of your slick printed off the line of his nose- gleaming in the low bedroom light.

decadence personified.

[howlingscarlet]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥

ㅤ♡ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Bucky Barnes x reader

ㅤ♡ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫��: Bucky gets a little carried away during a scene.

ㅤ♡ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: smut, penetrative sex (readers anatomy not explicitly stated), rough sex, dom/sub dynamics (dom!bucky and sub!reader), safe word/signal used, un-negotiated choking, angst (hurt/comfort), slight sub drop and slight dom drop, Bucky carries reader (super solider strength), doll/sweetheart used for reader, aftercare

ㅤ♡ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,598

a/n: this is my first marvel fic I’ve ever finished :) I’ve been writing for another fandom on another account for almost a year now and was so focused on my wips for that one that I put all my marvel stuff on the back burner but a week ago I was suddenly struck with the motivation to finish this one! I hope you enjoy <3

Bucky needed to have control. You knew this, and welcomed it. After decades of being stripped of his agency and made to be a mindless follower he looked for that sense of authority over his own actions.

He never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do. He made it clear that you were still calling the shots at the end of the day. He enjoyed the feeling of power that your pliancy provided, but it was your trust that mattered the most to him. He wanted to know that you trusted him to not really hurt you. That you didn’t see him as the monster everyone else saw.

You were more than willing to let him have that control, especially with how much consideration Bucky put into making you comfortable. It was a new dynamic to you, having never been one to explore the world of domination before. So you took it slow. Establishing boundaries, discussing scenes thoroughly, and establishing a safe word system for the both of you.

You found the stop light system worked best. Red to stop, yellow to slow down or check in, and green to go. There was even a system if you couldn’t speak. Three taps to stop, two to slow down, and one to go. And if for whatever reason you weren’t able to do either of those, Bucky was allowed to use your safe word to ensure your safety.

There were rules. Strict ones you and him were expected to abide by.

Despite all these safety precautions you never once had to use them, Bucky was always careful.

But sometimes, people make mistakes.

His burly body hovered above yours as his hips pounded into you at a steady pace. His hands roamed over your body, squeezing harshly at your soft flesh. Your legs were spread wide to accommodate his large body, thighs trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the precipice. Your hands clutched at the sheets and sweat dripped down your bare chest, your eyes pressed shut as the pleasure overwhelmed you. You could feel it in every nerve of your body. Every small noise and softly spoken curse that left your mouth only served as more encouragement to him.

Bucky never talked much during sex. The more he got lost in the pleasure, the less he was likely to speak. But he wasn’t silent. You could hear every groan and moan resonating through his chest and occasionally hear his whispered praises.

So good for me.

So proud of you.

But something about tonight felt different. He had just come home from a rough mission. You could feel the anger steaming out of him as soon as he stepped through the door of your shared apartment. He needed a release, which you were more than happy to give him. Even when he warned you that he had no intentions of being gentle tonight you still obliged excitedly. Having not seen him for a few weeks you wanted nothing more than to just be his for a while.

He was not overstating himself when he said he would not be gentle tonight. Everything about him was rough. His touch, the strokes of his hips, his mouth on your skin. He took you like a depraved animal, and you welcomed it.

As he repeatedly hit that soft spot inside of you that made your nerves spark with electricity you felt his metal hand creeping up your stomach. The coldness of it contrasted against your hot skin making you shiver. Soon, it found its way around your neck and squeezed.

This was not normal. While Bucky had put his hand around your throat before, it was never the metal one and he certainly had never squeezed it so hard. He never choked you.

You found it hard to breathe, your eyes filling with tears. Your eyes popped open as you looked at Bucky panicked, hoping your gaze would get his attention. But his eyes were closed in lust. You couldn’t speak so you tapped his arm three times.

Stop.

He opened his eyes to see your scared expression and immediately stopped, pulling away from you completely and crawling to the other end of the bed from you.

You sat up, coughing as the air finally returned to your lungs. Bucky could only stare at you, chest heaving as eyes wide as he realized what he’d done.

He hurt you.

He hurt you.

He could have killed you.

When you finally looked at your boyfriend you saw how terrified he looked and how tears had begun to settle at his waterline.

“Bucky—“ you started to say.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Come here, please,” you reached your arms out to him but he only recoiled more. It felt like a stab to your heart, like he was rejecting you. For a moment you wondered if you should have safeworded. Did you disappoint him? Was he mad at you?

“I’m sorry,” he just kept repeating as the tears finally sprung free. You crawled over to him and he flinched as you did. You didn’t touch him, you weren’t sure if he was ready for that yet. But you really wanted him to touch you. Bucky however couldn’t take his eyes off your neck. Red marks were already starting to form and he felt the bile rise up in his throat at the sight of them.

“Bucky please,” you sniffled as your tears started to fall. “I’m sorry I stopped I—“

His head snapped up to look at you, brows furrowed in confusion before it hit him. You didn’t need space right now, you needed him.

He shushed you, pulling you into his arms as he gently held you in his arms and let you cry. “You did so good,” he tried to reassure you. “I’m sorry I went too far. You did nothing wrong, doll. You were so good, I’m so proud of you,” he kissed the top of your head. It settled you a little.

“Why didn’t you ask?” You questioned as you hugged your arms tightly around him.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. I’ll never do that again. I promise.”

“Are you mad I made you stop?”

“No, no baby no,” he shook his head fervently. “I’m mad at myself for hurting you. Are you mad at me?”

“No,” you replied quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Bucky placed a gentle kiss on your cheek. It made him sick to know that he did something you didn’t want. He could feel his heart start to splinter. Your trust was the most important thing in the world to him. He already thought he didn’t deserve you and now he was sure of it.

You recognized that look in his face, the look that said I’m a monster.

“I love you Bucky,” you said softly, kissing him tenderly. “You made a mistake but I forgive, because I love you.”

Bucky swallowed down the lump of emotion in his throat, nodding slowly.

“Can we take a bath?” You suggested.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “That sounds good.”

He carefully lifted you from the bed using his unnatural strength, carrying you to the bathroom with your head resting on his shoulder. Setting you on the closed toilet you started the bath, letting it fill and warm up. He kneeled down in front of you, hands gently resting on your thighs. You could see the far off look in his eyes, lost in his own self destructive thoughts.

“Hey,” you cooed gently, pushing his hair behind his ears. “Where’d you go? Stay with me.”

He nodded, kissing at your knee before putting his hand in the rub to test the temperature and adjusting it to be perfect for the both of you. You both sat there in silence as you waited for the tub to fill, his head in your lap as you stroked his hair tenderly. Once it was filled he helped you in, giving you his arms to balance on your shaky legs. He slid in after you, sitting between your legs and leaning back into you. You kissed him behind his ear, grinning when he shivered at your touch.

“I still enjoyed it,” you rubbed up and down his arms. “Before I safeworded it was good. You made me feel so good.”

“Did I scare you?” He whispered, afraid of the answer.

“A little,” you answered honestly. “But you stopped when I told you to.”

He nodded, bringing your hand up to his mouth and kissing at your knuckles. “It won’t happen again, I promise.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “I think we should take a break from the harder stuff. Just for a little bit.”

You picked up your head at that, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he turned his head slightly to try and look at you although it was difficult in the position you were in. “I want you to be safe. If I can’t trust myself to keep you safe then…I think we should just stick to the basics. Just you and me.”

“Okay,” you kissed his cheek and he leaned back into you, soaking in your love and affection.

“I love you,” you whispered in his ear.

He smiled for the first time that night, “I love you too sweetheart.”

After your bath and your discussion you and Bucky both felt better about the situation and that night you fell asleep in each other's arms, only with the gentlest touches and whispered affections.

Thank you for reading! ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

I do not give permission to have my work copied, translated, reposted on any platform, or put into any Al programs. This is my only Marvel related blog aside from my library side blog @/howlinglibrary (Repost ≠ reblog)

Heart divider by @/adornedwithlight

Mdni/support dividers by me

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

Knight in Shining Armor

Yandere Monster Knight x Princess Reader

TW: delusional Yandere, Yandere behavior, kidnapping (mentioned), etc.

Ajax had always been princess (your name)’s confidant and source of solace… so why did he have her cornered on the bed of the inn? His large, muscular frame towered over her as his body trembled.

“I can’t do it… I can’t let you marry some other man.” Ajax whispered, his metal mask hiding his expression. There was no doubt in (your name)’s mind that he was shaken up about something. She had no clue why he’d be so upset about her getting married…

“Ajax, it was bound to happen eventually. It’s my duty as the kingdom’s princess-“ (your name) gasped when he closed the distance between them. Ajax’s large palms pulled her into a tight hug. The force of the hug caused them both to land on the small bed with a soft plop.

“Ajax-“ Ajax placed a finger on (your name)’s lips to pause her words.

“I won’t allow it… I won’t allow some other man to sully you.” Ajax’s deep voice made her body anxiously shake. “Not when I’ve wanted you for so many years…”

“Ajax-“ (your name)’s eyes widened when he finally removed the mask that’s concealed his face for over a decade. Ajax was half orc? (Your name) hadn’t a clue and she had been with him for so many years…

“I’m half monster, I thought you knew.” Ajax chuckled as his crimson eyes flitted over (Your name)’s frozen form. She was now a helpless lamb trapped in the maw of the wolf. “It’s why the other knights have been so cruel to me… why the maids avoid me like the plague and your father wanted to send me to war.”

(Your name)’s eyes can only take on his scarred and burned face in shock. Why was half the skin on his mouth missing and his tusks filed down? Who had hurt him so much that he didn’t confide in her, his best friend? What atrocities had he faced while she remained none the wiser?

(Your name) were shocked when he bent down to show you his teeth. His tusks were clumsily filed down to almost look like teeth but they were still rather sharp. “I did the tusk work, but they grow back rather quickly. The skin on my face is still healing from when there was an assassination attempt on you from your future husband’s concubines. Bastard was going to pour acid on your face.”

(Your name) reached up to trace the scars on his face while Ajax gave her a soft smile. “Ajax…”

“You’re the only one who’s never treated me like a monster… you’re so wonderful and kind.” Ajax moved his large, gloved hands to hold her hands. “That old king doesn’t deserve you. No one does!”

(Your name) blushed when Ajax brought her hands up to his lips to press tender kisses over each of her knuckles. Despite how badly Ajax wished to ravish her, he must keep his composure.

“You took this amount of damage for me?” (Your name)’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it made Ajax melt into a puddle.

“Of course I did. I will do anything for you.” Ajax moved himself to crouch on the corner of the bed, his head in a slight bow. Yet (your name) could feel the burning obsessed behind his crimson gaze. “I am in love with you. Madly, deeply, entirely devoted to you and only you.”

Ajax grasped (your name)’s bare foot and brought it up to his mouth to press tender kisses across the top of it. “I will love you until my skin rots off my body and I am nothing but bones. Yet even death could not separate me from you for I will be in every corner of your life like a permanent shadow of protection. I will protect you with my entire being and soul. I will haunt and dismember your enemies if you so much as give them a glance of distaste.”

(Your name) felt her blood run cold when Jax gave her a bright grin that reopened a few of the stitches across his cheeks. The blood dripped down his face and onto her foot, but he merely lapped it up with his longer tongue. “Now tell me… is what I feel not love? I may not be a handsome prince but I swear I’m your knight in shining armor.”

[readychilledwine]

Odd One Out pt 2

Summary - After 500 years of friendship, the last thing you ever expected was the Inner Circle to miss one of your symphonies. But you know what they say, time changes people.

Warnings - 10 year time jump, groveling, Fluff, reader forgives Azriel, loosely edited (Liz will fix and check for mistakes she and her friend missed with fresh eyes 💕)

A/N - forgive the name picked for Kal and Vivienne's daughter. So many of you are playing with Disney princess themes I couldn't shake it.

Odd One Out pt 1

✨️ Azriel Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

Dawn was beautiful. In the past 10 years, as you had toured the Realm performing, you had realized that quickly. Every court always brought you back to Dawn. Every High Lord brought you back to Thesan. Thesan had allowed you to build home here, welcoming you and your talent with open arms, and tonight was a true testimony of his love for you and your music as he paid you a high honor.  

Thesan had spent the day hosting the quarterly High Lord's Meeting, and tonight, his gift of relaxation to the other High Lords was you, your orchestra, and a night of candle lit music, champagne, and food. 

You smoothed out the dress Thesan had commissioned for you tonight. An off the shoulder tulle number with long sleeves. It was soft and buttery, flowing with every step. The top hugged you perfectly, and two long slits sat on each leg, exposing them and the heels you were wearing. The fabric was a soft white color, a stark opposite to your conducting gowns in the Night Court. Jewels were sewn into the fabric, dripping down your body like you had been wrapped and bathed in starlight. The only sign of your home was that star-like glow and the earrings Azriel had bought you many years ago. The rough diamonds set in rose gold had backs that dropped on delicate chains with another diamond sitting at the bottom. “something delicate for my gentle girl,” he had whispered that sentence to you, letting it sink into your skin and mind. 

How odd it truly felt to compare that moment to when Azriel sat there in silence as Elain lashed out against all you had built, all your hard work, studying, you're very being. 

You took a deep breath, silencing your nerves as the theater went quiet. Dinner had been served, drinks flowing left and right, and now it was time. You watched as you musicians took their places, sitting and preparing themselves as well. Most had followed you from Night, and last you tragically heard, the Rainbow had grown silent in your absence. The new musicians ranged from every court, every walk of life. You smiled fondly at what you had remade, at their outfits so finely crafted of black fabric and silks. 

Thesan took the stage next, doing something Rhysand never had, “High Lords and Ladies, faithful emissaries, friends. After a long day of tense negotiations, words said in anger and frustration, and Rhysand's horrible father jokes,” a loud “hey” came from the audience making you laugh softly, “I could not think of a more enchanting way to end our night. A decade ago, a talented female came to me, offering to exchange a week of shelter and security for her playing music nightly for my court.” 

Thesan looked so softly towards you, “An offer many of you would go in to receive as well as she traveled our lands studying our music and history. Her talent had touched my fae and myself so deeply that when the time for her to make a home base came, I was honored when she approached me and built this theater to her exact wants and needs.”

He continued after a long breath, “Tonight is her first performance and opening night. I felt it would be wrong for anyone besides all of us to see her newest pieces first. Pieces inspired by every court, by all of our stories, of our fae’s stories. She wrote a collection of 7 songs, for us, about us.”

Silence refell over the room, a quiet appreciation for what they were about to see. “Without further ado, y/n.”

Clapping began as the faelights turned off, and candles took their place, glowing and reflecting off your gown. You bowed gracefully before turning and raising your hands as soon as Thesan took his seat. You began the concert in Tamlin's court, playing a piece inspired by his own love of music and the sounds of a spring storm. The music rose before a gentle fall where everything became more gentle as if it was quiet after a hard rain. You couldn't see as Briar took his hand at the swell, the soft moment where the violin went from the jig of a fiddle to the formality was a reflection of the moment Tamlin's dreams were lost to him, but new dreams began.

Summer was a symphony to the magic of bioluminescence. The sound was heavily inspired by the night of laughter and fun you had watched Varian and Amren enjoy. It had been the ancient female's first time seeing the ocean turn to waves of stars, and Varian had hired you to play for them that night. She cried as a familiar harp solo came, one that she had turned to Varian on one knee as you played it. 

Autumn was the sound of battle and passion. Eris's rise as high lord was captured in every note, every building drum. The high lord openly smiled during the peak. The moment where drums of war faded to the sounds of peace. The sound of peace after war was shown through a soft wood flute playing. An instrument that was born in Autumn's halls.

Winter had been the most unique to compose. Kallias and Vivienne's story was so well known, but their daughter, their darling Elsa, the 10 year old princess, was an unknown and protected factor. You took a deep breath before beginning this piece and looked to the white-haired girl, “For you,” you said softly to her bright grin. Elsa had written on sheet music for you during your stay there, lyrics to accompany the notes on your page, you held out your hand, welcoming your only singer for the night. The song was a desperate plea, a singer begging to be noticed for who she was, for her talent to be noticed before her beauty. You had picked the singer based on how young and fragile her voice sounded, the way it truly felt like a cry as she begged to be looked at for who she was. 

Dawn's turn came and the music felt like taking flight, it encompassed the thrill of the air, of an early morning sunrise adventure. The piece left you breathless due to the amount of movements it took. It was intricately layered and as lively as Thesan's court while maintaining an air of class. 

The Day Court was music of love and sex. Tender moments mixed with playful notes and chords that screamed sensuality. The tone was overall seduction, but moments of tenderness came through as well. It was a tribute to the biggest flirt you knew. The biggest flirt who became the most faithful husband. 

You were left with one court. You turned to begin your thank you and took a deep breath, “Over the past several years, you all have welcomed me into your courts and homes with open arms. You allowed me to study the music of your homes, your culture, and learn to play them to perfection. For that, I will always be grateful and so humbled by the generosity and kindness shown to me.”

You took a deep breath, stilling the last of your nerves. “My story begins in Night, though. My childhood began a long friendship between myself and someone who pushed me towards my dreams. This last song is dedicated to him.”

Azriel heard as Rhysand held his breath. He watched as his brother laced his fingers with Feyre. Feyre began to cry immediately. Of all the songs you composed, this one held the most strings, a clear call to Rhysand and your humble beginnings in the streets of the Rainbow playing. Azriel watched you in awe. 

You turned and a voice you had heard countless times played through magic. It was the moment they had met and a soft purr of, “There you are. I've been looking for you," echoed before the music began.

10 years, 10 years without even so much as a whisper or note. He watched you move with grace, watched as a violin sang softly. The tune was a call to the Inner Circle, and before Azriel could stop them, his shadows began to dance. 

Every movement of your arms and body was like watching liquid starlight sparkle and gleam to the fantasy inducing tune you had created. As your hands fell to indicate the end, Azriel felt his heart stopping. 

It was the bond that drew him to you. 

It was the years of friendship, of quiet nights listening to you play for just him, or long hours with you hands over his, so soft and warm, teaching him to play piano. 

It was the fact that he was in love with you. And he realized he had been for a very long time. 

Kind, talented, beautiful, you. 

He watched as you wiped a few quick tears as you and Rhysand held eye contact. He felt his breath hitch as you bowed during your queue before walking out. 

The orchestra played a familiar tune as everyone stood to leave and feyre began to cry. You had played this song during Feyre's first Starfall, hoping the romantic tune would have been enough to make the high lord and his mate kiss. It became a song they begged you to play every second they could. Rhysand held Feyre while looking at Azriel. 

“Get. Her. Back.”

You did not attend the after party. Seeing the Inner Circle had been too much. You had hoped that after all these years, that pain would be gone. You leaned against your balcony, humming a new tune you wanted to write. A shadow caressed your skin as you moved inside and sat at your harp. “I know you want me to play your song.” The shadow swirled and began to dance as you plucked the taunt strings. 

“You spoil them.” Your breath hitched at that familiar voice. “Don't stop,” Azriel sat down in the corner of the room. “They've missed dancing for you.”

You let out a shaking breath and began again, watching with a soft smile as the shadows weaved and played. The sight always memorized you. They always memorized you. These beautiful shadows were more like children than darkness. Each had a personality, a voice, a preference in instrument. You finished and lowered your hands.

“Elain is probably wondering where you are.”

Azriel rose a brow, “Elain and Lucien are on their honeymoon, sailing the world.” 

You knit your brows. “I'm sorry. I know you loved her.”

“Not the way I love you.” Silence fell over the room, “I have loved you for so long and been blind to it. I will never get back the time I wasted in my stupidity. I will never be able to take back the hurt Elain caused you.” 

You went to open your mouth and speak, “No. I want you just to listen to me, y/n.” You nodded and looked at him. “I love you,” he stated it like a finality. “The bond snapped for me the night you left, but in your absence, I have realized I loved you long before that blessing and that I would love you long after.”

He paused and continued, “I was silent when Elain spoke to you because I was in shock, but that isn't a good enough excuse. She hurt you, and I stayed silent. I will never forgive myself for that, so I do not expect you to. I'm not even worthy of asking you for a chance to make things right, but I am here as a desperate male. A male who wants nothing more than his mate, his love.”

“Azriel-” 

“Listen,” he moved to you, getting in his knees before you and taking you hands in his. He placed one on his face and smiled. “I dream of this gentle hands, of the joy they bring. I dream of you. Of your love and light. Your heart. When I sleep, I pretend I can hear your heart dancing for me, luring me like a siren spell.” 

Your bottom lip trembled and a tear fell, his love for you poured down that neglected bond, warming every inch of your being. “Azriel..” 

“Y/n, I am so sorry I wasted so much of your time, of our time.”

You threw your arms around him, holding him tight as he continued. “I beg you to allow me to try to make this right. To show you how special you are to me, to our home, to our family. I am begging you for just a chance.” 

His words left like a healing and soothing balm on unseen wounds. “Our family is at a party just below you. Waiting for me to either come back with you or to mourn the loss of you forever. Tell me what I am doing. If I have failed us.”

The party was in full swing as Rhysand watched Nyx and Feyre dance. He held his empty whiskey glass, debating on another one when perfectly manicured hands grabbed his empty glass and placed a full one in his grasp. He grabbed that soft hand instantly, “y/n darling.”

“Rhysand,” He turned and kissed your palm, violet eyes on yours. You continued the greeting softly. “Your presence makes my mind sing the most beautiful song.”

Rhysand held back tears as he answered, “And my heart longs to hear you play it.” He nuzzled your hand. “Come home to us.”

You sighed happily as Azriel rested his hand on your back, “I believe we can negotiate that." 

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[daisymbin]

do you still love me? (I still love you) - choi seungcheol

warnings: mentions of insecurity, slight use of profanities, car accident, hospital, mentions of a needle (IV drip) & mention of anxiety attack.

pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader (use of she)

genre: exes to lovers, angst-ish, happy ending

wc: 2.3k

a/n: wanted to write for wonwoo but lollapalooza choi seungcheol won't let me, he is stuck and imprinted on my brain fr. I will do anything for that man....also this fic is loosely inspired by seventeen's happy ending.

check out my masterlist!

“what? no! don't call him! are you crazy?” your hands frantically reached out to grab seungkwan at his hand that was holding his phone. “crazy? who's the one being crazy here? I can't believe this happened and you didn't even think to call me, if i hadn't call and asked to hang out I wouldn't even have known you'd gotten into an accident. are YOU crazy?? you just plan on lying on this hospital bed waiting to recover alone??” seungkwan whisper-shouted at you. “seungkwan please we already broke up, I don't want to bother him or give him any more burdens. besides, I don't even know if he will still care and to be honest, I don't want to know. I don't want to find out that he doesn't anymore so just let me live with my what ifs.” it's true, you'd rather not find out that he's moved on and doesn't care anymore than to know for sure that he doesn't care anymore. you don't think you have it in you to bare another heartbreak.

“you do know that he is still madly in love with you and that he asks me about you everyday still right? he is literally going to cuss me out if he finds out you're hurt and I didn't tell him. I don't even know why you broke up with him in the first place, you were both so good together!” seungkwan's words only filled your heart with more regret. you had broken up with seungcheol a little over 2 months ago but you both decided to stay friends for the sake of the boys. you had all been friends for too long, too many years to let them all go. seungkwan has been your best friend for over a decade and so was he with the boys, it was inevitable that you'd run into each other even if you tried to avoid him or them so this was your compromise.

it wasn't decided easily of course. when you first broke up, you had tried your hardest to avoid seungcheol at all costs, if he was going to be at a hangout, dinner or lunch, you would stop yourself from going bu seungcheol was persistent; begging that you'd at least be friends for the sake of the friend group & for his own sake as well, he couldn't stand not being able to see you or hear from you for too long. why the break up? to put it simply: you were insecure but that was just an understatement. every date you went on with him, every time you went out in public with him, pictures would inevitably find its way online. the comments were sweet, well most of them. for the rest? they were not so good & they started to eat at you everyday. you started to feel like you weren't good enough for him & that he could choose anyone and I mean anyone other than you, you just can't help but feel like he was settling for less with you. & slowly, this small insecurity grew so big that you started to distant yourself from him, avoid his hugs, his touches. when seungcheol finally had enough & asked you what was going on, you had decided on a whim to simply lie to him & told him you fell out of love with him.

you still remember the look of hurt that he had on his face that day and it haunts you every night before you close your eyes. almost immediately, you had wanted to take back what you had said, tell him whats really going on, you had so badly wanted to hug him so tight and to kiss the hurt away and yet, you didnt have it in you to continue being less for him when he deserved so much more.

“seungkwan you know why, just stop please just don't call him. it's just a small accident, I'll be fine once my leg heals.” you tried your absolute hardest to assure him, to convince and persuade seungkwan, but he's your best friend afterall. he knows you're not okay. “it's not just a small accident! you literally fractured your foot in a car accident and you have 3 stitches on your arm! you can't walk that's for damn sure, what, are you just going to not let any of our friends visit you for i don't know a few months? and not come to dinner and not expect anyone to ask about you? you know i can't lie for shit.”

“just… just tell them I left the country for a bit. for travelling or something I dont know just make something believable up. Just don't call him, I don't want him to see me like this. god, I look and sound like a loser. I don't want seungcheol to-”

the door to your ward swang open so hard a loud thud rang from the wall. “don't want me to what?” seungcheol asked as he panted; trying to catch his breath. your eyes widen at the sound of his voice, “cheol…what…” it seems for a minute, your brain had shut down., nothing was coming out of your mouth. “h-hyung,” seungkwan who was as shocked as you are, stuttered. “what are you doing here?” seungkwan had voiced his question for you. “y/n's hurt. you're hurt.” seungcheol answers as he looks back at you. seungkwan watched your face, clearly still shocked and struggling, “y/n is fine, she's just-”

“she doesn't look fine with a fucking needle up her arm. why didn't you call me?” you couldn't tell if seungcheol's question was for you or for seungkwan but you decided to speak anyway, “cheol-ah I'm fine, i-i just fell down the stairs.” what a stupid fucking excuse seungkwan thought to himself. what happened to making up something believable??? seungkwan tried to hide his face of unamusement. “you fell down the stairs?” this time seungcheol fixed his squinted eyes on you scrutinisingly. his right eyebrow raised in disbelief and he started walking closer to your hospital bed. while you tried to hide your casted foot out of sight as much as possible. “yeah I just, I tripped over my foot and fell down the stairs, just had a few cuts here and there and some stitches. no biggie.” you tried to sound as lighthearted and careful as much as you could while trying your best to hide the pain from having to move your foot out of sight.

“don't move, god, the hospital called and said you've gotten into a car accident, you still have me as your emergency contact.” oh. oh. well fuck. seungkwan sensed the already existing tension rising rapidly and decided it's best to go, “okaaay I should probably go and let you have some rest-” seungkwan almost feels invisible in the way seungcheol keeps disregarding his words and interrupting him, “why'd you not tell me? is this fun to you? the same way you fell out of love with me and just didn't tell me until I asked? why do I always have to find out things in the worst way possible?” seungcheol knows he's being harsh but he doesnt mean to, he's just so angry and hurt. so much anger in him towards himself for not being better for you. how bad must he have been, how much was he lacking for you to fall out of love with him? is it work? but he did try to make time for you, bringing you out for dates but you would reject those dates, movie dates at home were also always getting cut short, you no longer wanted to fall asleep on him shoulder or lap, you just went your way to the bedroom after announcing you're tired even before the halfway mark of the movie. was he doing something wrong? there's so much he still hasn't gotten the chance to ask you before you walked out on him.

and now seungkwan, seungkwan was a lot of things but patience? that man has very limited patience and he definitely doesn't have patience for the way seungcheol is speaking to you now. he has had enough of you running away from seungcheol when you still clearly have feelings for him. “hyung,” seungkwan reached for seungcheol's wrist, trying to get his attention. “come with me.” he started tugging and pulling at seungcheol's arm, dragging him out the ward. “she got into a car accident because she was having an anxiety attack because our song was playing on the car radio…your voice.. anyway…she's still in love with you.” seungkwan let out a deep breath he didnt know he was holding, he watches as seungcheol's eyes widen and dilate in shock, “im not trying to butt in your relationship with her or take her side but…just go easy on her. she's- just talk to her, give her some time, she'll open up to you again. you know what she's like when she wants to be stubborn. I'm going to get going, tell her bye for me.”

for the next 5 minutes, seungcheol stood by the door with his back slumped against the wall, replaying the words seungkwan had said to him. you still love him? you're still in love with him? how? but didn't you… didn't you tell him you don't anymore? if you still love him, why did you say that? he gently opened the door to your ward this time, making his way to you. he pulled the vacant chair closer to your bed before taking a seat, “cheol-ah, you don't have to stay here, i was just about to get some sleep anyway, im good on my own. I know you're busy-” “do you still love me?” the room turned so silent you swear you could hear if a pin were to drop on the floor. when you said nothing, he continued, “I have so many questions but i-i just need to know if you still love me... do you know how much I missed you?” tears you were so badly trying to hold back only cascaded down your cheeks, betraying you. both his hands come up to cup your delicate face inbetween his hands, both his thumbs working to wipe your tears away, “don't cry, pretty. you're breaking my heart.” his own voice cracks and his own tears starts showing themself around his brown orbs but you watch as he blinks them away. “tell me you love me." he whispered so quietly, your head now facing down, eyes closed as you start sobbing. “i can't cheol…if I tell you, if I tell you I love you I don't think I can let you go again.” the room fills itself with the sound of your sniffing and crying.

“you don't have to let me go, just tell me you love me and I won't let go of you, not again.” he placed a gentle kiss at the top of your head, bringing your face to his chest as he hugs you silently. “but cheol,” seungcheol doesn't think he can take it anymore if he hears you call him cheol one more time, he's growing putty and puttier in your presence. “yes, sweetheart?” he asked as he started stroking your hair. “im nobody and you're…you. we’re so different and we’re of two different worlds. you're doing so good in life and you're so handsome and im just…” his heart only breaks further at your words, “you're beautiful. you're the most beautiful person my eyes has ever laid on. you have always been beautiful to me and you still are. & we’re not that different, my love, even if we are, isn't that what we both love about us? so different yet so similar. you have qualities I lack and we compliment each other so well, no?” seungcheol pulled away slightly only to look into the eyes he had missed so much. “if there's somewhere or something im lacking at, tell me so I can be better for you.” he assured you again. “you're not lacking at anything at all cheol.” seungcheol notes how this is the loudest and clearest you've spoken since he's gotten here and he doesn't miss a beat when he says “you're not lacking either, you're doing so good my love. I wouldn't change anything about you, you know that? I love you just as you are, everything about you, I love you at your best and I love you just the same at your worst times. you just need to let me in when you have bad thoughts, let me love and reassure you hm? can you do that for me?” he asked as he patted at your head gently again. you had merely nodded lightly & said “im sorry cheol.” with more tears running down your cheeks before he spoke again, “it's not your fault, princess. I'm sorry I didn't notice it back then, it's my fault. I'm sorry.” a light peck of a chaste kiss placed on your cheek as you shook your head in disagreement, “it’s not your fault cheol.” cheol cheol cheol he couldn't take it anymore; bringing your face closer to his, he looks into your eyes again, asking for permission, at the small nod of your head, you fluttered your eyes close and he wasted no time in bringing his lips to yours gently, afraid of hurting you. his heart overwhelms in love for you, lips and tongue exploring each other in lost familiarity, oh how much you both missed each other.

“you still haven't answered me, princess.” another kiss to your forehead this time, “do you still love me?” his eyes searched yours again, looking for a hint of anything. you caught him by surprise when you pulled him in for another kiss, “I still love you. I love you, cheol, so much."

[pin-k-ink]

PREDICTABLE ⋆✦⋆ kozume kenma

synopsis ➸ Kenma’s evening is straightforward. After making love, he starts gaming, assuming you’re asleep. But when you come in wearing one of his shirts, he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead next.

tags ➸ dry humping, making out, nipple play, cunnilingus, squirting, spitting, rimming, anal sex, creampie, cum-eating, dirty talking, hair pulling, biting

wc ➸ 4.8k

"You're just trying to kill me, aren't you babe?"

Kenma's low rasp shivered through the dimly lit bedroom, making you pause mid-stride towards where he sat cross-legged before the PC. You followed the heated trail of his hooded golden stare raking over your bare legs peeking from beneath his oversized shirt - the only thing you'd haphazardly tugged on after rousing from your sated slumber in the other room.

A tiny, smug smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you drank in the flexing of Kenma's powerful shoulders and forearms beneath that black hoodie. The way his muscular thighs strained against his sweats as if yearning to part and accommodate your form astride them once more. Just like mere hours before when you'd spent the night alternating between riding his cock until your voice was hoarse from screaming his name, and then being manhandled into the positions he'd wanted while he'd fucked you into the mattress with all the stamina of a former athlete.

"Maybe I am," you replied in a whisper-rasp that clearly betrayed your intentions, chin dipping as you observed him through the fan of your lashes coquettishly. "What's it to you if I want to come over and...appreciate the view up close for a while?"

Kenma made a low, strangled sound that reverberated straight through you like a physical caress - rich and decadent in a way that raised the fine hairs along your nape. You could read every simmering ember blazing behind those heavy-lidded bedroom eyes as they raked over you with delicious leisure - drinking in every lithesome shift and curve concealed in teasing suggestion beneath his clothes.

"If you think I'm letting you distract me that easily tonight," he growled out, somehow making the arid words drip with scorching promise, "then you've got another thing coming, kitten."

One thick eyebrow arched in clear insolence, silently challenging you as his free hand resituated his controller over the subtle outline of his cock rapidly swelling beneath his waistband. You shivered at the blatant display, knees going watery from the dark thrill sparking through your veins and low in your belly simultaneously. This was the side of Kenma most never got to witness - all leonine grace and enthrallingly effortless dominion bordering on the feral.

"Oh, is that what you think, baby?" you purred out in an equally honeyed rasp, gaze searing into his heavily-lidded one across the dimly lit space.

Without breaking that hypnotic connection, you slid one hand down your abdomen in an indolent caress until fingertips hooked in the hem of his oversized shirt temptingly. Kenma tensed, pupils blowing fractionally wider as you teased the soft fabric higher by fractions until the swell of your inner thighs came into clear view.

You could see his throat working convulsively, the sharp jut of his adam's apple bobbing as he struggled to breathe evenly through flared nostrils. Despite your flagrant attempt at seducing his attention, however, you couldn't help but revel in this captivating dance of restraint and rising need between you both.

The way no matter how deliciously you stroked the simmering flames licking between your joined stares, Kenma refused to simply surrender his iron composure and let raw desire override the challenges awaiting his skills and focus. It was intoxicating in the most refined yet primal way, feeling like you could spend lifetimes learning every infinite nuance suffusing his presence.

Just as your hand glided back up the shirt's hem towards the apex of your thighs, Kenma inhaled a sharp hiss through gritted teeth loud enough to make you freeze with your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

"Don't..." he rasped in a tone dripping with naked heat and smoldering restraint. "Unless you plan on climbing over here and letting me take you against this setup until the only name you can cry out is mine."

A shudder wracked through you bone-deep at the provocative promise underlining his low rasp. Part of you thrilled at the prospect of sinking into his lap as commanded, beckoned eagerly by the sheer molten intensity blazing behind his hooded scrutiny now.

But an even deeper, baser instinct also yearned to push the sweet torment further - to see just how far you could tease and tempt that razor's edge of his restraint before Kenma ultimately shattered and pinned you beneath his smothering attentions in rapturous release. With deliberate leisure, your teeth released your swollen lower lip as you held his piercing stare defiantly.

"Who says I'm not planning on taking you for a ride?" you murmured with a sly grin, smoothing your palms over the shirt to emphasize the lack of any other cloth covering your rapidly heating skin beneath. "Maybe I'm the one who's feeling a little restless and needy for attention after our little marathon last night. Did you ever think of that, babe?"

Kenma growled low and feral at the blatant seduction, free hand clenching spastically for a moment in clear struggle. You could practically taste the vortex of lust rapidly eclipsing his formidable restraint by increments as his gaze flicked between your hooded bedroom eyes and the shirt hem riding higher up your thigh with each subtle shift.

Just when you thought his renowned poise and control were both on the verge of snapping completely, however, he reached out with the controller and pointedly made a few adjustments before locking onto you with a look that made your knees go watery all over again.

"Then you'd better come over here and sit still..." Kenma husked out in a rumbling purr that vibrated straight through you down to the bone. "Because I won't go easy on you tonight while you're being such a brat about getting what you crave..."

A plaintive keen slipped free before you could bite it back as he patted one powerful thigh invitingly. You took an stumbling half-step towards him, utterly entranced by the rising heat in his piercing gaze and bold dare...

Then Kenma arched one sleek brow higher, fingertips tracing featherlight circles along his muscular thigh before slowly, purposefully readjusting his erection tenting against his waistband with wicked nonchalance. His unflinching focus never wavered from your own, radiating smoldering possession and heady promise without reservation as you swayed like a cobra hypnotized by its master's cadence.

"C'mere," he husked out in a tone that brooked no argument. One powerful arm snaked out to loop around your waist, hauling you down into his lap with effortless ease. "I'm waiting to make good on giving you exactly what you need...so long as you think you can keep up this time, kitten."

A startled squeak burst free as you found yourself straddling his powerful thighs, bare backside pressed flush to his swollen cock straining the soft cotton of his sweats already. Kenma's fingertips dug into the generous curves of your ass possessively as he hissed upon feeling your bare skin, tugging your core flush against him and grinding up against your slick entrance deliberately.

"Fuck, kitten..." he rasped against your throat as you whimpered, his free hand dragging the shirt hem up your body inch by torturous inch. "No underwear. And you're always so wet for me. I bet if I slid a couple fingers in right now, I'd feel you squeezing around me already. Isn't that right?"

"Kenma..." you panted against the hollow of his throat as he continued rocking you against the growing ridge with rhythmic insistence. "I thought you wanted to game for a bit—ah!"

Your gasp dissolved into a broken whine as he hooked one hand behind your knee, hitching your leg higher to grant deeper friction against your rapidly slicking folds. Twin points of fire blossomed against your salt-kissed skin as Kenma sealed his mouth over each pebbled nipple in turn, laving heated swirls through the thin barrier.

"Changed my mind," he growled against your sternum, worshipful gaze roaming every needy shiver and arch raking through your pliant frame. "Need to feel how goddamn perfect you are first...make sure you know who's name to cry out over and over when you come apart again..."

You moaned wantonly as his broad palms explored every hollowed dip and lush curve that way he so adored - claiming his territory with each possessive caress and promising so much more to come. Despite your boneless sprawl cradled securely in his powerful embrace, an electric thrill sparked through you at the raw masculine command vibrating beneath every husky word and tender demand.

Kenma always excelled at this; coaxing you into blissful rapture through whirlwind intensity one moment before reeling you back from the precipice just as expertly with sensual adoration and exquisite care the next. It was all part of the maddening spell you fell deeper under every encounter - your boyfriend's ability to unhinge you down to your very foundations, only to piece you back together anew afterwards renewed and cherished beyond measure in his ravenous orbit.

You surrendered to the cresting tide with a heady sigh, twisting your hands into the soft strands of his hair as he began trailing open-mouthed worship down the slopes of your breasts and abdomen. Every new sacred hollow and heated expanse of velvet skin seemed to entrance him further, lavishing it with devoted adoration until you squirmed breathlessly.

Only when you were keening and arching with need did Kenma haul your mouth back down to his in a devouring glide of satin and sin. His strong arms banded you closer still as the indomitable ridge of his cock ground insistently against your pussy with delirious promise.

"So fucking perfect," he growled in reverent rapture against your swollen lips. "Never getting enough of how sweet you taste, kitten...always leaving me starving for another hit of this pretty little pussy to savor for hours at a time..."

Then he slanted your joined forms until you were flush against the worn cushions, his hulking frame looming over you in a leonine sprawl of pure masculine intensity. Kenma's lust-hazed gaze roved over every trembling inch of your bared form greedily as he settled on his forearms to better appreciate each aching demand of his primal devotion.

"Lucky for both of us," he rumbled just before swooping down to seal your breathless moan in a searing glide. "I happen to have all the free time I need right now to take my fill of this pretty pussy and all the sweetness she can give me. So be a good kitten and just lie back and let me love you until all you can think about is coming on my cock again and again...yeah?"

"Mhm," you sighed, nodding breathlessly and arching towards his sculpted frame in an unspoken plea for more. Kenma hummed deep in his throat, a low vibration of pure male satisfaction and hunger both. Then he was shifting his bulk, maneuvering his muscled thighs between your own in a clear demand for them to fall open for him.

Your thighs parted readily, breath hitching as Kenma's hooded gaze flicked from your face down to the slick heat of your sex. The groan that rolled from his chest was pure animalistic desire, his hips flexing in a helpless twitch as his saw the pearly evidence of his earlier attentions already leaking down the crease of your thigh.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned out raggedly, the tip of his tongue darting out to trace his full bottom lip unconsciously. "Look at that, baby. My cum's leaking out of your sweet cunt already...how bad do you want me to eat you out and drink every last drop before filling you back up again? Huh?"

"Oh god, Kenma, please," you gasped out, voice wavering with need as you squirmed desperately. "Want your mouth on me...please, baby, need you to—"

The rest of your plea vanished in a choked moan as Kenma leaned forward, his long, dexterous fingers spreading your folds wide. A second later, his tongue swiped one long, slow lick from your soaked entrance all the way to the throbbing nub of your clit.

Your back arched in reflex as his tongue flattened against the pulsing bud, flicking against it in teasing circles that left you shuddering and moaning beneath his skillful attentions. Kenma hummed against your pussy, the decadent vibrations making your breath hitch and thighs squeeze tighter around his head reflexively.

He didn't seem to mind in the slightest, however. Instead, his powerful shoulders dipped between your spread thighs, his hands reaching down to grip the curves of your ass and lift you closer to his ravenous mouth. Kenma's muffled groan of pure pleasure vibrated through the apex of your thighs as his tongue thrust inside you in slow, languid strokes, as if he were savoring the taste of you both on his palate.

You couldn't hold back the plaintive whimpers and wanton moans building in the back of your throat, fingers tangling and tugging desperately at his hair as he continued working you towards the peak with relentless dedication. Every slow, indulgent lap and thrust of his tongue seemed designed to tease you apart, piece by blissful piece.

When his teeth closed gently around your clit, his gaze flicked up to meet yours through the fan of his dark lashes, a low hum rolling from his chest at the sight of you already so wrecked and breathless beneath his ministrations. Kenma's tongue rolled over the throbbing nub in a firm glide before sealing his lips around it to suckle lightly, drawing a breathy whine from you.

His eyes burned brighter at the sound, molten gold blazing through the lust-darkened haze. Then his teeth grazed the swollen bud in a gentle yet deliberate nip that had your entire body jerking with the electric surge jolting through your nerve endings.

Kenma didn't pause in his torturous ministrations for a second, not even to savor the breathless cry of his name bursting from your lips. Instead, he merely increased his efforts, the rhythmic suckling of his talented mouth and tongue working you faster and harder until your thighs were clamping tight around his head.

"K-Kenma! Oh my god, please...please don't stop," you sobbed brokenly, nails digging into his scalp as the pleasure built and built towards the inevitable peak. His muffled groan reverberated against the slickness of your pussy, only increasing the decadent pressure and pace.

"Ah! Ah, fuck, please, Kenma, I'm—ohgod, I'm g-gonna—"

The rest of the incoherent litany died on your tongue as Kenma gave a particularly harsh suck to your clit, his fingertips digging bruising imprints into the curves of your ass in sheer masculine dominance and desire. A strangled keen slipped free as your vision whited out, thighs squeezing around his head as you felt the familiarly violent rush of hot liquid gushing from your cunt and all over the lower half of his face.

You could feel his growl of pleasure and triumph vibrating against your oversensitive pussy as he drank down the entirety of your release. Kenma continued lapping up every drop greedily, shaking his head from side to side against your pussy until you were gasping for air and squirming away from the too-intense stimulation.

As soon as you managed a half-coherent plea for mercy, his tongue released your swollen clit and his mouth withdrew from between your thighs with a wet pop. Your eyes struggled to focus in the post-orgasmic haze, blinking several times until the room came back into focus just as you saw Kenma spit the mixture of saliva and cum directly onto your overstimulated clit.

The shockingly dirty move made your breath catch, but Kenma didn't give you a chance to process the filthy act. His thumb rubbed a tight circle around the pulsing bud, massaging the combined slickness until it was practically dripping down your slit and onto the surface below.

"Kenma," you managed, voice breaking over the syllables of his name as he continued working you closer to another orgasm. "Oh my god, I can't...I can't go again. I can't, I—"

"Of course you can, kitten," he growled with a feral smirk, his pupils blown wider than you'd ever seen them. "Can’t leave you empty for long, especially when you're still so wet and ready to be filled by me."

"I can't!" you insisted, though it was rapidly losing conviction as he continued working his thumb faster and faster against your clit. "Kenma, baby, I—oh, fuck! Please, it's too much!"

"But kitten," he purred, his head lowering once more as his tongue darted out to lap at the juices trickling down your slit. "I haven't even put my fingers in you yet. Don't you want me to fill you up even more, baby? Huh?"

A garbled moan spilled past your lips as his tongue dipped lower, his nose nudging against your swollen clit while his fingers toyed with the dripping entrance. The tip of his middle finger sank inside with ease, sliding in deep as his tongue worked alongside it with relentless determination.

"K-Kenma, please," you pleaded breathlessly, not even sure what you were begging for anymore. "It's—it's too much, babe. I can't...can't..."

His mouth left your cunt with another obscene wet pop, the lewd sound punctuated by a filthy-sounding squelch as his fingers slid free. Kenma didn't seem perturbed at all, however. If anything, his smirk widened as he stared down at the absolute mess coating your thighs and the cushions beneath you.

"Well, when I say I’m going to fill you up with another load, it doesn’t necessarily mean it has to go into that pretty pussy," he rumbled, a dark undercurrent of promise weaving through the husky words. "Don't you think, kitten?"

"K-Kenma..." you murmured, not sure what he was implying until his hands hooked under your thighs, hauling them up to drape over his shoulders. Your breath caught at the position, eyes widening as they locked with his hooded ones. "Wh-what are you..."

Your question trailed off into a startled squeak as he leaned in, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate circle around your puckered entrance. A shiver raked through you, parting your lips on a shaky exhale that turned into a surprised gasp when his tongue began to delve deeper past the taut ring of muscle.

Kenma hummed appreciatively, the low vibration resonating through your entire core. You could feel his saliva and the remnants of your juices slipping further, the combination creating a slippery glide as his tongue speared you open again and again.

Your nails dug into his scalp reflexively, not quite sure if you wanted to pull him closer or push him away. Kenma only seemed to take it as encouragement, however, the broad planes of his palms stroking up and down your spread thighs almost reverently as he continued the deliciously depraved assault.

"You're so fucking tight back here," he rasped against your skin, his teeth sinking into the meat of your inner thigh with a sharp bite. "I can't wait to watch my cum dripping out of your ass after I've fucked you senseless, kitten...maybe I'll eat you out again, lick my cum out of your tight little asshole..."

"Oh god," you whimpered, head thrashing side to side as the images his words painted behind your eyelids became even more vivid and detailed. "Please, Kenma. Just—just fuck me already. Need your cock, baby, need it so fucking bad."

Kenma's dark chuckle made your pulse skitter, anticipation and raw hunger swirling together in a dizzying rush. He sat up slowly, his golden gaze sweeping over every inch of your body stretched out before him - a decadent buffet all laid out and waiting for his consumption.

"Gotta get you nice and ready first, kitten," he husked, the pads of his fingers brushing against the rim of your puckered entrance teasingly. "Can't have you getting too overwhelmed too quickly, yeah? Don’t want you passing out like the time I took you in the shower. Although...that was pretty hot. Not gonna lie."

The memory made your cheeks flush hotter, though it was difficult to focus on anything beyond the sensation of his fingertips pressing into you a fraction deeper. Your breath caught, eyelids fluttering closed as his index finger sunk in to the first knuckle.

Kenma groaned at the sight, his jaw clenching as he watched the ring of muscle stretch around the intrusion. His gaze was ravenous, devouring every breathy pant and shudder as he slowly began working his finger in and out.

"That's it," he crooned, leaning in to trail kisses along your hip and the valley of your navel. He nosed the curve of your stomach, humming appreciatively as you relaxed further around his probing finger. "Good girl, kitten. Opening up for me so sweetly..."

Your answering whine dissolved into a broken moan as he added a second finger alongside the first, working them in deeper and scissoring them slowly. The initial burn began to subside after a moment, morphing into a pleasurable ache that had you rocking back against his hand with a soft gasp.

Kenma's teeth sank into the tender flesh of your hip, his tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe over the indentation of his bite. His fingertips continued stretching you open, the decadent friction sending sparks shooting up and down your spine with each deliberate stroke.

Then his head lowered, his lips wrapping around your clit to suckle lightly. At the same time, his fingers crooked upwards, hitting that elusive bundle of nerves and sending a blinding surge of ecstasy racing through your veins.

"F-fuck!" you choked out, hips bucking involuntarily and sending the sensitive nub of your clit sliding over the tip of his tongue. He didn't miss a beat, however, his fingertips rubbing faster against the cluster of nerves.

Kenma's tongue circled and flicked, his mouth sealing around the throbbing bud and sucking hard enough to draw another broken moan from you. His fingers were moving faster now, thrusting deep as they continued to massage that delicious spot deep within.

"Kenma," you gasped, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter inside until it was almost painful. "B-baby, please, I need—need you to—"

He hummed, the low vibration sending tremors rippling through you. He seemed to know exactly what you were trying to say, however, his mouth releasing your clit with a wet pop as his fingers slowed to a stop.

Kenma pressed a kiss to your inner thigh before withdrawing his fingers completely. You felt the head of his cock pressing against your slick folds a moment later, nudging insistently until your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist.

"Good girl," he crooned, his teeth grazing the sensitive lobe of your ear as he leaned over you. "You ready for me, kitten?"

"Yes, please, Kenma," you moaned, the tip of his cock pushing past the ring of muscle just a fraction. "Need you in me so bad, baby...want you to fill me up and make me yours."

"Fuck," he cursed, the word barely audible over the roaring of blood in his ears. His teeth sank into the side of your throat, hips flexing forward and burying his length inside you with a single snap.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as he sheathed himself fully, a hoarse shout bursting from your lips. Kenma's hands braced on either side of your head, his body curling protectively around you as he fought for control.

"Holy shit," he panted against the curve of your throat, his teeth nipping sharply at the tendon jumping there. "Holy shit, you're so fucking tight, kitten. Feel like you're strangling my cock, fuck..."

You whimpered incoherently, unable to form words as the sensation of being completely filled overwhelmed your senses. Kenma seemed to be struggling to keep his composure, as well, his breathing harsh and uneven as he struggled to keep still and let you adjust.

His hips gave an involuntary twitch after a moment, and that was the only warning you received before he was pulling out almost entirely. You barely had time to draw in a breath before he was slamming back in, his mouth slanting over yours to swallow the broken cry of his name.

"Oh, god, Kenma," you sobbed against his lips, the pleasure already overwhelming. "Baby, I can't—please, fuck, don't stop."

"Couldn't stop even if I tried," he growled, his mouth latching onto your throat as his hips snapped harder and faster. The obscenely wet sound of his cock slamming into your ass echoed in the silence of the room, punctuated by the harsh breaths and muffled whimpers that were dragged from your throat with every deep thrust.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails raking down his back in an effort to pull him closer. He was pounding into you relentlessly, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wider so he could slide in even deeper.

"Gonna cum in this tight little hole, kitten," he gritted out, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip as the rhythm of his hips stuttered. "Fill you up until you're dripping with me. Gonna plug you up and keep my cum in you, make sure you don't lose a drop."

"Fuck, yes, please, Kenma," you begged, not even knowing what you were asking for. Your fingers clawed desperately at his back, feeling his muscles shift and flex beneath your touch. "Please, baby. Want your cum, please."

His chest rumbled with a growl, his cock slamming in hard enough to rock your body on the cushions. You could feel his arms trembling as he fought to hold himself back, his thrusts slowing but never stopping as he leaned in to suck a bruise into the column of your throat.

"Please," you pleaded, arching up against him in an attempt to get him to move. Kenma's hips snapped forward in a particularly brutal thrust, the sound of your cry of his name ringing through the air.

"I got you, kitten," he rasped, one arm banding around your waist to keep you pinned in place. The other hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head back until his mouth sealed over yours once more.

He kissed you hungrily, his tongue thrusting into your mouth in a wicked parody of the way his cock was slamming in and out of your ass. His hips jerked faster, his teeth catching your bottom lip and tugging as his breathing grew harsher and more erratic.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he groaned, forehead dropping to rest against yours as his hips continued driving into you with a force that sent your body rocking up the couch cushions. "I can't—fuck, kitten, I can't hold back anymore."

"Do it," you begged, the words ending on a garbled sob as he shifted angles and hit that cluster of nerves that had your vision whiting out. "Oh my god, do it, please. I need your cum, baby, please."

"Fucking hell," he grunted, the curse dissolving into a hoarse shout as his hips snapped forward, grinding against you until the head of his cock was seated so deeply you swore you could feel him in the back of your throat. "Play with your clit for me, kitten."

You could only nod mutely, fingers fumbling downwards and finding the swollen bud almost immediately. The first brush of your fingertip had your thighs clamping around his waist, a ragged whimper escaping you as he rocked his hips against yours and the head of his cock pressed against the spot inside you that had your eyes rolling back.

"Oh god, Kenma," you sobbed, your fingers circling and stroking desperately. "Baby, I'm so close, I'm gonna—"

"Let go, kitten," he murmured, his hand replacing yours and taking over as his thumb began working furiously against the sensitive nub. "I'm right there with you. Come on, cum for me. Cum with me."

His lips sealed over yours once more, muffling the scream that tore from your throat. Your release flooded around him, his name a garbled chant against his lips as you shattered and trembled and shook apart.

"Fuck," Kenma cursed, his cock pulsing and twitching as his cum spilled into you. He was shaking almost as badly as you, his arms bracing on either side of your head and his face buried in the crook of your neck.

His hips rolled shallowly, his breath hitching as a low groan rumbled from his chest. You could feel the warm heat of his release spilling into you, your fingers tangling in his hair and keeping him held firmly against you as his hips jerked and twitched through the aftershocks.

You lost track of how long you lay there, a boneless, exhausted tangle of limbs as your heart rate slowly returned to normal. Kenma shifted slightly, his nose nudging your jaw affectionately and eliciting a quiet giggle from you.

"Holy shit," you breathed, a wide grin spreading across your lips.

"Mm," Kenma agreed, lifting his head to stare down at you with an equally blissed-out expression. He leaned in to press a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose, then brushed his lips softly against yours. "Now… I did promise to plug you up, didn't I?"

Your entire body flushed with heat at the reminder, a strangled whimper leaving your throat. Kenma's grin widened, his tongue flicking out to swipe across his bottom lip as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"Round two?"

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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[imagine-knowing-a-name]

Spies and Secrets

Summary: Natasha has never met her handler, she couldn’t give you their name or identify their face because she doesn’t know it. When she rants about this to you, her wife, you have to laugh... because you are her handler.

Word Count: 2048

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, lying in the relationship (not in a bad way, just in a spy way), but otherwise it’s just fluff!

A/N: I went back and wrote this idea since it seemed semi-popular. Hope you enjoy :)

»»————-　★　————-«��

"Will you finally tell me who they are?"

"This again, Romanoff?"

"Just a first name?"

Fury sighs to make his vexation clear, but that's not enough to dissuade Natasha; she remains determined as ever in her mission and smirks boldly in the face of her exasperated boss.

"Just an initial will get me off your back," the spy continues through his silence.

Fury scoffs and Natasha knows she needs a different approach.

"If it's you, you can just say, Sir."

"Me? You must be losing your touch if you think I have the time for that, Romanoff. Should Hill be taking your next mission?"

Natasha stops and stares with faux hurt while Fury continues on, grinning to his own amusement. He wasn't going to let her keep the upper hand for long.

"If you want to know, ask them yourself!" Fury calls over his shoulder, "Mission debrief. C12-2. 10 minutes. They won't tell you though; above your clearance!"

Natasha groans. As much as she hadn't expected a substantial answer from Fury – she'd been asking him the same question for years – she thought she might be getting somewhere, but no matter which trick she tries, Fury doesn't budge.

On top of that, he'd reminded her that it wasn't home time yet, her mission isn't over until she's briefed her mysterious handler. So Natasha sighs and makes her way to the conference room, still wondering why only her handler chose to shroud themself in mystery. All the other agents meet theirs directly, while Natasha sits in a room alone, waiting for a shadowy silhouette to call in.

The first few years went by without a comment – it wasn't her place to ask – but as she rose the ranks and found her role, her handler, too, remained just above her clearance. Even now, as one of the highest ranking agents, her handler was higher still. Curiosity built like a dripping tap; manageable and menial to start, only to provoke greater displeasure the longer it went on.

"Hi Agent!" the disembodied voice crackles through the speakers. That's the other thing driving Natasha towards irritation, her handler's tone. It's nothing like Fury's commanding orations. No, her handler speaks with an eagerness and informality reminiscent of a junior agent meeting their hero, rather than the commanding officer that they are, and have been, since Natasha first joined SHIELD almost a decade ago.

"Officer." Natasha replies. She had never been told her handler's surname, or even a title she could use to address them. Any attempts she made to learn had been properly shut down, forcing her to stick with the appellation of Case Officer.

"Always so formal," her handler laughs. "As far as I'm aware, the mission was successful, so what's got you so grumpy today?" they continue, noticing an uncharacteristic clarity to Natasha's mood that day.

"If you told me your name, I wouldn't have to be so formal, would I?" the spy snaps back. "And I'm not grumpy."

"Natasha, we've worked together for nearly 10 years now. I know when you're grumpy, and I can throw in an educated guess that my identity is the cause?"

"I've spent my life working in secret," Natasha shrugs, then pauses in search of the right words. "I'm well accustomed to dubious legalities and taking orders from the shadows. I'm also well aware that I would be a risk to security from the moment I joined until I gained the trust of this organisation, so I understood your secrecy."

Natasha stops again, noticing the silhouette begin to fidget; whether out of boredom or discomfort, the assassin can tell the time is right to make her final argument.

"We've worked together on hundreds of missions over this past decade, enough for you to know every detail of my life and mind, while I still know nothing about you. Have you thought about how that might hurt, officer? because it does! to believe I still haven't gained your trust after all this time. That hurts."

The room stills to a silence as fragile as Natasha felt. Her handler's reaction would dictate the situation; any information given could redefine the relationship between the two spies, just as another brush off would leave Natasha spiralling further into this curiosity.

A sigh finally echoes through the speakers; its long pause circling the sole inhabitant of the room. "It's above your clearance," the voice admits. Natasha slumps; she should have known better. "But-" The speed at which Natasha perks up draws out a small chuckle from her handler, before they continue with an audible smile, "I'll talk to Fury. See what I can reveal."

Natasha settles in her seat, unable to keep the broad smile from her face. "I do trust you, Romanoff, I hope you know that… I just don't think I'll be who you expect."

As a trained spy, Natasha wouldn't let that last line slide, immediately thinking of its hidden meaning. But before she can ask further questions, her handler clears their throat. "I think it's time we actually start the mission debrief."

»»————-　★　————-««

Natasha can't wait for the meeting to end. She understands the need – giving her side of the story, answering questions, sharing the intelligence she'd gained – but it drags on without incident and without any further comments on her handler's identity, so she'd much rather be at home. 

What reason was there for her not to do this from home? Her handler calls in from wherever they are, so realistically, Natasha could also pick up from wherever she is. Ideally at home, after a relaxing shower and a little time with her wife. Natasha supposes that's where the issue may lie: you, her wife, who has been led to believe Natasha is a security guard and nothing more. If you overheard a debrief, not only would SHIELD's confidentiality be compromised, but you might never forgive her lies. Natasha's home office was soundproofed though and, because of that, the assassin would take the risk if it means extra time with you.

Throughout Natasha's homeward journey and all through the mission debrief, you are the only thing to occupy her mind. Her mission finished in late afternoon, so she had planned how she would surprise you and spend the evening together upon her return, but then the debrief cropped up, and by the time her key is in the door, the sun has long since set, leaving her to wonder if you're even still awake.

You are. Just about. Your pyjama clad figure appears in Natasha's sight and you rush down the stairs to meet her by the door.

"You're home!" You beam as you wrap your arms over her shoulders and take her cue for a kiss.

"I am."

"How was your mission?" you tease. You know how seriously she takes each assignment, always doing prep work in her office ahead of the trips; she treated them akin to a secret mission and you never missed your chance to rag her for it. 

One of your favourite methods of teasing is to liken her to James Bond, which only gets more realistic when you catch her mouthing along to the movie lines.

"Top secret. Can't tell you," your wife jokes back, her smile threatening to burst off her face.

"No injuries this time?"

"None at all."

"Good girl." She preens. "Have you had dinner?"

"Not yet, I came home as soon as I was done. Couldn't wait to see you."

"Sweet talker," you laugh and kiss her again, then take her by the hand, "I put some leftovers in the fridge, you clean up, then you can eat and share your 'top secret' thoughts."

The evening's plan formed just like that; you reheat the noodle dish while Natasha takes a shower, before the two of you come back together to sit at the dinner table.

"So, how was it really?" you ask her.

"The job itself was alright, no problem." Natasha replies, but by the way she's stabbing the noodles with her fork, you can tell something else is coming. "But my bosses…they just won't tell me all the information. Say it's 'above my clearance'."

"The cheek of them."

"Don't mock me."

"I'm not, I'm not! I promise, love," you say, though you can't hide your barely contained laughter thanks to the prominent pout on your wife's face. You school your face back into an expression of neutrality before you talk again, "that sounds annoying. Do you need this information?"

"No," she sighs, "it's just a matter of trust."

"Well, you must be working with idiots for them not to trust you after all this time."

"Mm, you reckon I should tell that to them?"

"You definitely should."

The smile comes back to Natasha's face as she shakes her head, "you're going to get me fired, sweetheart."

"You're too good for them to do that. Just keep it up, you're going to be leading them one day, I'm sure of it. Then all the secrets are yours."

»»————-　★　————-««

Another week, another mission. And with another mission comes another mission debrief. Natasha asked for her handler's identity three weeks ago and still knows nothing more. With how poorly her recent mission went, she doesn't even feel like asking the question again.

"What went wrong, Romanoff?" that same anonymous figure asks her, and Natasha can only groan: what didn't go wrong?

"We were ambushed to start with; whoever gave us the heads up got their information wrong, or someone sold us out. Either way, the plan went to shit the moment we arrived and the team went to shit by throwing mole accusations around. Splitting up only made it worse; nobody trusted their teammates to do their parts and it resulted in a mad scramble. My orders were ignored, but my team members were injured and I take full responsibility."

"That won't be necessary, Agent," the voice hums, "as leader, the responsibility falls on you, yes, but it is each agent's responsibility to trust in you and follow your plan, and you will not be faulted for working with idiots who don't trust you."

Natasha starts to defend her team, before the familiarity of the phrase has her searching through her mind for a recollection. What she does remember is a long shot, but she'll lose nothing by asking.

"Do you have a wife, Officer?"

"I do," they reply.

"Is she a redhead?"

"She is."

"Works for SHIELD?"

"Why, it's almost like you know her," the handler goades. If one had an illustrated list of all of SHIELD's employees, they would know that the short game of 'guess who' still left a couple dozen potential employees in the running, but the teasing and testing tone is the final clue Natasha needs to make her assumption.

"Y/N/N?"

"Hey love," you reply, with as much adoration as you can muster, glad to finally be rid of the voice modulator while you talked to your wife.

In front of Natasha, the screen flickers before the silhouette that had become so familiar to her is replaced by another familiar sight in another familiar location: the smiling face of her wife…in her office.

Natasha's face falls at once, striking you with panic that this wouldn't be the gleeful revelation that you'd expected; that is, until the assassin speaks again. "Is that my desk?"

"It's your whole office, my love. I'm not taking these calls from our bedroom."

"Is that why it's sound proofed?"

"I gave the approval for that, if you remember, and it's certainly not because you're taking SHIELD calls at home; you haven't even had one while we've lived together!"

"That's because you organise it straight after the mission so I don't have time to go home!"

"Because that's where I am! you'd be suspicious otherwise."

Natasha falls silent for a moment. You know her well enough to leave her to her thoughts, only twiddling your thumbs as you watch her through the screen.

"So can I do debriefs at home now?"

"I don't see why not," you shrug, "remember I still have to take notes though, so I get the desk and no cuddling until after."

"No chance of that."

"Come back now, Romanoff, and we can put it to the test," you challenge.

She accepts. "I'll be there in 30."

"I know."

»»————-　★　————-««

Tagging: @supercorpdanbeau (since you mentioned you’d like to read it on the original post!)

[punkshort]

somewhere to run | 1. a fresh start

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: After you settle into your tiny, dingy apartment safely in the middle of nowhere, you go on the hunt for a job to help make ends meet. There, you meet someone who forces back memories you would rather forget.

Chapter Warnings: language, slow burn, PTSD-type symptoms

WC: 6K

Series Masterlist

Anybody else who walked into the small, one bedroom apartment you were currently standing in would most likely be revolted. The kitchen faucet dripped incessantly, the toilet was stained, the carpet looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a decade, and the entire place smelled like garlic from the pizza place downstairs. But when you looked at it, you smiled. You could work with this. Rummaging around the dollar store bags you left on the kitchen counter, you pulled out all of the cleaning supplies you picked up and got to work.

The landlord - who also happened to be the owner of the pizza place - seemed surprised you wanted to rent it. He said the place had been vacant for close to a year, and considering the state, he knocked off quite a bit on the price. But you could see the potential beyond the grime, and you never shied away from a little hard work, so you jumped at the opportunity. It took you almost the whole day, but you managed to get the place smelling halfway decent. The bathroom and kitchen both looked sparkling new - well, relatively. The only thing you couldn't figure out was the faucet, but that concerned you the least since your landlord said that utilities were included.

Aside from the low rent, the next best thing about the place was it came partially furnished. It had a queen bed, a beat up sofa, and a rickety dining room table, but that was all you needed. At this point, you were just happy to not be staying in another dirty motel. You were ready to find a home, plant down some roots, and start fresh. And Fredericksburg, Texas was just as good a town as any.

You were surprised by how cute the town was when you first drove down Main Street. It was quiet and quaint, and very much had a small town atmosphere. When you were at the dollar store, you had overheard the cashier making conversation with every single customer as if she had known them all her life. By the time it was your turn to cash out, she examined you quizzically, most likely trying to place you, but fortunately she let it go and didn't pry. You weren't in the mood to make up more lies. You were exhausted from being on the road so much the past few weeks, and you just wanted to collapse into bed in a somewhat clean room.

And that is exactly what you did, after you stocked the small fridge with some essentials from the grocery store at the corner of the street so you would at least have coffee and something to eat in the morning.

As you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling fan swirling above, you silently thanked your grandmother all those years ago who told you since you were old enough to understand when you meet a man, keep your own bank account. At the time, you laughed, wondering why on earth anyone would purposely keep secrets from their partner. That it seemed like such a betrayal to even suggest it. But luckily for you, when you met Patrick, you already had your own bank account. You let it lie dormant for a while, almost forgetting you had it. Eventually, you told yourself you should close the account. But that required going down to the branch in person, and you never seemed to find the time to do it. Or maybe some part of you always knew there was something ugly about him, and maybe your grandmother's words had more of an effect on you than you realized.

Whatever it was, it's the reason you were able to find a shitty little apartment in the middle of nowhere without anybody being able to track you down. And for the first time in a long time, you closed your eyes and felt safe.

The next morning, after you drank your surprisingly palatable off brand coffee and ate a borderline stale blueberry muffin, you headed down the steps of your apartment to the sidewalk lining Main Street. You took a deep breath and looked around, a small smile playing on your lips. The town was just waking up, businesses just opening their doors, cars rolling lazily down the street. You had your own car - it was an old Honda Civic that you weren't entirely sure had many years left - but you wouldn't need it today. Picking an apartment on the main drag in town afforded you the option to walk almost anywhere. So you chose a direction and started walking, glancing in the windows of the shops, looking for any help wanted signs.

You tried a small clothing boutique and a coffee shop before entering the pharmacy. There wasn't a help wanted sign out front, but you needed to pick up a few things, anyway. Things the dollar store didn't have, or things you didn't exactly trust to buy there.

You grabbed a basket by the door and smiled at the teenager behind the counter who greeted you before heading down the first aisle. You snagged some generic pain reliever and a box of tampons before you made your way to the hair products. Flipping open the caps, you took a hesitant sniff and put them back before deciding on a cheaper bottle that smelled like strawberries and didn't make you gag. Dropping the bottles in your basket, you wandered past the makeup, looking at it longingly but knowing you wouldn't waste the money on it. Instead, you stopped in front of an end-cap where a display of chapstick caught your eye.

"Sarah?" you heard a deep voice call from behind. You ignored it and kept looking at the display, landing on a vanilla scent as the man walked past. You didn't see his face, but you smelled his cologne, and you instantly recoiled. Your heart began to slam in your chest and your throat felt tight. You squeezed your eyes shut as you focused on taking deep breaths. It's not him, it's not him, it's not him.

"Excuse me, can I grab one of those?" a girl's voice said softly behind you. Taking a shaky step back, you nodded and forced a weak smile.

"Sorry, of course," you told her. She had beautiful, dark brown eyes and thick hair with tight curls framing her face. She looked like she was in her early teens, and based on the backpack over her shoulders, you were probably right.

"Sarah?" you heard the voice call again, and you saw her eyes flick up. You realized the man with the cologne was probably related to her, and you weren't sure you would be able to handle smelling it again, so you quickly took off down the next aisle to hide, waiting until their voices carried them to the cash registers and out the front door before taking a few steadying breaths and forcing yourself to move.

Minor setback aside, you had a pretty good morning. You found you had some luck at the diner a few blocks over. The owner took a liking to you right away and interviewed you on the spot.

"You came at the perfect time, darlin'," he said, taking a seat across from you. "Just missed the breakfast rush, so I got the time to talk right now. Name's Tommy," he said, extending his hand. You smiled and shook it, introducing yourself, then quickly brought your hand back to your lap to nervously fidget with the hem of your shirt.

"You ever work in a restaurant before?"

"Uh, yeah, it's been a few years. But I think it's like riding a bike. I have really good time management skills, I have experience handling cash, I'm friendly, I'm great at anticipating customer's needs-"

Tommy laughed and patted his hand on the table.

"Sounds like you got more skills than half the waitstaff I already got. Some of the older ladies ain't exactly friendly, but they've been here so long, no one seems to mind," he explained quietly with a wink. You chuckled and glanced down at your hands.

"You from around here? I don't think I recognize you," he asked, his eyebrows pinching together. You shook your head.

"Nope, just moved here." You briefly wondered if you should lie - you were so used to lying at this point, it came as second nature - but you couldn't see what it would hurt to tell him the truth. "I'm from Pennsylvania. Just got in last night, actually."

"Long way from home, what brought you here?" he asked, leaning back to study you. You just shrugged.

"Looking for a fresh start," you said honestly. If you were really looking to start over, the lying needed to stop, too.

Tommy nodded and glanced behind you before meeting your gaze again.

"Well, you're hired. If you want the job, that is," he said. You grinned, not expecting that.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. When can you start?"

"Uh, tomorrow?" you offered, your mind racing. You weren't sure if you would need new clothes so you wanted to give yourself the rest of the day, at least, to prepare.

"Works for me. Maria," Tommy called over your shoulder. You turned around and saw a beautiful woman with long, dark braids walking over. He introduced her as his wife, who also happened to be the hostess. You stood to shake her hand, exchanging warm smiles as Tommy told her your name.

"Why don't you come by tomorrow 'round 9 and Maria can show you the ropes? I work the kitchen, she's got the floor," he explained, and you nodded along excitedly.

"I'll be here," you confirmed, the grin still plastered on your face. Tommy left to head back to the kitchen as Maria told you what you needed to bring the next day. You took out your new phone and began jotting down everything she mentioned.

On the way back home, you stopped to pick up a pair of nonslip sneakers from a shoe store. Maria had given you a couple plain black skirts and black t-shirts with the diner's logo that all of the waitresses wore as their uniform before you left. To celebrate, you got a pizza from the pizza place below your apartment and watched old reruns on the ancient TV in your living room.

Things were finally starting to come together.

"Refills are free. Cream and sugar is down here, along with any extra condiments. Coffee should be made every hour but you'll go through the pot long before that," Maria said to you, pointing as she walked behind the counter. "Here's some extra notepads and pens. The computer system is kind of old but pretty easy to use. Tommy'll ring the bell when food is up, we try to move it as quick as possible before it gets cold, even if it's not your table," she said, turning around to face you. "It might take some time to learn the table numbers but we have a little cheat sheet next to all the registers. And if you're ever not sure, don't hesitate to ask."

"I think I got it," you said confidently, tapping your pen against your notepad.

"You can shadow with Betty today, she's been here for decades, long before Tommy and me ever bought the place. She knows her shit forwards and backwards," Maria said, leading you back to the kitchen where you saw an older, round woman struggling with a cardboard box.

"Here, let me help," you told her, rushing over to take the box from her.

"Thanks, sweetie," she said with a smile. "Can you take it up front for me?"

"Of course," you said, following her through the kitchen.

Maria introduced you to Betty as you helped her stock the ketchup bottles underneath the front counter. You heard Tommy's voice call for Maria through the kitchen window and she excused herself, leaving the two of you to tend to the only two customers in the place.

The morning went by quickly. Betty was nicer than you expected. In your experience, when a newcomer joins a seasoned team, it sometimes takes time for the veterans to warm up, but she seemed very eager to show you the ropes, and she had the patience of a saint. All of the customers seemed to know her name and history, some occasionally asking about her husband or her children. As it inched closer to noon, the diner started getting busier again, so you began to branch out a bit on your own, taking a few simple orders and delivering food or refills whenever you could. Betty was deep in conversation with a regular when she waved you over.

"D'you mind takin' care of him?" she asked, nodding over to the man who just sat down. "That's Joel, Tommy's brother. Don't charge him for nothin', he comes in all the time."

You nodded and pulled your pen and notepad out of your apron as you headed over to greet him. When you finally lifted your gaze, you noticed he was wearing a worn, brown suit with a striped tie and as you got closer, you saw the little gold star pinned to his belt and the bulge of a handgun under his blazer.

Your breath got caught in your throat when you made the realization he's a cop.

It's fine, it's fine, it's fine you kept repeating to yourself, forcing your feet to move. You thought you were okay by the time you stood in front of him, but then his cologne invaded your senses, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut. Fuck.

Fortunately, his head was bent down looking at the menu and didn't see your reaction, which afforded you a few precious seconds to collect yourself. It's not him.

"Hey Betty, I'll have-" he glanced up and realized you were not, in fact, Betty. His warm brown eyes trailed over your face for a moment too long, making you shift your weight nervously.

"Sorry, didn't uh - have we met?" he asked, his eyes unblinking as he continued to stare, and you felt the heat creeping up your neck. It's fine, you're fine.

"No," you finally managed to squeak out, shaking your head and introducing yourself right as his eyes drifted to your name tag. "What can I get for you?"

You needed to walk away. You weren't sure how much longer you could stand there smelling that fucking cologne and staring at that badge. But for some reason, he didn't answer you. Maybe if you weren't so wrapped up in your own issues, you would have recognized the look in his eye. The look that clearly expressed interest beyond you taking his food order. And maybe, if you weren't so messed up, you would have realized he was insanely handsome. Maybe, if you could have seen past the cologne and the gold star on his waist, you would have noticed how plush his lips looked, or how big and strong his hands were. You had no idea how you could possibly miss how broad his shoulders were or how thick and soft the messy, dark curls were on top of his head.

But you did miss all of those things the first time you saw him, because he just kept staring and the scent was making your stomach turn and the fluorescent light was shining too brightly off that damn star, so you repeated yourself with a little more edge to your voice than you usually had.

He finally snapped out of it and glanced down at the menu, quickly telling you his order. You wrote it down and held your breath, only letting it go once you were around the corner and far enough away. He comes in all the time, Betty's words replayed in your mind. You were either going to need to find a way to deal with your issues, or find a new job.

"Hiya, Joel. New girl take care of you?" Betty asked as she ambled over to refill his coffee. His eyes flicked around the diner, following your form as you smiled and chatted warmly with other customers.

"Yeah, when did she start?" he asked, trying to sound noncommittal, but Betty saw right through it.

"Today," she told him with a smirk. "Real smart. Pretty, too, don'tcha think?"

"Uh," Joel stammered before clearing his throat. "Yeah, suppose so."

"I think she's single," Betty told him, leaning up against the counter.

"When are you gonna quit tryin' to set me up with every woman in this town?" Joel asked her with a grin.

"Whenever you decide to finally settle down," she shot right back. "You need a woman in your life, Joel."

"Do you do this to all your customers, Betty? Grill 'em 'bout their love lives and tell 'em what they need, like you know best?"

"I do know best, Joel," she said with a wink. "And you know it."

"Yeah, well. I got my hands full with Sarah and work down at the station. Don't got time for all that," he said, taking a sip of his black coffee.

"Sarah's 'bout to be goin' off to college before you know it, and there ain't nearly enough crime in this town to keep you that busy," she said with a shake of her head.

Joel mumbled something under his breath before taking another sip of coffee and glancing around the dining room.

"What was that?" Betty asked, leaning in and cupping her ear. Joel sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Don't think she likes me much, anyway," he said, clearer now.

"Oh, well I can find out for you, sugar. All you gotta do is ask." Betty gave Joel the biggest shit eating grin she could muster. He took a deep breath before asking what he knew would be a huge mistake, but he suddenly needed to know the answer.

"Can you..." he trailed off, chewing the inside of his cheek and staring down at the closed menu.

"Can I what?"

Joel groaned and dragged his eyes back up to Betty.

"Can you find out if she'd be interested?" he finally spit out, and Betty clapped her hands.

"Of course I will, Joel! I would absolutely love to," she gushed, and he rolled his eyes again. Just then, he saw you come around the corner and go behind the counter, completely ignoring the two of you before reaching up to the kitchen window and grabbing his lunch. You turned around and gave him what looked to be a forced smile and carefully set the plate down in front of him with a bottle of ketchup. Betty took a step back and watched with a glimmer in her eye as Joel's neck began to flush.

"Can I get you anything else?" you asked. Your voice sounded sweet and you were smiling, but your smile didn't reach your eyes. Maybe he was reading too much into it.

"Nope, all set, thank you," he said, giving you a warm smile in return, but before he even had a chance to say anything else, to try to make a connection and learn more about you, you scurried away. He glanced over at Betty and raised his eyebrows.

"See?"

She waved him off and picked up a rag to wipe down the counter.

"She's just nervous, is all."

The embarrassment still sat with you by the time you arrived back to your apartment that evening. When Betty caught you off guard and asked what you thought of Joel, you couldn't turn down the idea fast enough. You must have looked and sounded crazy based on her reaction. Your only saving grace was Joel had already left the diner and didn't hear you vehemently tell her you wanted nothing to do with him. It wasn't his fault, you weren't interested in hurting his feelings, but you were far too vulnerable still. The wounds were too fresh and the memories were too strong.

Besides, even if you weren't in the unfortunate position you were in, you wouldn't feel right dragging even more people down with you. You dug this grave, so you had to dig yourself out. And you were on the right track, too. As far as you knew, nobody knew where you were. You were incredibly careful, you kept a low profile, and you didn't contact a single person back home. You had no idea who you could even trust anymore, so the safest bet was to just cut all ties and start over.

You weren't going to risk everything by getting involved with some guy. Okay, he was more like a man. But still. Your situation was far too complicated to get involved with anybody. Technically, you shouldn't get involved with anybody.

No, it was a very bad idea.

So why couldn't you stop thinking about him?

"Stop it," you muttered out loud to yourself as you paced around your little apartment. With a huff, you picked up the small potted plant you bought on clearance and gave it a little bit of water from the dripping kitchen sink before putting it back on the windowsill.

Remember what he smelled like? Remember he's a cop?

That did the trick. Those two simple reminders erased all prior thoughts about the handsome sheriff who visited the diner earlier that day.

And as you tucked yourself into bed that night, you convinced yourself the only reason who were momentarily intrigued by the man's interest was flattery. You were simply flattered someone looked at you in that way. It's been a long time since anybody had, and it just made you feel good.

Yep, that's all it was.

When Joel sat down at the counter the next day and was greeted by Betty instead of you, he was surprised to find he was disappointed. He had just met you, he knew nothing about you, he barely even spoke to you. Why should he care if you were waiting on him today or not?

"She ain't here," Betty said when she caught Joel glancing around the dining room. He tried not to look deflated.

"Who?"

Betty laughed heartily at that and had to pause to catch her breath so she wouldn't spill his coffee.

"Listen, Joel," she said, setting the coffee pot down and leaning on the counter. "Remember what I said yesterday? 'Bout how I always know what's best?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, eyeing her up and bracing for what was coming next.

"Well, turns out I might have been wrong. There's a first time for everythin', right?" she said, forcing a laugh that he didn't reciprocate.

"What'dya mean?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I don't think she's interested in datin' anyone right now," was all she said, and he felt the disappointment instantly flood his veins. He didn't even realize how much he had been hoping his instinct was wrong, that maybe he misread you, but of course he was right. He was a cop, after all. He was good at reading people, it's what he was trained to do.

"That's it?"

"I don't know, Joel. Maybe she's not into men, I didn't ask any more questions," she said. "Besides, I was thinkin'. Margaret's daughter is back in town. You remember Nikki?"

Joel shrugged and turned back to his coffee. He remembered Nikki. He wasn't interested in Nikki. She was a nice girl, but he didn't feel anything when he looked at her. Not like the way he felt when he looked at you.

"Now I know for a fact that Nikki's had a crush on you since you were in high school. I could talk to Margaret at church this weekend..."

"No thanks," Joel said immediately, then glanced at his watch before standing up and tossing a tip down on the table. "Gotta get back to work, I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

He turned on his heel and left before Betty had a chance to reply.

What a stupid idea. What did he expect would actually happen? That you would fall in love with him after he spoke barely three sentences to you? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Hey, Joel," he heard the owner of the hardware shop call out to him in greeting as he walked by.

"Hey, Lee. How's it goin'?" Joel stopped outside the open door to the shop, leaning against the doorframe as he watched Lee sweep the floor.

"Can't complain. 'Cept, you get any leads on those vandals? Someone's been drawin' obscene things on the street signs over on Willow." Lee lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder before adding "someone even drew a phallic image on a deer crossin' sign."

Joel had to stifle a chuckle because he knew the old man was completely serious.

"I'm on it, Lee. Promise, I'll get to the bottom of it," he said with a nod.

A clatter deep within the store pulled both of their attention toward the noise.

"You alright back there, miss?" Lee called, peering down the aisle. Joel's breath caught in his throat when he heard your voice.

"Yeah, sorry! Just dropped something," you replied, emerging from the aisle looking a little flustered and holding an array of tools in your hands. You stiffened before you even laid eyes on him, like you could sense him before even seeing he was there. Joel couldn't help but take it a little personally. Why were you so sweet and friendly to Lee and other customers at the diner, but so cold to him?

You glanced his way nervously and he tried to give you a reassuring smile, maybe even a quick hello, but you immediately turned to address Lee, asking him questions on how to fix a kitchen faucet. Joel watched as Lee picked out the right tool for you and explained how to fix it, but it was clear as day you were having a hard time following. Lee must have noticed as well.

"You ever fix anythin' 'round a house, sweetheart?" Lee asked, and a little pink dusted your cheeks, making Joel's heart flutter in his chest.

"Is it that obvious?" you asked him with a sweet smile. Why wouldn't you look at him like that?

Lee laughed good-naturedly before turning to Joel.

"Joel, would you mind helpin' her out? Her place's on the way back to the station."

Your smile fell and you instantly shook your head, eyes widening as you clutched the tool in your hand.

"N-no, that's okay, I can manage," you said, first to Lee, then braved a glance in his direction before dropping your eyes to the floor.

A big part of Joel told himself to just give up, just let you be and ignore whatever it was that made you dislike him so much. But he just couldn't do it.

"Not a problem, it should just take a second," Joel finally said, tilting his head to look at you. "Where d'you live?"

He could tell you were incredibly uncomfortable now, and he wondered if he should stop pushing it. It looked like you could hardly breathe as you stared at the floor and considered your options.

"Just a few blocks that way," you said meekly, pointing north up Main Street. Joel pushed himself off the doorframe and stood aside so you could squeeze through without getting too close to him, and for that you seemed grateful. He nodded to Lee before following you down the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he tried to think of something to say.

"You likin' it here so far?"

"Uh huh," you replied, your gaze trained straight ahead. The pair of you walked in an awkward silence for another minute before he tried again.

"You got a place right on Main?"

"Above the pizza parlor," you said, and before he could follow up with another question, you suddenly stopped walking. He turned around when he realized and gave you a confused look.

"I really appreciate the offer, but I think I can figure out the sink for myself," you told him, forcing yourself to look into his eyes this time when you spoke.

"It's no trouble. It's what we all do 'round here, we help each other out," he replied. You fidgeted with the strap of your purse and averted your gaze. He waited for you to weigh your options, not wanting to pressure you but also not ready to give up, either. Finally, you spoke.

"You said it'll be quick?"

He grinned and nodded.

"Less than ten minutes."

You sighed and forced yourself to continue walking.

"Okay, if you're sure you don't mind..."

"I'm sure."

You walked in silence the rest of the way to your apartment. Joel seemed nice enough, and you could probably even get over the fact he was a cop, but you just couldn't get past the fucking cologne. It permeated every molecule of air whenever he was near, and you couldn't stop the horrible memories that came flooding back. You knew you would end up regretting allowing him into your apartment because you would end up spending the rest of the day trying to rid your little sanctuary of that scent. But you were weak. You never were very good at saying no. And this time was no exception.

You unlocked the front door and Joel held it open while you led him up the creaky stairs, then unlocked the second door at the top that led directly into your small apartment. He closed the door behind him and glanced around, taking in your space for the first time.

"Cozy," he finally said, and you let out a soft chuckle.

"You could say that," you replied. The room wasn't very big, but he noticed the moment you both entered, you put as much space between the two of you as you could. Your eyes were flicking around the room anxiously, your back against the only window and your fingers clutching the tool to your chest, toying with it nervously. He took a couple steps towards you and your fidgeting stopped. You dragged your gaze up to his as he studied your curious behavior. If it wasn't obvious before, it was crystal clear now: he made you incredibly uncomfortable.

Rather than make things worse, he stopped halfway across the room and just held out his hand. You stared at it, unmoving and barely breathing before he cleared his throat.

"Wrench?"

"Oh," you said softly, letting out a shaky breath before taking a step forward and handing him the tool you had just bought. He took it and gave you one more look before turning back towards the small kitchen. He shrugged off his blazer and draped it over the back of a chair, and your throat went dry when you clocked the gun on his waist.

You watched him warily as he flicked on the overhead light and fiddled with the lever of the sink before opening the cabinets underneath and peering inside at the plumbing. You hardly moved a muscle as you watched him. You wished you could light the scented candle on your table to help minimize the cologne, but you were too nervous he would find that suggestive. The silence became deafening as he worked, and you felt compelled to say something.

"Can I get you some water?"

He stopped what he was doing and gave you a small smirk.

"As long as it ain't from the tap," he said, tilting his head towards the faucet he currently had taken apart. You smiled and walked quickly over to the fridge, pulling out two bottles of water. He noticed your fingers shaking slightly when you handed him the water, and he frowned.

"You alright?"

"Me?" you squeaked, as if there were anyone else in the room he could be addressing. He nodded slowly and unscrewed the cap, still staring at you.

"I'm fine," you assured him, but still took a few paces back to stand next to your window again. Far away from him. He looked you up and down as he took a sip of his water before setting the bottle down on the counter.

"I can tell you got some issue with me," he began, and you stilled, watching him carefully from across the room, clutching the water bottle tightly against your chest. You shook your head quickly, but he held out a hand to stop you.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable at the diner," he said.

"W-what do you mean?" you stammered.

"Betty," he added, raising his eyebrows. "She's got a tendency to stick her nose where it don't belong, and I know she said somethin' to you 'bout me. I just wanted to apologize if that put you in tough spot."

"Oh, that's alright," you told him, quickly waving him off. He chewed the corner of his mouth as he studied your surprisingly relaxed response. So Betty's prying wasn't the problem.

"You gotta give me somethin' here," he said after a moment, and you dropped your gaze to your feet. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," you said softly, your eyes still pinned to the floor.

"Then why can't you stand lookin' at me for more than five seconds?" he asked, desperate now to know the answer.

"Does it matter?" you whispered.

"I wish it didn't," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. You finally looked up at him now, taking in his hurt expression, and you felt your resolve crumbling. What happened to you wasn't this man's fault.

"What does that mean?" you asked him, and it was his turn to look away.

"Nothin'," he finally mumbled, his heart slamming against his chest.

"It's your cologne," you blurted out, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He wasn't expecting that.

"My... cologne?"

"It's nothing personal, I'm just sensitive to smells." He knew you were lying. Your entire apartment smelled like garlic and marinara sauce from the pizza place downstairs. But he decided not to push it.

"My daughter - Sarah - she got it for me for Father's Day. Truth be told, I don't like it much, either," he told you, and much to his relief, he saw the corners of your mouth tug into a small smile.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly. He just shrugged and turned back to the sink.

"Nothin' for you to be sorry 'bout. Thought I offended you or somethin', is all," he told you as he worked on putting the faucet back together.

You took a few tentative steps closer to peer over his shoulder.

"Can you show me what you did to fix it?" you asked. He straightened up to look at you and twirled the wrench in his hand, deciding to be bold.

"If I do that, then I won't have an excuse to come see you when it breaks again."

You bit your lip to hide your smile as your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He grinned and turned back to the sink. Maybe he still had a chance. He was nearly finished, but he showed mercy on you and explained what he did, anyway.

Once he was done, you walked him down to the first floor, thanking him profusely along the way.

"Don't mention it," he said, shoving his arms through his blazer as he walked, but turned back before you closed the door.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you gazed up at him. Now that you were back outside and the scent wasn't so strong, you allowed yourself to acknowledge that Joel was a good looking man. A really good looking man. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you cursed Patrick for ruining so many things for you, but you were afraid the worst thing he might have actually ruined for you was Joel.

You slowly nodded, then he grinned and tilted his head to the side.

"You have yourself a good rest of the day, sweetheart."

You felt yourself blush at the term of endearment, but luckily he had already turned away.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @merz-8 @sarap-77

[seresinhangmanjake]

Fremen Girl

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Fremen!reader

Summary: The potential wife of any future Baron must prove herself by surviving in the arena before the current Baron will permit the marriage. In this case, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen wants a wife, and he might have just found a woman capable of meeting that challenge.

Notes/Warnings: this is just the first section of this fic, which I can't decide if I want as one long fic (5k words) or multiple short parts (5 or so). If you like it, feel free to provide an opinion on that. Comments help me out and make me happy, so they're always welcome :) Also, Dune inaccuracies and typos.

Words: 900

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

The toe of a boot jams into your calf. Your knees are the first to crack on the tiled flooring of Arrakeen Palace’s throne room. You land with a grunt, followed by four more grunts as the knees of your Fremen brothers are forced down beside you.

That’s all that remains of the troop sent to attack one of the Harkonnen patrol groups. Out of twenty-one, only five. 

The five of you make a neat line in front of the empty throne with you in the middle. From left to right, one after the other reduced to half height, your heads down, arms bound behind your backs, and blood dripping from various Harkonnen-inflicted wounds. 

Your only wound is a swollen, busted lip, which you found curious until you realized their goal was to capture the remaining few of you, not kill. That swift fist to the face had caught you off guard while you were trying to aid a friend who inevitably met their death, and in that moment, you knew you were going to be made an example of; a warning to other Fremen: Be smart. Don’t end up like this girl. 

So, here you are, in a Harkonnen-occupied palace awaiting your grim fate, forced to bow to an old baron you thought was too lazy to leave his home planet of Giedi Prime, let alone bother with a handful of Fremen who made a minuscule dent in his massive army. 

But then you hear footsteps echoing as they make their way through the vast, hollow room. 

“Are these the ones?” is asked in a low, gruff voice. It’s akin to the voices of the men who brought you here, but it contains a unique richness and lacks the worn, overused quality that comes from many decades of aging. Definitely not the Baron.

“Yes, my Lord na-Baron,” one of the brutes answers from behind you, conveniently answering your unasked question as well.

“And which of them did the most damage?” 

Thick fingers dig into your hair, nails scraping your scalp as your head is yanked back. You swallow your whine from the pain and meet a set of deep blue eyes. You know those eyes—well, you know stories of those eyes. As a small child, you overheard whispers amongst the Fremen elders of the Harkonnen boy with the soulless eyes who killed his mother and maimed his family’s slaves. The promising younger nephew of the Baron: Feyd-Rautha. Barely older than yourself and yet word of his deadly glare was already jumping from planet to planet. 

But those eyes change as they look at you. There’s a quick shift from wicked to amused, a glint flitting across his irises as he scans your face. His lips tick upward—almost imperceptibly—but you catch it before it disappears. 

“Release her,” the future baron instructs. The tension from your abused strands eases as he steps forward and crouches in front of you, much too close for your liking. You want to flinch away, but Fremen do not cower to intimidation. 

“So,” he starts, peering into you, “you're the one causing me trouble, hmm?”

“She took down twelve of our men.”

His brow raises and his head tilts, but Feyd-Rautha does not break your stare. “Twelve? Is that right?”

“She bites as well, the fucking bitch,” the soldier grumbles to his leader. When you roll your eyes, said leader's lips quirk again. “Too much spirit in her if you ask me.”

All sense of amusement drains from the na-Baron’s features. Cold blue eyes flick to the soldier, and with the attention momentarily off of you, you take a breath. 

“I did not ask you,” he says in an eerily calm tone. 

You can practically hear the gulp that struggles to make its way down the other Harkonnen’s throat. “Apologies, my Lord.”

Feyd-Rautha returns his gaze to you. He examines you for a few long beats before lifting his hand and swiping his thumb through the blood beginning to cake on your split lip. 

“Don’t touch her!” comes from the left in your native tongue.

You wince. He’s one of the younger ones, just shy of your age. Well-trained enough to be a dangerous force, faster than the older Fremen at your sides, but so full of hatred for Harkonnens that his enthusiasm has him making silly mistakes, clearly not excluding shouting in a threatening tone when it would be best to remain silent. 

The butt of a Harkonnen weapon slams into the back of his head and he falls forward, landing face-first on the floor. 

The na-Baron doesn’t pay the disruption a lick of attention. His index finger meets his thumb and they swirl together in small circles until they’re thoroughly coated in your blood. Then, one at a time, he sticks them into his mouth and sucks that little bit of you off of each pale digit. 

“Lover?” he asks you, nudging his head toward your knocked-out friend. You shake your head.

Leisurely taking in your features, his eyes trace the curl of your lashes, the slope of your nose, then the V of your cupid’s bow before he says, “A woman more deadly than the men who flank her is quite rare...and impressive.” Your brows pinch at the compliment and he smirks. “I think I might have use for you, Fremen girl.”

---

A/N(just a repeat of the notes up top in case you missed it): this is just the first section of this fic, which I can't decide if I want as one long fic (5k words) or multiple short parts (5 or so). If you like it, feel free to provide an opinion on that. Comments help me out and make me happy, so they're always welcome :)

@avidreader73 @alwaysadreamingoptimist @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @workof-a-rr-t

[running-with-kn1ves]

Faeries and Giants

A/N: Thanks that one anon for this idea! took my own spin on it >:DD

Content Warning: Held hostage by a giant, mentioned consumption of humanoid creatures, kidnapping

Synopsis: Life isn’t all great being a faerie in a world of giants, elves and dwarves-- of which, some are keen on plucking you from the forest floor like a berry and keeping you to themselves. 

“So… delicate,” plump fingers outlined the crisp glass of your wings, their luminescence almost blinding to the giant. Your teensy, human-like frailty was some sort of evolutionary mistake-- how could you survive in these woods for so many decades, for centuries? You and your kind were mini parasites-- although delicious, and cute to play with, ultimately not meant to survive in this world where big bad wolves and giants ten times your size could pick you up like an acorn and snap you like a tall blade of grass. 

“Get your dirty paws-- OFF!” You kicked and bit with feral haste, clothes of leaf and twine breaking each time the giant poked and prodded at your pudgy, elongated features. One wrong tug and your arm or leg could come twisting off, your wings tarnished and ripped to fragments if he so pleased. 

“Settle down now, little one,” He let out a roar of a laugh, shaking down through his palms to his feet, making the earth beneath him crumble. “You’ll get hurt worming around so much!”

You shrieked at the gentle touch against your bare sole, the giant playing with your toes and fingers as he stretches and bends your limbs. 

“Please--urk, put me down! I’m not meant to be this high, I, I need to get back to the ground-- let me go!” 

“Ah, but aren’t you meant for the skies, little beast? What else are these… appendages for. Mere sparkly decoration?”

He runs a finger down the middle of your back, touching the sinewy fiber connecting translucent wings to your spine. You shivered, physically jolting at the uncomfortable, warmly touch. 

Your wings were drenched-- wrinkled and sopping from the “quick dip” the giant holding you thought would be a good idea before scooping you up like a pretty pebble. His previous…encounters with your kind must’ve prepared him well for the fluttery agility your poor wings could provide.

“Hm, do you like that?” The giant groans in heightened interest, resting his cheek in his hand as he holds you in the other. “The fairies I’ve met are far less dainty, withholding far more… animosity. Of course, they had been well-versed in magic and spells moreso than you seem to be. Far more appetizing, too. But you… you almost look like a stout sapling, useless in all endeavors besides your adorable little figure!”

….Appetizing? 

Looking to the Giant’s pocket, you can see them there….Wings, some crumped to shards, others merely bent, stuffed in his trousers with shimmering pinks and golds and blues-- cleanly picked off of whatever faerie they belonged to.

“You… they’ve been disappearing, because of you! Collecting their poor wings…You’re a monster! My friends, eaten and killed--!”

The giant brought you to his eyes for closer inspection, pools of lake green beneath his moppy silvering and unkempt hair. He observed the river of tears falling from your face, your nose dripping and stuffy as you beat against his hand. 

“Why yes! We seem to agree on something; I am a monster of the forest-- as are you, and your thieving little fellow faeries. Stealing from my livestock, shoveling everything they can find into their mouths, attempting to poison and spitroast and maim me--” He brushes a tan knuckle against your cheek, smooshing it in an attempt to wipe away your tears. “And so I eat them-- which ever ones manage to cross me, choosing to arise my wrath. It’s the circle of life, my little winged beast.” 

He chuckles at the nickname, gazing at you slumped over on the creases of his palm, calloused from a life of barreling trees and tending to his oversized farm on the outskirts of your fae hamlet.

 You were too high to jump from his palm at this height, even with his fingers no longer tightly wound around you. If you tried to fly now-- you’d be as good as dead. 

“S..so, what’re you gonna do, with me?”

You wipe away your tears, trying to see the giant clearly this time; maybe you could pinpoint a weak area of his, something to make him drop you-- it’d be better than spending eternity in his palm, or his stomach. 

“So precious… What do you think? Should I eat you?” He grins, a large straw of wheat hanging from betwixt his lips. 

You shake your head rapidly, attempting to reach for the dagger in your leather boot. 

“No, no. Of course not, I can’t rid myself of such a cute fae like you, even if I despise the rest of your species--” He delicately takes his thumb and pointer finger to your cheeks, squeezing them to puff out your lips. “I enjoy your itsy-bitsy presence too much… perhaps I’ll keep you where the birds used to lay; the cage is quite spacious, right in the kitchen. I’ll make a soft bed of chicken feathers for you, a table just big enough to do your faerie crafts and harmless little spells on.” The giant smiles softly, touching the bare of your collar uncovered by leaf and leather cloth. “I’ll bring trinkets from the valley for you to do with as you please, cook hearty meals for us to share, even let you out to be coddled and touched every now and again-- how does that sound?” 

You were quick to shake your head, tempted to stab at his palm with your dagger, but an irked expression ran across the giant’s lips as his gaze fell to the grassy plain beneath him. 

“Your friend here however, will not be staying.” He holds you tightly again-- squeezing enough to keep you in the dark of his palm. It was warm and of an earthy smell, almost too tight for your cold body. You're abruptly tucked into the giants shirt pocket, a finger over your mouth and eyes that forced you into muted darkness.

Even with your fabricated blindness, you could here the breathy grunts of a familiar voice-- unmistakably from a woodland elf, the glass-shattering vocal chords of a creature who could burst ear drums if he so desired. You didn’t know for sure, but you had a reasonable guess of which elf in particular who seemed to be fighting a mountain of a giant in your honor. An unforgettable, certainly imbecilic ignoramus elf who tailed you everywhere you went in hopes that, this time you would accept his smitten betrothal request. 

You swam against fabric tugging you downward to reach the shirt pocket’s opening, wincing as the giant holding you captive yelped out.

“Gah! he stabbed me, the little fucking imp!”

It's the first you've heard him curse with such venom, mouth curling into a snarl as he bends to pick up the wooden sword-swinging elf at his boot. 

The elf screamed out your name, trying to cut at the scarred fingers holding him hostage. You reached out to him from beneath your pocket enclosure before the giant flicked you on the head, holding your savior far out by the tips of his fingers. 

“Ah look here, your knight in shining armor… hah, too bad, he looks absolutely delectable.”

The giant’s irritation was growing by the second, keeping a hand over you in his pocket as he shakes the elf around furiously.

“No--! please don't eat him, he just-- Let us go, he has nothing to do with this!” You tug against the giant’s button up, watching your elf companion swing around his needle-like sword at the  giant holding him up by his collar. 

The giant laughed, eyes crinkling as his chiseled chest bumped against your back.

“Don't fret sweet faerie, I’m not so brutal as to consume a creature like this raw; by all means, he’s coming home with us. How long he lasts- that's up to you.”

The giant stood from his crouched position on the grassy knoll, heavy boots digging into the grass to make muddy imprints. He dangled the elf out forward, watching as the poor creature sweat bullets while looking at you helplessly.

“Let my faerie-- go!” The tiny voice felt so far away, different than the usually grating elf’s voice you were accustomed to getting frightened by.

The giant places his fingers into his shirt pocket, nudging you with them in a powerful caress. 

“You'll remain my little darling-- while our elf friend here, remains where he belongs-- in the pigpen. Together, we can find a punishment suitable for him.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. With one heavy foot in front of the other, the giant started toward a thatched roof cabin in the grassy distance. 

[neoplatinum]

i choose you - part 3 | minatozaki sana

summary: a darkness in sana's past comes back into light

pairing: heiress!sana x reader

themes: blood, murder, gore, knives, arranged marriage au, fluff, angst, tension, lots of elitism, conglomerate power-hungry side characters, implied sex, misamo!

wc: 5.9k

(series masterlist)

you stare at her as she stares at you back. the eyes of a woman who's held her domain for decades, bursting in power through the new age of technology. her eyes are still as sharp as ever, despite her age. it's how she's kept her power for so long.

long brushes of the tea cup lid against the cup, nursing a cup of sencha. 

"tell me, how devoted are you to the mintaozaki clan." she continues to swirl the tea in the porcelain cup. her eyes never leaving yours. 

you stare at her, but also to take a glance at the elders of the minatozaki clan all staring at you. strong eyes and the crest pinned to their delicate fabrics.

momo and mina are sat on the second row of chairs lining the edges of the room. various council advisors and distant family members sat in the back corners as well.

"i would lay my life on the line for the minatozakis." she stops her swirling. the gentle drop of the lid back onto the cup as she sets it down next to her.

with the flick of her wrist, a man shuffles towards, head bowed as he hands her a folder. the sound of papers being flipped through while you keep your eyes trained on the floor. 

all around are eyes peering in, a dare. they stare, daring you to make any sign of weakness, you keep your eyes unwavering as you wait. it's so quiet that an outsider would expect no one in this room. you can even hear the faint sound of wind outside.

"let me rephrase. would you survive for the minatozaki clan." she places the paper down. eyes instantly back on you. 

"until my last dying breath. i would utter it for the minatozaki name." you say, staring at her with intensity of a thousand flames. you think of sana, of haruto and hanako. the person you have become since being part of the family.

the matriach leans back into her chair. and you stare, for any sign of emotion. the way her eyes remain neutral and unchanging, hands comfortably laying on her lap. her feet tucked together and that large pendant on her neck.

"understood." another flick of the wrist. a different man walks forward, head bowed just like the last. 

his head low as he presents a tanto with both hands. the six inch double edged blade. a long dagger, sheathed in dark brown wooden scabbard. 

lined with the proud name of the minatozaki clan in hiragana, etched into the layered metal. she holds it within her palms, unsheathing it and holding it out.

"do you know of the etching tradition?" she says as she feels for the blade, the tip piercing enough of her skin to let out a drip of blood. she wraps it into a cloth as she goes back to staring at you.

"no, i do not." you've never even heard of the tradition to begin with. eyeing sana from the corner of your eye but she keeps her eyes focused on her mother.

"present." and then the cacophony of hands folding up their arm sleeves, and the turning of their forearm towards the matriarch, you can barely see it, but it's there. the scarred skin in the symbol of the minatozaki crest, just in the center of everyone's right forearm.

a glance to your right, and you notice it on sana's forearm, it's always been there. even in the curiosity you never asked, always wondering how she had a perfect scarring of her family name. the way it stretches across her arm, like a branding. 

like an imprint of being in a cult, you look back at the matriarch.

upon her forearm, the same name is etched deeply, a long stretch of scars lining around it, never touching the name directly. the room all around you, are filled with minatozakis, each and everyone one of them.

"the minatozaki name will be etched into your skin. do not show weakness." the matriarch calls you forth, you rise to your feet, making quick steps to her. kneeling before her as you present your arm, to which she gently rubs over.

the tanto digs into your arm, and you grind your teeth willing the pain away as the tip of the blade drags along the skin. clean and sharp lines that are moving like brush strokes on a painting. 

you grip onto your pants for a distraction to shift the pain. the burning and sweating sensation making you tremble a little. you will it away when you feel the blade lift up suddenly. 

"breathe." you can hear sana's voice behind you, calming the pain brewing all over your body. 

letting out a held breath that's been burning your lungs. a reminder that this pain is temporary, the breathing chills the burning sensation in your head. 

the final mark is laid upon your skin, and you can feel yourself feeling faint, holding onto the floor to keep your body upright. you feel the blade lift off your skin, the sound of the blade being cleaned, while you stare at the pool of blood on the marbled floor, dripping and seeping underneath your shoe. 

"rise." she speaks. you stand up, letting the blood continue to run down your arm. 

the ringing in your ears gets louder and louder. she speaks of tradition, the value of the name across your arm. all eyes continue to stare you down, eyes like steel. 

"this blade, has etched every minatozaki in this room, and those that have been laid to rest. this blade, will continue to etch into the minatozaki clan for future generations." you stare at the blade now in your hand, only seconds ago tearing your skin apart and being branded as the family's new pawn.

"to a new generation." she says as she hands it over, the drippings of your blood still across the double beveled edge. you stare at the blade, the weight of it, the memories of each person etched. it's heavier than you expected. 

generations of minatozaki's all carved into submission. you begin to feel it, stirring low in your subconscious, you need more.

--

every night in the dark study, you stare at the name. forever in your skin, and upon your body. a sign that you are now a minatozaki, even years spent becoming a figurehead didn't sear the idea until now. 

the scarring has scabbed over and begun to heal, into that perfect shape of the name. 

sana's been telling you stories about her late father, the patriarch of the minatozaki clan before he was assassinated by the abe clan. the abe's who wanted his land, his ability to rule over japan.

stories of his strict rulings, his inability to feel remorse, his lack of fear. his dictatorship under his ship, even more fierce than his father. 

the golden age of the minatozaki clan.

you often visit the matriarch, learning family secrets that wouldn't be uttered under broad daylight. understanding the inner workings of a regime that's lasted centuries.

more so, you've been trained by the matriarch to take over the next generation for the minatozaki's. receiving training in the philanthropy for public image, but also training on how to take out an enemy without letting a single drop of blood fall.

you can see how the minatozaki's have gotten so far, extremely cautious and calculating, much like other conglomerate group families. as much as you didn't want to be pulled in, here you are. fighting both momo and mina in hand-to-hand combat. 

a swift kick of the leg, and you topple over. the pain of the right hook that momo landed earlier still leaving a stinging in your cheek. you turn over, breathing in and out.

"you're still too slow." momo comments, sitting down with mina doing the same.

you continue to stare at the bright light overhead, the feeling of your heart beating thumping in your ears, the sweat dripping down your body.

"i know." 

mina gets up, grabbing water bottles and passing one to you. you sit up, drinking it as the two woman stare at you.

"why do you do this?" momo starts, a curious question that's been plaguing her mind lately. 

the minatozaki's never asked you to be trained to be the next head of family, but you took it upon yourself to do so. grueling physical training, while learning the arts of the past generations.

mina continues to sip at her water, eyes watching you.

"duty. for sana, for haruto, for hanako." you explain, as much as you didn't want to become a pawn for their family, you care so deeply for the family that you now have, one that you would tear apart the world for.

mina nods, but momo rolls her eyes, "how noble." and with another sip, she gets up again. you begin sparring once more. 

--

rolling your shoulders when you walk into your office, grabbing some soothing oil to rub onto the bruise on your ribs and the smaller bruises along your shoulders. 

you stare at the tanto that now lays in a secret compartment under your desk. the etching tradition still leaves you in a heavy daze these days, how much you have changed all for sana's family. 

when the devil herself walks in.

"you need to fire that assistant of yours." sana walks in, handbag hanging off her arm. glasses perched on her nose bridge, the exhaustion rolling off her words. she seems aggravated. 

"why?" you cock your head to the side.

"she just told me you have a meeting in five, which i mean sure thank you for the information but i seriously don't care." you laugh out, as she crosses her arm. sitting comfortably in the armchair in front of you. 

it seems today is one of those days.

"she's just doing her job." you explain. you liked shoko, she did her job well, often reworking your schedule when you needed her to. and she rarely complained about it, you even gave her a raise recently.

"yeah and i'm doing mine." sana gets up, leaving her bag on the floor and crosses over to you, dropping herself onto your lap.

she takes the glasses off your face. letting it slide across the table. you're about to get up to pick it up, when sana pushes more of her weight onto you. keeping you in your seat.

"last time you just waltzed into one of my 1 on 1 client meetings and sat on my lap the whole time." you point at her, showcasing the same exact behavior.

"yeah, like i said, i'm doing my job." sana says, taking off her sunglasses.

"sana...." you say dejectedly.

"i didn't hear you complaining when you bent me over this table and ate me out the rest of the afternoon." and with that she smashes her lips against yours. 

you completely forget what you were complaining about earlier.

--

"what's your favorite color?" sana's voice is quietly coming through the microphone, she called you multiple times, and texting you urgently nearly ten times. 

you silenced it, only to get a note from your assistant to pick up her calls.

"hmm, green." you say, watching as the shareholders stare you down, waiting for your approval.

without another second, the sound of the call ending comes through, you glance at your phone screen, seeing the call disappear, and a little confused.

"sorry, please continue." you point at the junior executive, he's been trying to get through this presentation without peeing his pants, and really you would like to get through it enough for him to finally calm down.

fifteen minutes later you get multiple pings on your phone.

"so like i said, we expect the project with akira industries to go well-" the junior executive's voice completely drowns out into white noise when you see what's displayed on your screen.

sana baby: attachment: 3 images

sana baby: you like?

your phone screen is filled with green, all three photos illuminating your face in a green hue. 

green lingerie set, green bows tied around her hair, and your dress shirt draped over one. good god, she looks like a vixen. 

photos of her laying across the bed, aimed at the mirror, long legs that stretch across the comforter. gorgeous lithe body framed by that light green corset. pouty lips in a selfie, aimed down at her cleavage.

you nearly curse out loud, instead letting a cough come through at the last second to cover it up.

another message comes through. you lift your phone back up to your face.

sana baby: you come home in thirty and you can take it off with your hands, any later and you do it with your teeth.

--

you're trying to pick out your work outfit for tomorrow, eyes glancing at all the dress shirts that you had hung up in the walk-in closet. you can hear sana faintly humming through the other side of the closet.

"sana..." you pick out one shirt, noticing the pink-ish red color across the collar.

"yes darling?" she says in a light-hearted tone, you see her walk over with her eyes a little playful. her eyes landing on the dress shirt that you have in your hand.

you hold it up to her face.

"why are my dress shirts littered with lipstick marks?" she takes the dress shirt out of your hand, eyeing it with happiness.

"they need to know who you belong to." she says and hands it back to you. 

you shake your head at it. putting it back onto the rack. 

only to notice another shirt, and another shirt, and another shirt.

"i mean, literally every single shirt is covered in them." you point at the whole rack, now noticing the pink/red littered across the collars. all of them have it. you turn to look at her, eyes wide as she just smiles at her handiwork.

she gives you a peck and just leaves. turning her head to look at you over the shoulder and give one last remark.

"you better not wash them off or you're sleeping on the couch."

--

"the abe clan cordially invites you to the 2027 annual ball." you stare at the invitation in your hand, red cardstock, beautiful crest in the dead center. 

with sana's quiet humming, you barely register that you've arrived at the abe clan's main estate. dark and light reds adorning the walls, intricate wooden carvings of dragons. the dark red crest and lapels on each security guard. 

the sedan rolls forwards, until you're stopped by two guards. handing the invitation card to the chauffeur, and letting the guards scan the car. 

you watch sana, her eyes floating around, admiring the long trees that line around the garden's pond.

and then the car continues to roll forwards, and all around you are different black marked cars. each with their own crest, women and men donning different formal wear. kimonos, tuxedos, hanboks, qipaos, ao dais, all around.

the door opens, and you step out, rounding the corner to take sana's arms into yours.

"one rule with the abe's, do not ever drink first in front of an abe." she whispers quietly as you both enter down a deep tunnel, much like the minatozaki house. 

large stone slabs lined underneath, but you can see it above, the lining of birds across a wired line. much like a telephone line. their dark beady eyes staring down, with jet black feathers that make their body look like voids. 

they all move their heads in turn with the walking guests. "trained birds, trained to kill." she comments and continues to pull you forward. 

then you enter a big hall, filled with different dignitaries, generals, top executives, council members, even a few celebrity faces. 

sana smiles at the sight of the turning heads, everyone's excited to see another conglomerate family at these events. "just smile and nod." she whispers again through a smile.

you do the same, watching the eyes all peer back at you. they don't have the stillness of the minatozakis, there's bloodlust, there's evil, there's an ominous undertone behind those spheres. a predator lying dormant in each and everyone one of them.

with the sound of the doors opening, you hear the awws of the guests, all piling into the abe main hall. much like the grandeur of the minatozaki clan, it's lined with artifacts of war. 

great katanas and bows hung along the walls. dark and deep red colored accents, a giant abe crest upon the center. there's beautiful music playing in the background as you scan the room. sana tugs you along.

"how much do you know about the abe's?" sana stares at you as she hands you a small knife. you tuck it into the breast pocket.

"a little." you offer, brushing her hair out of her face, and she gleams at that, giving a little kiss before returning back to her stoic face.

"kaito and kenji, two sons of the abe clan. kaito's set to become the head of the family. there's rumors that kenji might kill him for the seat." she explains, adjusting the knife in her thigh holster.

you nod, her mother has educated you on all the conglomerate groups, especially the abe and watanabe clan. both have been vying for the possible absorption of the minatozaki clan.

you adjust the knife holster for her, as you check your surroundings, just as you expected. nearly the same power in their private military, donning red fabric. you both take off to the other side of the room, eyes darting from face to face trying to remember significant figures, but who are you kidding, they're all people in power.

browsing through plates of delicacies, waiters and waitresses circling with plates of drinks. each more colorful than the last, it seems the abe have distinct taste.

you're leaning to your left when you're suddenly pulled into a conversation, the woman making large and loud gestures at you. most of which you nod and let the words flow through your ears. you never thought you would see her again.

sana's staring, taking turns staring at her and staring at you. her hold on your arm tighter than ever, feeling the blood thump in your arm. she continues to drone on until finally she gets swept into another conversation with someone else.

sana unhooks her arm from you.

"who is that?" sana stares at you, arms folded and that tick in her jaw. you can't help but keep eyeing the long black dress that she has on, with a deep thigh slit along the left side. 

you try your best to keep the impure thoughts to yourself, instead offering a kiss to sana's forehead when you stand in front of her.

"hmm, old friend from law school."

sana had been eyeing the woman even as she moved across the room. even more upset when she slid up next to you. talking your head off about something that must have been boring because she could recognize the attention leaving your body.

but she can't help but notice how forward the woman was, unnecessarily putting her hands on you. unnecessarily laughing at whatever you are saying, just a bit too hard. unnecessarily pushing her cleavage up against you.

"our year?" sana says, brushing off a piece of lint from your jacket, also brushing off the feeling of the woman off your jacket. 

you stare at her manicured fingers. long slender fingers that wear your ring proudly. you smile at the sight of the large diamond.

"no, a year younger." you say softly, bringing her hand up to kiss it. she flips your hand over to kiss it back. "why do you ask?"

"didn't know you liked younger women..." she comments, back to nitpicking what the woman is wearing tonight. 

how dare she try and lay her hands on you? sana's thinking of calling momo and mina to do some 'intervention'.

"i don't, like younger women i mean." you watch sana as she stares down the woman. the way she holds onto the neck of the champagne flute, the way she has that tick in her jaw, the way she can't keep moving her eyes up and down in disdain.

"good." she comments back, it's more so to herself, so you roll your eyes at that.

"i only like you sana." you say the golden words that make her heart melt. she stares at you for a bit.

"mhm keep sweet talking me like that and i’ll let you fuck me in the bathroom." she drapes her arm over your neck pulling you into a hot kiss, tossing a wink to the woman from earlier.

you pull away, her chasing after you, but with all the prying eyes you'd rather enjoy sana in a more private place. 

you begin to pull her towards anywhere that isn't open space for people to watch, when you bump into someone on accident.

"oh hello." the man turns around, a tall man toying with a knife in hand. his eyes dancing with amusement. "apologies, hope there's no hard feelings."

"none here." you offer, trying to side-step around him when he places his small knife at your neck. you look down at it, engraving in the base with red ink.

"kenji abe." you whisper to yourself, but he claps in delight, nodding quickly and sheathing his dagger away.

"that is me!" he exclaims, offering his hand. you shake it, his grip awfully loose, too loose.

"nice to meet you mr. abe." you explain, still trying to drag sana away. he stops you with a hand, a little smirk on his face. taking a glance at you and sana.

“nice to meet the minatozaki’s new lapdog.” he smiles, and then takes a look at sana, “hello sana, it’s been a while hasn’t it. kaito misses you.” the curling devilish smile as he hands both of you a drink. and taking one for himself. 

“cheers! to a lovely abe ball.” he says as he holds the glass in the air, you take a quick look at sana out of your eye as you both clink his glass, letting it linger away from your lip. 

watching the way he smirks, and then drinks his champagne. he smiles at you both before disappearing into the crowd. 

“never liked him.” sana shudders as she says it, you just smile at her. letting her lay on your shoulder. “him and kaito. they’re dangerous. and he called you a lapdog, what an excuse of a man.”

you just nod, absorbing the information you’ve just been told. it’s not easy transitioning into this lifestyle, with structures and family systems in place, you feel like you really are out of your depth here.

a question still remains, what did he mean by kaito misses sana? you’re distracted by even more dramatic flairs of the abe ball. fire lighting up around, spotting several of your father’s old business partners, nodding to them.

"have i told you how gorgeous you look tonight?" sana starts, giving you a light kiss under your jaw.

"hmm, no, not tonight." you smirk, leaning into her, garnering another kiss. you smile when she rolls her eyes, kissing her jaw lightly too.

"well you do, and i think you would look even more gorgeous under me." she whispers into your ear, you lean back. it seems tonight’s been getting under her skin, constantly trying to get you away from the ball.

you shake your head ready to tell her no when you hear a mic being tapped.

“hello, welcome to the 247th annual abe ball!” a tall well tailored man is speaking into the mic, upon a lifted podium. his voice loud and commanding as he looks below at all the guests. 

all around you are people clapping at him, so you begin to clap, interested in whoever this man might be.

“my name is kaito abe, thank you all for joining us tonight.” he booms into the mic, the sound booming off the walls, everyone clapping at his pauses.

“tonight, we have something special, a very special event.” he says, lifting his hand out to the other side of the podium. white flashing lights suddenly illuminating three bodies. 

the sound of gasps and quiet whispers making you curious. you keep your hand on the knife, sana’s picked up on the same thing, her hand pulling the thigh knife.

“i welcome you, the death of the watanabe’s.” and there you can see it, white fluorescent lights shining across three figures. their eyes begging for help while they’re forced to face the bloodlust of kaito abe. 

“sana, get behind me.” you push her behind you, her eyes staring at the watanabe’s. 

they look roughed up, blood already pouring from their heads and clothes. the patriarch, his wife and the only heir.

“you see, a little weasel from their clan, a vermin even.” kaito begins throwing the tanto he has in his hand, one much like the minatozaki tanto you have in your desk.

he continues to flip it through the air with ease. “tried getting into our clan, how silly right?”

he leans forward, nearly off the edge of the podium as he laughs maniacally. you can see shuffling begin to happen, people are panicking, trying to leave the ball. 

only to be pushed back into the center by the abe guards, all of them wielding weapons.

“oh no, you can’t leave darling, the show’s barely begun!” he continues to round the podium, letting out a laugh when the woman starts crying, his tanto hanging loosely in his hand as he points at the woman.

“see, when there's a rat in your home, what do you do?” he continues to pace the podium. “answer me!” 

he shouts from above, more people are shuffling nervously and then you hear a distant, “you exterminate them!” 

“BINGO! you. exterminate. them.” he laughs a bit, walking briskly towards them, pulling at the hair of the patriarch. 

you curse out loud, his swollen eyes and chunks of his hair missing. 

“but you can’t just exterminate one rat. no. no. they will just continue to repopulate. exterminate. at. the. source.” and then he jabs the tanto right into the man’s neck. 

blood gushing onto his suit like a geyser. he lets out a laugh as the man sputters up blood before falling forward. 

then he moves towards his wife, stabbing into her neck as her cries turn into screams. dragging out a laugh from him, meanwhile their son is crying silently, arms defeated as he watches his two parents’ now dead body.

“and remember. no survivors left behind.” he says with finality, as he shoves the tanto deep into the son’s neck, the tanto left inside.

sana’s covered her eyes into your back. you can feel her shaking a bit, you cover her ears as you pull her close, letting her keep her head against your chest. 

“sana?” she just continues to shake in your arms, fear enveloping her entire body. memories of her younger self around the abe clan. you’ve never seen her so scared. she clings onto you like a lifeline. 

“thank you, thank you! i hope you enjoyed the show!” he takes a deep bow, one in which he keeps his head forward with that smirk on his face. joy from killing, joy from being able to make others submit to him.

and then he walks over, using his foot as leverage as he pulls out the knife, wiping it clean off, and disappearing behind a door in the wall. the sound of shouts and chaos echoing through the hall.

--

the car ride is silent, sana’s gone quiet, simple nods when you ask her if she’s alright. eyes squeezed tightly and one hand curling around the other. you don’t even know where to begin talking about the events of tonight.

the abe’s are ruthless killers, you remember that even from when sana told you. it just takes a live performance of it to see how they are devoid of remorse. 

kaito abe, kaito abe, kaito abe. 

you barely knew the watanabe’s, only speaking to their son once, he was quiet. he didn’t seem the type to want to lead their clan, but now he lays dead, at the hands of kaito.

you play with your knife in your hand, thinking about how easily it shoved down the watanabe’s, killing them so quickly. the same blade that’s supposed to show honor and birth of a new member of the clan, used for killing those that harm the family.

the car rolls into the manor, and you take a deep breath, looking at sana. eyes still unfocused and staring at her own hands. you open the door and round the back to open the door to her side.

“darling? we’re home.” you offer your hand, she doesn’t even move. so you tap her shoulder lightly, she jumps at the touch, moving back from it.

“oh, sorry.” she takes your hand, and you pull her out, leading her towards the door. you immediately squatting at the sight of haruto and hanako walking outside.

picking up haruto in your arms, while sana picks up hanako, a warm smile back on her face. holding hanako tightly to her chest. haruto messes with your hair, pointing around and talking about his day. you kiss his forehead and walk inside. 

there’s still a weird tension lingering around her, she refuses to look you in the eyes. instead preoccupying herself with putting hanako to bed. so you do the same putting haruto into bed. tucking him in and giving him a kiss while sana waits outside. you kiss hanako on the forehead as well before slipping out.

giving yourself a deep breath when you close the door, you see sana next to you, her eyes back to their unfocused state. there’s something she isn’t telling you, and normally you aren’t one to pry. but after the events of tonight, you need to know.

“sana, are you alright?” you hold her head in your hands, eyes peering into hers, for any sign really. she just nods, taking a deep breath, dragging you down the hallway.

“i have something to tell you.” she begins as she sits at her vanity. starting to take off her earrings, you unclasp the necklace that she has on, placing it into a velvet box before tucking it away. 

she stares at herself in the mirror, memories of her past self resurfacing.

“kaito abe and i, we used to date. set to marry actually.” you sit next to hit, listening intently as she continues to take out hairpins and set them across her table. “it was what was destined for us, until his father killed my uncle. momo and mina’s father.”

you nod, you didn’t know much about momo and mina but there was an emptiness in their eyes, you always assumed it was because they were trained soldiers.

“seeing them up there on the platform, it felt like i was watching momo and mina being killed at his hands. then i thought, what if he killed you, what if he killed haruto and hanako. i’m so scared.” she bursts into tears, hands shaking to hold yours.

“he won’t be able to, i won’t let him.” you say confidently, kissing her gently. 

--

“so, the minatozakis were here tonight.” kenji stares at kaito, both of them throwing knives at a corkboard, you and sana’s photos pinned to the board.

“yes, sana and her plaything.” kenji turns to a guard, handing him ten new knives. kaito just laughs, doubling over and wiping the tears out of his eyes.

“her plaything? how delightful.” kaito stares at the photo of you, and then down at the photo of haruto and hanako by your side. “and her spawns.” 

“yes, two it seems.” kenji nods as he continues to throw straight into the forehead of your photos. the two continue to throw knives in the silence, slicing through the air, as they land on the different photos across the board.

“kenji, let’s topple the minatozakis?” kaito stares at sana’s photo as he aims for her heart, landing dead in the center.

“with pleasure.” his final knife aimed straight at your heart.

--

a/n: message me if you want a part 4 :^P