#my wriitng

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time He Scared The Life Out Of Me”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: metal-vocalist!Sukuna, fluff, you’re both basically frenemies

Word Count: 1.4k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

You and Sukuna don’t tend to be home at the same time, you’d think you would see him all the time considering, you know, you live together and all, but you honestly don’t really know all that much about him. You know he rides a motorcycle, ‘cause every time he pulls up to the apartment late at night it’s blaring loud engine wakes you up, and you know he listens to metal music because it’s blasting through his speaker in the bathroom right now as he’s taking a shower next to your room; maybe he’s going deaf, that’s probably a safe assumption considering everything around him is so loud.

Hell, everything about him is loud. Not only literally, like how he can never walk to your room to come get you and instead opts to yell across the apartment, but it’s as if every aspect of him doesn’t know subtlety. He’s always wearing over the top clothes, spiked leather jackets, torn to shreds t-shirts, jeans with patches sewn into every available spot, his pink hair and his face tattoos drawing everyone’s attention, everything is so maximalist. And his personality, you swear he’s never backed down from anything. Anything he does, he does it with passion, he does it big, and he does it bold.

Basically, you don’t know peace when he’s home, and you especially don’t know peace this morning, being rudely awoken by his blaring music in the bathroom between both of your bedrooms. Technically it’s not his fault that this overpriced apartment only has one bathroom, but for Christ’s sake it’s six in the morning, what is he even doing awake right now?

You grab your pillow from under your head and smother your face underneath it, attempting anything to be able to sleep in on your day off.

He drives me fucking insane.

The pillow definitely helps muffle the sound, but it’s not enough; and it definitely isn’t enough to cover the sudden low growling coming from the bathroom. You slowly uncover your face, brows furrowed as you’re trying to figure out what that noise is before it suddenly jumps in volume, like some kind of scream, making you nearly jump out of your bed. What the fuck is that? Did a pipe burst? Did the ceiling collapse?

It sounds like some kind of lion- or maybe a demon, horrific screaming growls coming from the next room. You slowly raise yourself off of your bed, timidly stepping out of your room and taking a few steps to stand outside of the bathroom door. It’s definitely coming from in there, but Sukuna doesn’t seem to have any reaction to it. Surely there’s no way he doesn’t hear that, right?

Oh my god, he really is going deaf isn’t he?

“Sukuna?!” You yell from the other side of the door, the low growling sound abruptly stops.

“What?” He yells back, he sounds annoyed. Annoyed? You’re trying to save him from a lion that just fell through the ceiling, or… something, and he’s seriously annoyed?

“What the fuck is that noise?” You can hear the shower stop running and his music shut off, after a moment of waiting the door swings open. Sukuna stands before you, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and his pink bangs hanging over his eyes, dripping water down his cheeks.

“What? You don’t like it?” He grins at you before turning to face the mirror, swiping his palm over the fogged up glass to create a clearing to see his reflection in.

“It sounded like something was dying, please tell me that wasn’t you.” You step into the steamy bathroom, leaning your back against the wall and watching his grin grow wider through his reflection in the blurry mirror.

Sukuna grabs a clean towel from the floor, rubbing it over his hair and down his face, his voice muffled through the fabric, “I was practicing.”

He drops the towel from his face and drapes it around the back of his neck, glancing back at you in the mirror as he combs his hair out of his face with his fingers, he bites his lip to try and hide the snarky grin spreading across his face when he sees the confused look you give him, “Practicing for what? Are you auditioning to play a monster in a play or something?”

“Oh please,” He rolls his eyes and turns to face you, you’re not fast enough to catch your gaze before it drifts down to the droplets of water running down his tattooed abs and he simply snaps his fingers in front of your face to grab your attention back, seemingly unfazed by you accidentally checking him out, “I’m in a band, believe it or not I do the vocals.”

A faint blush started to paint your cheeks, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the way your jaw drops in mock horror, “Oh my god, that was you singing?”

“Oh fuck off,” He huffs out a short laugh, “I’m in a metal band, I actually scream.” He grabs the towel from around his neck, tossing it over your head and pushing past you to walk to his room.

“Hey! Asshole,” You tear the towel down from your face, letting it plop onto the tile at your feet, “You can’t just scream first thing in the morning! You scared the fuck out of me!”

He turns around to face you, wrapping a large hand around the top of the doorframe and leaning his side against it, “Consider us even then, you got me real good when you woke me up to you screaming Bloody Mary over a little fuckin’ spider.”

“That was different, I was scared! That’s a normal reason to scream!”

“Yeah?” He leans down to be eye level with you, speaking in a mocking tone, “Well I saw how much you shed all over the shower and was horrified.”

“You’re such a dick,” You turn to pull the shower curtain back, “There’s not even- oh, well, there’s like two strands, god forbid.”

He grins as he stands back at his full height, taking a few steps back into the hall and opening up the door to his room, you quickly follow behind him, looking up towards him, “Why didn’t you ever tell me you’re in a band?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, keeping the door open as he walks into his dimly lit room, “You never asked.”

You stand in his doorway, peering around his room. The walls are covered in posters and some most likely stolen street signs, but aside from the eclectic decor it’s surprisingly neat, “Is your music any good?”

He opens his closet door and then turns his head to face you, speaking to you in a monotone voice, “Can I put some clothes on or do you wanna talk to me with my cock out?”

A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you toss your hands up into the air defensively, turning around to give him some privacy, “My bad.”

You can hear Sukuna chuckle behind you and the quiet sounds of fabric moving around his skin, “Is it good? Well, you’d probably think it sounds like… what did you say? A dying animal?”

You grin and bite the inside of your cheek, “A dying animal or maybe the horrific screams of the unknown, either one.”

He lets out a satisfied hum, “Horrific screams of the unknown is a good album name, I’ll have to write that down.”

“I’ll be expecting royalties.”

“Don’t expect shit,” You suddenly feel a wet towel smack against your back, making you jump and yell out in surprise, “Brat.”

“Ew!” You turn around to find him standing right behind you, smug grin plastered on his face and both of his hands shoved into the pockets of the black sweatpants he threw on, opting out of putting on a shirt and instead leaving his tattooed torso on full display.

“Hm? Thought you’d want that,” He snaps his fingers in front of your face again, “Freak.”

Oh, oh he knows what he’s doing. You didn’t even realize how you were looking at him before he caught you, but it’s not like it’s your fault that he looks like that.

You let out a groan and turn around to walk down the hall to your room, “I’m going back to bed.”

He really drives me insane more than I thought he would.

Little do you know, he’s thinking a similar thought about you.

A/N: THIS is the one I intended to be the first part before I got too excited and wrote the one where y’all quarantine together instead, but shhhh we can just pretend this one takes place before that!! Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[whereserpentswalk]

Hermit crabs are weird animals. They don't make their own shells, they steal them. If you live in a coastal city like I do you'll be somewhat familiar with weird creatures that live in the ocean but aren't fish. And sea snails don't shed shells, they only leave behind shells when they die. Hermit crabs are living in corpses basically, sometimes long dead corpses.

So when you did. Mabye something will want your bones. The hard parts of your body you leave behind after the soft parts are all gone. Something that doesn't have bones of it's own to enjoy and to keep it steady.

And whatever takes your bones won't do it out of disrespect. It needs those bones just like you once needed them. Those bones will keep it safe and alive just like they once kept you safe and alive. It's not a human taking them, but it's still something that will use and love those bones just like a human would. And you don't need them anymore.

So mabye, if you're ever near an empty beach in the winter, or a forgotten bit of rock under a bridge, or a mostly empty subway station in a coastal neighborhood, leave some human remains out. There's something that might be living there that could use them. Not as a sacrifice, but as a gift to a neighbor.

[apuckishwit]

Making Room

Steve never gets into DnD.

Not even after Eddie convinces him to join a one-shot over one Christmas when the kids are all back from college and jobs and far-flung adventures. He's not a jerk about it or anything. He sits and makes a character with his boyfriend and he does his best with the role-playing and he only asks Dustin for help with the dice seven or eight times (and everyone had promised to give him an even dozen before they gave him shit about it, so it was fine). It's fine. He's not mad that he spent the time doing it with Eddie and the kids (some of them taller than him now, in spitting distance of college degrees and first apartments and jobs and spouses and lives, but they'll always be kids to him).

But afterwards he kisses Eddie and says it really and truly isn't for him, sorry babe.

And that's okay.

When he and Robin are scavenging through yet another thrift store for furniture and dishes and lamps for the apartment she and Nancy are getting in Indianapolis (he's so sad that her room in the little house he shares with Eddie is going back to being a guest room, but he's so damn happy that she and Nance have stopped dancing around each other...and they're only moving about half an hour away, he'll still see her all the time), and he spots an impractically long desk/table, onviously custom-built, with an absurd number of drawers and compartments built into it, he buys it immediately. He wrestles it into Eddie's van that they borrowed for the day, and smiles apologetically when Robin has to hold like three boxes on her lap. He gets it into their dining room while Eddie's at work, graciously gifting their own table to Robin and Nancy, and it's worth all the hassle (and the fact that one end of the table pokes about a foot into the living room space) when Eddie comes home to something big enough for even his most complicated campaign maps and with plenty of storage for all his dice and miniatures and source books.

And sturdy enough for Eddie's most...enthusiastic...thanks, they find out that night.

Steve never gets into DnD.

But every time Hellfire (whatever incarnation of Hellfire it is, be it the Hawkins crew or some of the guys from the little record shop Eddie works at in town, or some combination) meets up for a game, they get used to Eddie yelling, "Stevie! Evens or odds?" everytime a situation calls for a luck die. They learn that complimenting the snacks Steve sets out will sometimes get them advantage on a roll. They watch Eddie snag Steve's wrist as he passes in or out of the dining room and get him to roll a D20 for various and random reasons. Steve always obliges, before drifting back to the couch with a beer or a slice of pizza and whatever basketball or baseball game is on.

Steve never gets into DnD.

But sometimes Eddie spreads newspapers over the Campaign Table (TM) and sets pots of paint and rows of miniatures out, and he and Steve sit together for a few hours, Steve slapping on the basecoats with a single pot of white, gray, or black and Eddie going to town on the details while they chat about their day, playing footsie under the table or stealing kisses while they wait for something to dry.

"Babe! I need a name for the friendly barkeep who knows more than he seems!"

"Carl."

"He's a half-orc!"

"Those are the big green guys, right?"

"Yeah!"

"Hmmm. Big Carl."

"Perfect!"

Steve never gets into DnD. But he loves Eddie, and he loves how into DnD Eddie is. So he makes room in his life for this thing that Eddie loves.

***

Eddie never gets into sports.

Like, objectively he understands that some people enjoy running around getting all sweaty, trying to keep some kind of ball away from other people and make it go into some kind of receptacle. And he certainly appreciates the view of some of those people in tight little shorts.

Particularly Steve.

Like honestly? If it wouldn't get him labeled a total creep (and they weren't so careful about giving anyone a reason to question the assumption that they're just two young friends living together to save money until they find respectable women to marry)...he'd park his van out by the little middle school where Steve teaches gym and coaches basketball and baseball every day during his lunch break, just to watch his boyfriend run the mile with his students in those shorts that hug the muscles of his thighs just right.

But he doesn't like sports apart from the strictly prurient interest he has in watching Steve wear sports-appropriate clothes.

He tries. He wants to know just what it is that keeps Steve glued to the TV when his favorite teams are playing, wants to understand why Steve yells and groans and jumps up with wild cheers, spilling popcorn all over the living room floor. He just...doesn't get it. Steve tries to explain March Madness to him one year and it makes no more sense than when Wayne tried to when Eddie was a kid. Eventually he just shrugs, kisses Steve's nose, and goes back to petting through his boyfriend's hair with a, sorry, baby, it's not for me.

And that's okay.

He gets up early the week Steve is overseeing baseball tryouts, to make sure his boyfriend has a travel mug of coffee fixed just the way he likes it, and a good breakfast waiting for him when he gets out of the shower. Steve is unquestionably the cook in their relationship, but Young Eddie ate a lot of breakfast for dinner over the years and Adult Eddie makes damn good pancakes, omelettes, and French toast.

Eddie never gets into sports.

But he gets Lucas to break down exactly what kind of notes and stats Steve will be keeping track of and draws up a template "character sheet" for baseball players, spending an hour at the local library laboriously making copies with their cantankerous mimeograph machine.

He sure as shit never gets up at the crack of dawn to go running around the neighborhood the way Steve does...but on days when it starts raining or snowing halfway through Steve's run, he'll drag himself out of bed and throw some towels in the dryer, so they're nice and warm when Steve comes back inside.

Eddie never gets into sports.

But he takes every overtime shift he can for a month, so he can take Steve to Chicago for his twenty-fifth birthday to see the Bulls play. The seats aren't great or anything, and it's noisy as fuck, crowded as fuck, and he has no idea why his boyfriend is losing his mind every time that Jordan guy so much as touches the ball...but Steve's eyes are sparkling, the color is high in his cheeks, and when they get back to their hotel that night, they've barely closed the door before Steve is shoving him against it, devouring his mouth.

"Hey Eds, Ohio State or Georgia Tech?"

"For what?"

"I'm doing my brackets for the pool I've got with Hopper and Lucas!"

"Um, whoever's in red!"

"Ohio State it is, thanks babe!"

Eddie never gets into sports. But that's okay. He loves Steve, and he loves how happy Steve is when he's playing, or coaching, or running (God help him, he fell in love with someone who gets up at six am to run. Without anything chasing him.) So he makes room in his life for this thing that Steve loves.

Because certainly, love grows in shared passions and matching interests. But it also flourishes in the carefully tended space you make just for the things that make your person happy...even if it's just not for you.

[hotchreidwriter]

Lost in the moment [S.R]

Summary, “Spencer makes one thing clear,”he doesn’t care who knows. He wants you.

Paring, Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Rating, M (for tension, suggestive themes, and language—no explicit smut, but heavy longing and a heated moment)

Warnings, Mild language, mutual pining, unresolved tension, accidental confession, team teasing, slow burn, Spencer being annoyingly smart, longing stares, heated moment, desperate kisses, Spencer losing control for once, and one very unfortunate case of lost keys

Word count 1.3K

Author notes I love still learning to write, I love learning to write about Spencer I enjoy learning more about fan fics in looking up grammar styles stuff like that .

I started writing in October of 2024 . I’ve come long way I think .

If I missed anything I don’t think I did but if I did please comment down below but please be kind I’m still learning about how I wanna write in everything.

This was a fun piece to write I enjoyed it . I did proofread this few times I don’t think I missed anything .

You weren’t exactly on the best terms with Spencer right now. Not after this morning.

It wasn’t a huge fight—not really—but it lingered like static in the air between you. You had woken up in his apartment for the first time, and somehow, in the rush of getting ready, you’d lost your keys. You never lost things. At least, not important things.

Spencer, being Spencer, had immediately launched into statistics.

“Did you know that nearly 30% of misplaced objects are found within eighteen inches of their last known location? And that women are more likely to misplace small personal items due to—”

“Spence, stop. I’m trying to think.”

He had raised his hands in surrender, but the tension had already settled in. You were frantic, searching under couch cushions and inside kitchen cabinets for no good reason, and he had stood there watching you with that unreadable expression of his—half amused, half something else.

“We’re going to be late,” he had finally said. “I’ll help you find them later.”

That wasn’t the problem. The problem was walking into work together.

You knew how the team was—how they noticed everything. If you arrived together, it wouldn’t take them long to piece things together. And you weren’t ready for that.

So, instead of thanking him, you had snapped, “I’ll just figure it out myself,” grabbed your bag, and walked out ahead of him.

Now, sitting in the conference room, you couldn’t focus. The case file in front of you blurred at the edges, words blending into meaningless shapes. Spencer was across the table, flipping through pages with his usual ease, but you could feel the weight of his presence, like a gravitational pull you were fighting against.

And all you could think about was how much you wanted to be in his arms.

It hit you like a freight train—the need to feel his warmth, his steady heartbeat under your cheek. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

But you did.

“I just want to be in your arms.”

The words shattered the silence in the room.

A beat of absolute stillness. Then, every single head turned toward you.

Hotch’s brows lifted slightly. Emily hid a smirk behind her coffee cup. Derek’s lips parted like he was about to say something, but then he just shook his head, clearly enjoying the show.

Heat rushed to your face. Your breath caught in your throat.

You pushed back your chair and bolted.

Behind you, you barely heard Spencer murmur, “I’ll be right back,” before the sound of his footsteps followed.

You made it as far as the hallway before you felt his hand on your wrist, gentle but firm. “Wait.”

You stopped, staring at the floor, still burning with embarrassment.

Spencer exhaled softly. “You, uh… you kind of just shouted that in the middle of the briefing.”

“I know,” you groaned, covering your face.

He hesitated, then added, “Was that… about me?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “No, Spence, it was about Hotch.”

His lips quirked. “Statistically, I’d be the most probable choice, given our proximity and recent—”

“Spencer.”—You sighed,”

“Right. Not the time.” He stepped closer, voice softer now. “You could’ve just told me.”

You finally met his gaze, and something in his expression made your breath hitch—something raw and searching.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” you admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.”

A charged silence stretched between you.

Then, Spencer reached out, fingers grazing your wrist before sliding down to lace with yours.

“We should, um… probably go back inside before they assume something even more scandalous.”

You swallowed. “Let them assume.”

His eyes darkened, something flickering there—hesitation, curiosity, maybe even want. But then he cleared his throat, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

“We still need to find your keys,” he reminded you.

Later that night, when you finally made it back to his apartment, you found them.

Under his nightstand. The whole time.

Spencer just looked at you, lips twitching. “You know, that’s within eighteen inches of the last place you remember having them.”

You groaned, throwing yourself onto the bed. “Shut up, Spence.”

He chuckled, settling beside you, propped up on one elbow. The warmth of him was intoxicating, and when he reached over, his fingers threaded through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear, your breath hitched.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low, “I don’t care if they know about us.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Spencer’s gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if debating something—then, slowly, he leaned in. The air between you was electric, your pulse hammering as his lips brushed against yours, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t urgent, wasn’t rushed—it was deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, the closeness.

“Spence…” you whispered between kisses, your hands still tangled in the fabric of his shirt.

“Please. I need you.”

His breath hitched slightly, his hand trailing down your arm, fingers warm as they pressed into your skin.

He tilted his head, his mouth brushing against your ear, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me,” well , tell them,he murmured….

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding.

“Tell them,” you said.

Spencer exhaled slowly, his lips grazing your temple.

“Well,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your jaw, “tell them.”

“I promise,” you said, desperate now, your fingers tugging at his shirt, slowly pushing it up, needing—aching—to feel more of him. “Please.”

Spencer swallowed, his forehead resting against yours, his hands framing your waist, grounding you, pulling you even closer.

Then suddenly, he shifted, his weight pressing you gently into the mattress, his body warm and solid against yours.

You gasped softly as he guided his hands up your thigh, fingers tracing a slow, agonizing path up your bare skin, over your hip, up your side, then finally, finally, pinning your wrists above your head.

His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, teasing. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered.

Your breath caught, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

“Spence…” Your voice was barely a breath, a plea. “What are you doing to me?”

He exhaled shakily, his nose brushing against your cheek, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth before dragging along your jaw, down to the pulse pounding at your throat. “I don’t know,” he murmured, voice rougher now, “but I don’t think I can stop.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, desperate, needy. In one fluid motion, you tugged it up, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. He hesitated for just a second, eyes flickering with something unreadable—something almost shy—before he helped you remove it completely.

And then he was bare before you, lean and beautiful, muscles tensed beneath your touch.

You ran your hands over his chest, tracing the planes of him, memorizing the way his breath hitched as your fingers moved.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered.

Spencer let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Statistically, perfection is an unattainable standard,” he murmured, but his voice wavered as your hands slid lower, and when he looked at you, his pupils were blown wide with something deeper, something overwhelming.

Your hands skimmed over his ribs, feeling the way his breath stuttered under your touch.

“Spencer,” you whispered.

His name was barely out of your mouth before his lips crashed against yours again—deeper this time, more desperate, more certain.

Spencer Reid, the man who always thought ten steps ahead, who overanalyzed everything—he wasn’t thinking now.

He was feeling.

And this time, neither of you were holding back.

Tag

@hoe4hotchner

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@catssluvr

@angellsell

@hotchs-big-hands

@hoe4hotchnerlibrary

Thank you for the love an support

Thank you for 200 of you 💕🍯💌 love kris

[smart-academic-solutions]

How does it truly end🥲🥲🫠

[aszmxm]

Every time I start to believe I’ve moved on

The memories return to suffocate me again.

‏وفي كل مرة أظن أني تخطيت

‏تعود الذكريات ‏ ‏وتخنقني من جديد

~aszmxm

[cookie-crumblr]

Spectral Tiger

GN!Reader × Invisible M!Yan OC

Part 1~

Intro <<< >>> Next Part

His info: ✨💎🩹

MINORS DNI

CW: G/N Reader, reader is a sub, reader referred to as they/them, teasing, sexual themes, public nudity, long part lots of little mini jumps, not proofread, slower burn, still no smut!! <3

“You sure you aren’t just some creep? I mean you bumped into me… Naked. I feel like i have to re shower now.” You wrap your arms around yourself, “Why didn’t you just say something sooner?”

“That was not on purpose, as I explained before, I was simply waiting until I could figure out my next steps.” He sighs, your floor creaks as he presumably paces, “I’ve never inter-dimensionally traveled before, let alone unexpectedly, please forgive that i’m a little out of my element.” he sounds earnest.

With a little more worry on your bottom lip you respond more thoughtfully this time, “Right, that would actually make sense… Its hard to discredit you right now too, since you’re actually invisible like right in front of me.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh.

“Okay we’ll, how do we hide that you’re, you know, not visible at all without making you wear a full on suit?”

“I’m assuming you have masks in this realm.”

“I am not walking around with a freak in a mask.”

“I could just stay naked, then we won’t have to worry about anyone seeing me.” he says simply.

“Absolutely not.”

~

Your eyes are wide and you’re completely silent.

He has a really nice body.

Like insanely nice.

He’s tall, and lean, with a wider upper body and a model waistline. His posture exudes comfort and a calm coolness. Good gods. he was sculpted by them for sure.

You pick your jaw off of the floor.

the only stupid thing is the poorly crafted wolf mask you have on his head… You bite your thumbnail…

“Well, how’s this freak in a mask look~? I kinda like your fashion over here.” He spins around to see all angles of himself in the mirror. The regular clothes at this store are actually pretty cute, he found some baggier pants that cinch at the ankles, with straps and chains that he instantly picked out, along with a feminine fit T from the movie scream.

It really hugs his figure and shows off his physique.

You’re blowing gaskets left and right trying to focus on other things, sat on the pouf in the corner of the family changing room.

You had told the spirit halloween employee you’d like a lot of room. They weren’t busy so they happily obliged. You also had to call work and tell them you’d be running late, and since you have a good track record (and a high position) they’re only giving you a warning.

You sigh, a little annoyed, and a little anxious by how hot he is. “You look fine.” it comes out sour on your tongue, to witch he chuckles.

“You look cute~” he finger guns you.

Yet another sigh escapes you, although this one is more of a groan, and through gritted teeth you simply say, “Let’s just go.”

Awkwardly, you pay for everything while trying not to freak out, imagining that everyone thinks you’re a couple of weirdos. At least it’s close to halloween. Another small blessing.

~

You debate leaving him in the car with the ac on… In his stupid dog mask he’d be like a little puppy, you’d put one of those “the music is playing and the ac is on” signs in the window.

Giggling to yourself, he pulls you back to reality with “May I become privy to the joke?”

“MaY i bEcOmE pRiVy?!” You bust out laughing what the fuck dimension did he come from? a Shakespearean one? “Sorry, sorry. I was just thinking of locking you in my car for the day.”

His head turns and he stops abruptly, but you quicken your pace, head tilted high into the air, a satisfied smirk on your face. “What?” You ask innocently.

You end up taking a zoober, driving in the city makes you a little anxious, since you live more on the outskirts in a nice gated district.

Luckily they don’t even really spare a glance back at you or your masked companion.

That doesn’t help your anxiety in the slightest however.

On the way he “ooo”’s and “aaah”’s at electronic billboards and screens on buildings. He must be from a time that’s slightly behind yours.

~

So far the only people asking about him once you get to the office are curious, and infatuated co workers, cant blame them.

As long as your boss doesn’t come in toda-

Here he comes.

straight to your office as always, his favorite little employee.

You try as hard as you can to shrink or become one with your chair, or both at once desperately.

“Well now, Y/N, who’s this? A client?”

“Not exactly,” Jack can just pull up your files and quickly deduce that this man is not in fact, a client, so it’s no use lying about that… “He’s a friend, that just flew in, i didn’t want to leave him alone in a hotel or at my place on his first day so i brought him here.” It flies out almost too naturally.

“Well hey there, friend,” He may as well of spat the word in his covered face. “What’s up with the mask?” the way his demeanor changed so fast would’ve given you whiplash if you weren’t used to Jacks mood swings and personality shifts.

“He’s a little high profile, Jack. You know, cant be seen in public type, or he might get noticed and he’s trying not to let that happen.”

“Shouldn’t I get to know who he is since I’m housing him here at this moment,” He leans on the door frame.

“Nope. Sorry, and you’re not ‘housing’ him” you throw up air quotes, “he’s just visiting”

He leaves slightly huffy but he thankfully dropped it, probably not wanting to look even worse in front of a possible celebrity.

You click your tongue.

“He’s so into you,” Zharu leans back in the red chair he’s claimed for himself, one leg crossed over the other.

“Ew no he’s just my boss.” You type nonsense into the keyboard.

“You aren’t even typing words, Y/N” he announces it the way Jack did and your face warms embarrassedly. “So what are we doing after this?” He sits up and surprisingly turns the Tv off.

“Shut up, you don’t even know what typing is. And were going to a rehearsal,” most of your family doesn’t show up, so he should be safe to come… But a mask would be extremely inappropriate… “Fuck… Looks like you’re going out naked today after all”

How could you possibly get him anything that would be even remotely close to appropriate with his entire body covered. Especially with so little time, a full body cast is out of the question!

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

~

You are more than acutely aware of how he is fully naked in a seat right next to you. And from earlier when he bumped into you you are aware of the fact that he has a rather decent package…

It’s too hot in this auditorium suddenly.

He shifts his weight until you feel his hair, slightly longer than you would’ve guessed, tickle your shoulder.

You grip the arm rest to stop yourself from jumping into the stratosphere! What is he doing getting so close!?

“What is this place for?” He whispers into your ear.

You let out a long exhale to steele yourself, relax, of course he’s just curious and didn’t want to draw attention by speaking loudly. What were you thinking!

“A-Ah oh um! it’s a theater, people come here to watch other people preform for entertainment,and money” You smile while keeping your eyes toward the stage.

Your heart rate almost steadies before he lets out a small sigh in understanding. It’s a pleasant sound, his voice rumbles slightly. Then he leans in even closer, His nose barely brushing into your hair now, “If I had money it’d definitely be entertaining to watch you preform for me,”

“What!?” Your hair stands on its ends, “!I mean, What!? What I mean—,” You’re short circuiting. You breathe and pinch yourself, calm down he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Probably. In the mean time he’s pulled away, totally chuckling, while trying to keep himself quiet, “What do you think I would even preform?” you ask.

his body is suddenly even closer to yours, his hand gently caresses the opposite side your chin from where he’s sitting, “I could think of a few things…”

Steam might just about burst out of your ears! He does know!

Not too much longer and your brother enters the stage, he’s always the center performer. You stand to applaud loudly for him, he doesn’t show any emotion but you know he’s beaming on the inside.

“So cute~” you hear him say it softly, as if to himself, and your face warms as you try and forget about it.

When you reseat yourself, his hand lightly comes down onto your mid thigh.

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap seven/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Bad Idea

summary: After a week of avoiding, you find Steve at your front steps.

wc: 4.3k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. Steve and Reader have THE talk, we learn Steve & Emma’s story. There will be discussions of feelings about watching a loved one struggle with terminal illness and death in this chapter. There’s not a ton of details about her struggles but it is touched on. Angsty beginning and a very, very fluffy end 🧡

author’s note: it’s all up hill from here guys, just a little growing pains. i can’t believe there’s only three chapters left after this 🥺 thank you for reading and all of the sweet reblogs and messages through out this whole series. you have made this so special for me and it’s been such a comfort to write as I navigate my own life changes right now.

🌇 <- chapter six -> chapter eight

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The tune:

End of June -

It had been a week since Steve came back from his camping trip. A week of good morning texts left unanswered, of making sure not to look out your window when you knew he was home - even when you could hear him play with Bandit. He was doing that outside more than usual, a tactic to try and get you to come out and talk to him or hell, even just look at him. 

He doesn’t know that a few times it almost worked. 

Always & Forever

The words engraved into silver also stay carved deep and fresh in your mind, not letting you forget. You couldn’t, even if you tried. Especially not her beautiful eyes. Does she hate you? Part of you feels like you would hate you. The guilt threatens to punch the air out of your lungs.

The days go on like this with you doing everything in your power to avoid him while he did everything he could to run into you. The last ditch effort was after you caught him getting out of his car, your eyes meeting for a split second before you cut through the alley walking in through the back gate instead. Your resolve to stay away grows weaker when Steve’s good morning texts finally stop after that. 

So when Brad, the new server, gets the courage to ask you out, you say yes. It was a bad idea, anyone could’ve told you that, you didn’t really want him. He was just a distraction from facing the consequences of your own actions.  

He takes you to RPM Steakhouse in the heart of downtown and surprisingly he actually makes you laugh. He’s full of food industry horror stories he’s collected over the years. He’s not boring and he’s attentive when you talk, asking questions like he’s really interested. The butterflies that have built a home in your rib cage don’t flutter and fly for him though. The nerves that make your heart beat faster, the ones that feel like they vibrate from your fingertips, like your skin is on fire, are stagnant. 

He’s not Steve. 

You skip out on dessert when it’s offered to you, but you let him hug you before you get in your separate Uber’s home. It worked for a few hours at least. Looking out the window when your car hits the expressway, the skyline shines gleaming like the stars in the clear night sky.

It’s not very long until your phone fights for your attention, the screen illuminating the backseat. It pulls you back to reality, your breath catching when it’s not Brad’s name that flashes across your screen.

Steve

Can we please just talk? 

You aren’t expecting to see him at your front steps when the Uber drops you off at your gate. His hair sticks out wild at the ends, like he’s been pulling it all night, scratch that, all week and it makes more guilt settle deep in your gut. The scruff on his jaw is almost dark enough to be a beard now. His legs are covered in gray sweats and the white undershirt he wears fits tight over his shoulders. You hate how handsome he still is, even with his slides and socks.

He’s talking to himself, moving his hands like he’s trying to explain something, reciting a speech you can’t quite hear from as far as you are. The leftovers shift in your bag when you take your first step making the styrofoam squeak and plastic crinkle, his eyes shoot up instantly at the noise.

“Honey?”

Those wings start to stretch and flutter even after just one word. You wish you could be mad at how much power one word from him has, but all you feel is the weight of how much you missed him when his face softens.

“Hi Steve.” You catch the way his lips twitch at the sound of his name coming from your mouth when you open the gate. It had been too long for him, he’d become addicted to it without even knowing it.

He stands up, his eyes can’t help but roam your bare legs that sit exposed in your black cocktail dress, or the way the middle sinches into your waist, before fluttering out over the tops of your thighs. His own jealousy threatens to bubble over at the thought of you wearing this for someone else. He needs you to understand him.

“Is this a bad time?” He asks, scratching the back of his neck while he reads the restaurant name on your bag. He hopes whoever took you there isn’t coming back. “If it is sweetheart, I can give you more space. I just, I just wanted to see you.”

You stop in front of him, further away than normal but close enough to smell the cigar smoke that still clings to the cotton of his shirt. It mixes with the spice of his cologne from earlier this morning. His eyes find yours without hesitation, glazed over from the glass of whiskey you’re sure he nursed before finding himself on your front steps. They shimmer under the moon like emeralds and you just want to get lost in them.

The answer you want to give and the answer that you think will protect you are at each other’s throats, constricting yours from giving him anything right away. His face crumbles a little when his question is met with silence. You don’t want him to go.

“No, it’s not a bad time.” It comes out before you can fight it.

The smile that tugs at Steve’s lips warms your face like the summer sun, his hand reaching out for you before pulling back and finding a new home deep in his pocket instead. Baby steps. Your arm brushes against his when you walk past him, the smallest touch lighting the match.

“I just need to get out of this dress.” You can’t look at him when you pull at the fabric as if to show him how uncomfortable it is.

“Should I wait down here?” He clears his throat a little unsure of himself as he watches you dig through your purse. He didn’t think he’d get this far.

Cicadas buzz loud against the jingle of your keys in the beat of silence it takes you to unlock the front door. The stale air of the walkway hits you like an oven when you push it open, the heat making your skin stick more than it did outside.

“You can come up. I promise my dishes are done this time.” You flash him a smirk from over your shoulder watching the way your gesture makes him relax like you’d intended, secretly enjoying the blush you still can get to flush his cheeks so easily. 

Steve hadn’t been inside your apartment since the day he fixed your sink, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him here. He’s handsome in a timeless way, still somehow put together even in his disheveled state. You watch the way he takes in his surroundings like he wants to commit it all to memory not knowing that he actually is, just in case this all blows up in his face and you never let him come back here again. 

The only noise that fills the room is the loud whirr of your A/C and it’s your turn to clear your throat.

“Umm, feel free to take a seat. I’ll be really quick.” You awkwardly gesture towards your green couch, grimacing when your mind goes back to the beautiful leather one at his place. 

He just nods, rubbing his palms against his thighs while taking one last look around before sitting. Your nose scrunches when you see how deep he sinks down, maybe a used couch wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had.

You wait till your door is shut to let out the long breath you feel like you’ve been holding this whole time. The familiar thumping in your chest returns ten fold. He’s in your living room.  

You try not to think too much about the yoga shorts and oversized shirt you change into, especially when your muscles relax, no longer strained by the tight nylon material dress. Allowing a single once over in your long mirror, you force yourself back out, the creak of your door alerting him of your return. His stare makes goosebumps dance across sticky skin in a battle with the air conditioning.

“Do you want some water?” You try to sound casual when you ask, keeping your back to him so he can’t see the way you’re still buying time.

“S- sure,” he stutters out, a cough following and you hear the way the cushions respond to his weight as he tries leaning forward. 

Now it's the whirr of your a/c and the grumbling of the ice machine that silences the unspoken feelings that are begging to come out. Scratching and clawing their way to the surface, the cracks in your facade start getting deeper the longer you stay quiet.

Steve breaks first.

“I think there’s a conversation we should have.” He pauses before starting over, “There’s a conversation I want to have.”

You freeze when the realization of where you left the watering can smacks you right in the face.

“Steve-“ you start, unable to meet his eyes and he’s quick to cut you off.

“Listen, I have some things I need to say and you should at least let me get it off my chest if you’re just going to pretend I don’t exist now.” His words make you realize the selfishness that hides under your insecurities of not being good enough for someone like him. 

He stands up when you turn around, both of you staying on opposite sides of the room. He takes a shaky breath before dragging his fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel these things again with anyone else, I was sure of it actually and then you showed up in your horribly packed moving truck.” He laughs a little like he’s still wrapping his head around all of it, and he knows if the situation was any different you’d roll your eyes at him for the teasing jab.

“You brought all of these things out of me that I thought I’d lost for good. Like, I can’t remember the last time I cared about what I was wearing when I left the house, but the past month I’ve been obsessed about it. Like what if she’s outside? What if she’s looking out her window? What if she wants to talk to me?” The veins in his neck show themselves as he gets more worked up but he’s not done yet.

“Then last week when you showed up at my front gate, looking even prettier than the last time I saw you, because you do that somehow, I couldn’t help myself around you anymore. The fact that you were actually going to kiss me back after I put the worst moves on you made me feel like I won the lottery or something.” His gaze meets yours to make sure he isn’t scaring you off before taking a deep breath.

“And then, and then you just - you just left without so much as a reason why. It was pretty clear though when I got home, and maybe that’s my fault because I feel like I’m doing this all backwards but you didn’t give us a chance to even talk about it.”

Steve looks like his world is falling apart, and the things he’s saying make you feel like anything but a second choice. You wish you could go back to that rainy day at his house and do things over again.

“I wasn’t given the shot at a fair fight the first time something special was taken from me, but I have one now and I’m not walking away unless you kick me out.” He straightens his shoulders a little before another anxious hand runs through his wild hair. His chest heaves as he finally gets out what’s been sitting just below the surface the whole time, his fears revealing themselves behind flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. 

The feeling like you’re slighting another woman who isn’t here is hard to navigate. It makes your own eyes sting but you don’t let the tears fall. Not when he’s handing his heart to you like he means it.

“I’d never kick you out,” your words come out quiet - soft, a stark contrast to the way his boomed loud with conviction, but he doesn’t miss them.

Hope starts to sprout deep in his chest for the first time in years.

“Never?” He breathes, relief relaxing the hard lines on his face while he looks at you from under his lashes.

His feet take him those few steps closer and when you make no moves to tell him to stop he keeps going. The sadness that plagues his handsome features slowly starts to fade and the bags under his eyes become more obvious. You want to kiss them.

Your hand extends, fingers reaching out for his. His eyes follow your movements, taking in what you’re offering and he doesn’t hesitate anymore, interlocking them like when he walked you to your front door. You watch the way his shoulders give the moment they touch and his eyes close as he relishes in the feel of it. Of you. 

Your back hits the edge of your kitchen sink when he crowds your space a little more, your fingers playing songs on imaginary strings together. Memorizing he dips between each one. His nose skims across your forehead making your own eyes close. How could you ever stay away from him?

“Never.” 

He hums at your confession, squeezing your hand gently before pulling back. He takes his time admiring your face from this close. He missed you so much, he actually thinks it’s kind of crazy. His other hand reaches up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing the high bone. He loves the way you lean into it. You missed him too.

“Can we have that conversation now?” 

All you can do is nod, tears still threatening to spill out but now a different kind.

The two of you sit on your couch for hours, worn in cushions pushing you close together. Your head rests on his arm that’s draped along the back of it, your socked feet in his lap. He tells you how he met Emma through his high school sweetheart Nancy. The ex that turned him into a man as he put it, the one that made him really think about the kind of person he wanted to be. Even going as far to say Emma would have never given him the time of day if it wasn’t for her. Nancy was the Managing Editor of The Chicago Tribune and Emma was her Editor in Chief.

After being introduced by Nancy at a sports gala, Steve pursued her hard, especially because she said no the first three times he asked her out. It makes you giggle when he laughs about it. He said he knew he wanted to marry her after the first date and a year later he proposed to her on a group vacation with Eddie, Robin, Nancy and a few other friends in Mexico. The picture you saw was taken right after she said yes.

The wedding was small, just a few of their closest friends at The Chicago Botanical Gardens, and a dinner at Smith & Wollensky next to the river after. He told you how Eddie pretended to be mad the whole night becauseSteve made Robin his best man instead. They both moved into Steve’s apartment near Wrigley Field after a honeymoon in Italy. He said it was some of the best years of his life with her there, young and in love in one of the liveliest neighborhoods in the city. Then a few years passed and both their careers started taking off and they started wanting more as they got older. A family.

That’s when they started to invest in renovating this fixer upper of a house in a less nightlife oriented neighborhood. The house you live next door to. Between busy work schedules and dealing with contractors when the symptoms first started, they didn’t think anything of it. They chalked it up to exhaustion until she fainted in her office a few months later, then they finally saw a doctor. Another month later after multiple tests and hospital visits Emma was diagnosed with ALS.

“I’ve never seen something debilitate someone so fast, and Emma, god Emma was so strong. Seeing her like that at the end, it fucking broke me.” Steve’s voice cracks, a silent stream of tears falling down his cheeks now.

Your heart breaks for them, the tragedy of watching the person you love fall apart with nothing to do to stop it. An entire life you had planned ripped out from under you with zero warning or mercy. A cruel joke.

You reach up, using the back of your knuckles to wipe away his tears.  He leans in your touch, his gaze meeting yours with so many emotions inside of them, you think you might drown.

“We decided to stay in our apartment when she couldn’t walk anymore, with the rate it was moving she didn’t want me to live in this big new house meant for our new beginning and have her…have her die in it,” the last part comes out in just above a whisper, stopping to collect his thoughts. His brows furrow together and his fingers search for yours again. You give them to him without question. 

“We checked her into hospice a month after that, Eddie flew in the day she chose to get off assistance. She was surrounded by the people she loved the most those last days.” He takes another deep breath before he continues, it shakes just like his hands.

“That was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I don’t know how someone is supposed to go through that kind of pain and move on from it. Be a person again after it.” He takes another pause and he pulls you closer. His anchor.

“I don’t know if I’d still be here if it wasn’t for Eddie moving into the house with me those first three months, if I’m being totally honest with you.” He sniffs, his gaze falls to his lap to try and hide the shame at the thought, and you squeeze his hand a little bit harder.

“I’m so sorry Steve.” Your voice cracks at the weight of everything he’s been carrying around. The gravity of the way you left him tightens in your throat.

The tears you’d been holding back break free, making his eyes snap to yours. He lets your hand go to wipe your cheeks with gentle fingers like you did to his just moments before. He knows you're apologizing for more than just his bad luck.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m okay now,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. The tips of your noses touch, tears mixing and dripping down the ends of them. You keep your eyes closed in hopes that if you focus hard enough, maybe you could take away some of his pain. Even if it’s just a little bit. “We’re okay now.”

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like this together, not speaking, letting wandering hands memorize faces and fingertips. Your breathing falls in time while your cheeks start to dry. Puffy red eyes stay closed while your muscles finally relax. His nose rubs small circles against yours that make smiles neither of you can see stretch across tear streaked faces.

When you finally open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, something brighter inside of his now like he just let go of a big secret. He doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s you that finally works up the strength to pull away enough to really see his whole face after depriving yourself of it for so long.

“I actually kinda feel like she sent you here, despite me,” he admits, laughing nervously, breaking the silence, “She made me promise her that I’d try and find love again when the time was right, I eventually said yes after she asked me at least a dozen times, but I never actually intended on it.” 

Steve stops for a second to brush some of your mascara that smudged, holding your eyes in the forest of his.

“Then five years later, this tough girl tries moving an entire apartment’s worth of stuff by herself next door. I mean, you practically did.” He smiles at how proud you look of yourself, “I knew I was screwed when Bandit sniffed you out.”

You giggle like you're just as love sick as him and he wishes he could play it on a loop whenever he’s sad. 

“She was probably laughing at how bad I was at trying to flirt with you.” His ears turn cherry red while he tries to hide his very real embarrassment.

“You did run away from me for like a solid week after we met the first time if you remember,” you tease, making his eyebrows raise in challenge. You weren’t supposed to roast him too.

“I guess we’re even then aren’t we?” He counters, smirking when you scoff, wrapping his arm around you so you can’t move away like you try to in fake protest.

Your legs end up draped over the tops of his thighs, fitting snug into his side. The warmth of his body makes your eyelids droopy. The cedar undertones he always carries calms all of your nerves.

“She was beautiful Steve,” you whisper, playing with the chain that dangles off his neck before looking up at him with a smile, “And maybe even a little too cool for you if I dare say.” It’s genuine when it comes out of your mouth, no hidden insecurities, an understanding that he wasn’t settling for you and it makes Steve want to kiss you even more. 

“She would have thought you were way too cool for me too.” He laughs, tracing the side of your face with his fingertips. You want to look away from the intensity of it all but you force yourself to hold his stare, keeping yourself open for him. It’s quiet for a few minutes, letting everything that was shared tonight really sink in. That stray you missed so much makes an appearance and you finally get to be the one that pushes it back, and his hair is just as soft as you imagined.

“What are you doing on the fourth, pretty girl?” The new nickname makes you shift in your seat, the hint of a smug smirk begs to break across his face when he catches it. Maybe he’s still got it.

“Nothing, I got the day off.” You hate that his question is enough to make you shy.

It’s too hard to hold his gaze this time, but he doesn’t let that slide. His fingers hook under your chin to tilt your eyes back up to his. Noses brushing, your lips just inches apart like this.

“Be my date to the block party?” He whispers, whiskey and tobacco still lingering on his breath. 

You smile, nudging your nose against his in a dare.

“I’d love to Steve.” His name comes out around strawberry chapstick lips, they brush with his feeling like velvet and it makes his nostrils flare.

He dips his head with a groan kissing the corner of mouth instead, before placing one on both your cheeks and another, a lingering one, against your forehead. 

“In honor of not doing things backwards, I’m going to wait until I’ve taken you out. The way it should happen. The way someone like you deserves.”

Steve wants to make you feel special too.

It's hard for you to feel rejected with his reasoning and seeing the clock on your stove read in bright red numbers - 2:46am. The fourth was only three days away now.

You play it off with a roll of your eyes and a dramatic “fine” that makes him really laugh for the first time all night, giving you another kiss on the cheek. This one a little wet. He can’t get enough of the way you can’t look at him after.

It’s another thirty minutes before he decides it’s time to go home when your yawn is too loud to hide and your head presses harder into his chest. He wishes he could stay, and one night he knows he will.

You both linger in the doorway with fingers wrapped up tight, neither one of you ready to let go. He just wants to stare at you, but he knows the alarm stuffed in his pocket is going to make his life miserable in three hours.

Instead, he gives you another kiss on the forehead telling you he’ll text in the morning, and he wishes he could have a picture of the smile you give him when you promise to text back.

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

older!steve edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

🌇 -> chapter eight

[spxdxrpxnk]

thinking abt how PROWLER MILES and SPIDERMILES sleep... 💤💤💤

( notes: this is written by a minor about underage characters, so nsfw/18+ only/'minors dni' blogs please do not interact with this post! thank you <3

i call them prowler miles and spidermiles instead of earth-XXX miles because it's cuter to me :) )

MILES is a very light sleeper.

a lot of people don't really expect that because he always looks like he's having the best, most deepest sleep of his life, all curled up in a tight ball, blankets burrito'd around him

bro is the literal definition of snug as a bug in a rug

he even snores just a little! when you first hear it you think he's like, growling in his sleep??? because of how low it is, nah, he's snorin.

there's literally never any sneaking up on him while asleep- MILES literally woke up because RIO walked past his bedroom door once. she didn't go in, didn't even touch the door; she just tip-toed in her work sneakers instead of socks or slippers.

and that woke him up, made him all grumpy because that was really early in the morning and now he can't go back to sleep

once he's up, he's up. and it takes an hour or so to get back to sleep, so he just deals with it

he sits up, but just stays sitting in bed slouched over like a zombie for a good few minutes.

he just needs a sec to boot up, give him a lil bit and then he's up and at em like he was never asleep in the first place??

weirdo.

one time, UNCLE AARON scared him awake from a nap because they had stuff to do, and he was literally so mad about it. he knew it was a dumb thing to be mad about, but MILES couldn't keep an angry pout off his face and AARON was just snickering at it the entire time

when sleeping, MILES doesn't dream. like, at all.

people around him will be talking about crazy dreams and nightmares they've had where their teeth fell out or they got turned into a horse or got chased by a giant lego man, and he's just like. tf???

he's very clingy in his sleep and when he's tired, even when he tries his best not to be, so if you choose to sleep with him then you just kinda have to accept your fate

thankfully he doesn't move around that much besides the occasional adjustment, he doesn't thrash around or anything crazy

the most annoying thing would probably be him snoring? it's not loud, barely audible if you're not right next to him, but if you do sleep near him then you'll hear it

it kinda just happens no matter how he sleeps, so if you can handle a little. um. natural white noise!

MILES is the best cuddle buddy you'll ever have.

he's very considerate tbh, he'll let you lay on him any way you want as long as it's not that uncomfortable for him

be warned though: he's an early riser.

will wake up first and do dumb shit to wake you if you're not up by time he's done eating breakfast.

he'll start lifting your eyelids, poking you, tickling your hands ( he don't do feet. ) and shit like a little damn kid

and he won't stop until you wake up, so gl w that

MILES, however..

well, he's also a light sleeper. more on the average side

but he doesn't wake up at every little thing. only if someone opens his door or talks too loud

some things wake him up, some don't

sirens and explosions outside of his window only start to wake him up after he becomes spiderman, he could sleep like a baby through it before

he usually falls asleep in a very fixed position, like curled up on his side or laying on his back with his legs crossed

but he'll always wake up halfway off his bed, limbs thrown out like he's a ragdoll, mouth wide open and dry, covers either tangled around his body or just on the floor

so.

yeah, MILES moves in his sleep!

he'll go from laying on his back to on his stomach, from his stomach to his side, from his side to somehow slumped against the wall by his bed???

because of that, he'll wake up very disoriented. he needs more than a second to boot up, his feet just kinda carry him to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face and stuff-

MILES isn't up-up until he blindly puts his hands under the ice cold water to wet his toothbrush and that shocks him awake, only to realize he completely missed his toothbrush and squeezed the dollop of toothpaste directly into the sink

he kinda just stares at it for a few minutes, pretty embarrassed, before scooping it off the porcelain ( or whatever sinks are made of ) and using it to brush his teeth

somehow, JEFF always knows when MILES just let the wasted toothpaste dissolve into the running water and squeezed more.

it's like his own spidey-sense.. just for something as stupid as toothpaste.

MILES does dream almost every time he's asleep, even when just napping, but he often doesn't remember them unless they were super duper crazy

he remembers the nightmare where he shot webs out his butt like a real spider, and that really scary one that he doesn't like to recall but has to do with the prowler

but he can never recall the only one that actually made him wake up in a cold sweat, panting as if he just ran a marathon.

"what was it?", you may ask?

well, MILES was president of some place.

he didn't find out where until DREAM PRESIDENT MORALES set a lot of very prejudiced laws against lego people, and it turns out he was president of lego city

( one of the laws was that, if anyone falls into the river, they're not allowed to be saved )

he got overthrown during a revolution that was led by a very violent lego spiderman who only spoke in what his brain's version of spanish was, so he could barely understand anything

and the part that made him wake up was when they tied him down and were threatening to go through his sketchbook and, upon opening it to the first page, something jumped out at him and startled him awake

you know those jumpscare videos where a spider jumps out during a seemingly calm scenario?

yeah, MILES gets weird deja vu when he sees those, but doesn't know it's because of that dream.

anyways- MILES does try his best to cuddle when sleeping, he really does!

he'll spoon ( big or little, he don't mind ), lay on you, let you lay on him

even just holding hands, or sleeping back to back

anything really, long as he goes to sleep touching you

but if it's one of his more active nights where he makes his big moves, you probably won't survive unless you're a deep sleeper.

he'll probably push or kick you, and not be sorry about it.

and he'll wake up totally out of it, wondering why the hell he's so uncomfortable

and sees he's sprawled on top of you like a terrible blanket instead of the very cute, cliche way he imagined waking up with you

something like this will happen every time, so. just throw him a pillow and a sheet and tell him to sleep on the floor.

or you take the floor, either works for him-

MILES really isn't the perfect gentleman. unless you or his parents tell him to give you the bed, he will happily let you sleep on the floor

never wakes up before you unless he had a really bad nightmare like PRESIDENT MORALES, and if you wake him up he'll be so petty and passive aggressive while he's still half asleep

so just. slap him awake if you need him that bad, shake him violently and yell frantically that they hit the pentagon

just wake him right up, so that he can't just glare at you with an adorable sleepy pout on his face, eyeing you angrily, even as he trudges to the bathroom...

... not looking where he was going, and walking right into the doorframe.

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Is This Desire? (Feyd Rautha x reader)

u know I had to tap in 🤭. reader is a noblewoman who has undergone bene gesserit training, there IS smut, there IS sexual tension, there ARE mind games, there IS dubcon (but not really 😉); quote found on Pinterest. None of the media besides the writing belongs to me, including quotes used at the beginning.

Happy Sunday 🤭 finally made it. Strong trigger warning for people sensitive to dub-con situations. There is a significant push and pull dynamic, be mindful of your peace.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen and Tii Sanura Sur-Kar have been lifelong friends since the day they were betrothed as children—-a mutual coldness in the eyes inspired respect and appreciation between the two kindred spirits. On the day of the na-Baron’s coming of age, however, simmering tensions between the pair rise to an all-consuming firestorm as the young Baron attempts to finally act on the desires he has harbored for her, but there is a significant challenge: how he can manage to break past her impenetrable composure; the dispassionate mask of his treasured Bene Gesserit master?

the lovers.

“Love is an ancient force, one that served in its day but is no longer essential for the survival of the species.” -Bene Gesserit Axiom

***

“Do you truly think you could redeem such a beast?”

She smiled. “I know, I am allowing my affections cloud my judgment. But allow me an opportunity before his fate is sealed, Reverend Mother.”

The older woman stared her down through the sheer fabric cloaking her face. “You are a very sharp mind, but your youth may sway you against wiser judgment.”

The young sister smiled. “I will not lose sight of our mission, do not worry. I only wish to test a hypothesis.”

“Be wary of overextending yourself.”

“I would not shame you with such folly. I have no intention of losing control.”

After this, the Reverend Mother Superior was silent, ending the discussion. The Duchess rose, gave a respectful incline of her head, and departed.

No, she would not lose control. They had come much, much too far.

It was simply a mere experiment—-too much risk, and she would end it without hesitation.

She only hoped she wouldn’t have to.

***

Tii Sanura Sur-Kar ran through the subconscious of the na-Baron like a mantra. A dangerous liability, he knew, but considering it was the name of his bride, it was an indulgence he willingly succumbed to at every turn. It was like song, like poetry to him, neither of which he cared for terribly but she adored—if she was truly capable of such a feeling. His betrothed was a shrewd, charming woman. Never terribly moved nor affected, never troubled nor wanting. It hadn’t always been that way, but once she underwent her Bene Gesserit training, the risk-taking, jubilant playmate he knew as a child became a confounding and mysterious woman as the years passed. He was vexed by it initially; her disinterest towards what had once thrilled her, her fixation on scriptures and disciplines, her strangely hypnotic eyes, but he managed to adjust over time. After all, she was a noblewoman with duties and ambitions of her own, not a pet.

Still, she was his. The knowledge that she could not slip through his fingers sated his dissatisfaction with her frigidity. As the years passed, he managed to learn her ways. He was the only one who elicited a smile from her pursed, pillowy lips. He was the only one who could freely request her presence and, eventually, he was the only one—in the whole of the empire, he suspected—that could see the brief cracks in her sagelike mask. He experimented with the pressure points he could catch glimpses of. There was some satisfaction in pulling out the things she was so resolute to conceal from the world around them, to rouse moments of amusement, surprise (a rarity), or, his favorite, timidity.

He lost out on the last one a couple years ago, though, when he had pushed too far during a sparring match, and she surrendered too freely. Her eyes miraculously sparked with the horror of an uncontrollable and unexpected emotion. He felt it for a moment then—the way he could ignite her desire, the way she softened all over beneath his strength. The warmth of her breath, the softness of her skin; he had gotten a taste of it and had needed more ever since.

Thoughts for another time.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen knew how badly his future bride desired him. And vice-versa. It made Tii Sanura retreat as they grew older: more distance, more sarcastic jabs and intellectual pretensions. She knew him well enough to do exactly what would make him tick, to repel the low hum of want that had grown strong enough to overwhelm any other potential experiences they could’ve shared. There had been a time where they had come to an agreement of tentative friendship, but those days were burned to ash under the heat that dared to surface whenever the two were together.

The closer they got to coming of age the more her visits changed. She took longer to come by, and when she was there, she was terse with him if he could get her to speak. In all fairness, though, they did have chaperones since the sparring mishap. She was undoubtedly being discreet about whatever she felt about him, but he knew that despite all the suitors that attempted to sweep her away from him, he had secured her interest. Only he could tell, as difficult a riddle it was to continuously decode. The difficulty became less infuriating as he slowly understood the game being played—he kept testing her resolve and she kept coming back to prove it. The satisfaction he got from poking at her weaknesses barely rivaled hers from besting them. It was almost heartwarming if either of them possessed such a silly thing: he was still her favorite sparring partner.

Tii Sanura had not visited in this year, and it was an important one. The time of his coming of age and hers, the time of their union. He anticipated her usual distance, but not total silence. He tried to distract himself from the unpleasant feeling it caused but there was no cure on Geidi Prime to salve the absence of her silvery voice and sweet perfumes. His pets sufficed for more immediate needs, but there was no comparison. It troubled and fascinated him, the attachment he had to her. He would’ve rid himself of it if not for the fact she still sent him letters, and the fact she could not truly discard him like the rest fueled his want, his need, his hunger to claim his prize. His woman; his wife.

He would not show mercy on this day.

It was all that was truly on his mind as the slave women did their painting on his torso and he inspected his new blades. She would be there, she would be watching him in the arena, and she would be with him tonight afterward. Feyd intended to make the most of such ripe opportunities.

The games were amusing enough, but it was time for them to end. He had spent months envisioning it, the way he would finally best her, conquer her. The anticipation set his teeth on edge so badly it took all of his willpower to not run through slaves and servants like tissue paper. He would not lose his cool, he would adopt the discipline of his beloved, he told himself. He would not imagine ravaging her powerful, lithe frame, bruising her soft brown flesh, envisioning the pain and ecstasy he would conjure upon her unmoved, delicate face. He wouldn’t lose himself. He wouldn’t.

Not if he was going to finally make her do the same.

***

Tii Sanura was bored, as always. She was always amazed by how stupid everyone had to be to not tell the woman she presented them was a fiction. Did they not find her razor-sharp mind the slightest bit incongruent with the mask of a young noblewoman dutifully awaiting her marriage, tastefully enthused to kindly engage with anybody, who always had the perfect compliment and the most ego-stroking remark? Did they not see the void behind the artificial warmth in her gaze? Did they truly think every braindead comment they made amused her?

Of course not, save for a few pitiful monkeys, but the desire to believe the myth and participate bored her all the same. She had forced it into a microscopic container by now, but part of her still longed for the days of swimming naked in the swelling river during the rainy springs in Daquan, riding horses, hours of archery and combat training, studying the history of her ancestors, dressing up in her mother’s priceless gowns and traversing across the oasis-laden desert that surrounded their palace, much to her always gratifying horror. Oh, the tragedies of womanhood.

She was almost perfect. Almost. It made her want to dig her nails into her palms with frustration. The only source of weakness that remained was her betrothed. No matter how she wanted to or tried, the memories, her favoring of him would not fade away like the rest of her old emotions. She could not stay away no matter how much it infuriated her, humiliated her to her sisters. The little machine and her crush, they would tease her. It made her want to smear the walls and floors with their blood, the sounds of their smug tones and the superior air they held around her. It made her furious with her parents for not keeping her and Feyd separate in their youth. Now she had a soft spot in her armor, and the worst part is how he knew.

He provoked her, the bastard. He studied her every time they were together to the point where her only solution was to stop visiting so much. The only company in the galaxy she could stand was now her greatest vex. Just her luck.

The roaring of the crowd in the arena was deafening to her. She hated it, the sounds of fools cheering for their annual performance, for their na-Baron’s holy birthday. She could only imagine how small the Harkonnens’ subjects’ brains had to be to think God was anywhere near this place.

Despite the charade of his arena performance, it wasn’t a detractor from her future husband’s proficiency in combat. His strength was obvious, from the gradual sophistication of his movements, the calculation of his ink black stare…the way his body sculpted overtime to…distressing perfection. Weary of her sisters sensing where her thoughts wandered, she dismissed the thoughts as quickly as they came, calmly raising her binoculars to get a better view of the arena.

There was no relief: he was walking out into the center.

The cheers grew so loud they hurt her ears. Her body became rigid as she watched how he stalked onto the arena, claiming the praise and attention so readily offered to him. She spied the strength of his taut arms, his hands that held those blades of his with such natural finesse. He was a perfected killer, through and through. She stifled the sensation that dared to conjure in her stomach with a hint of spite. He was well enough in comparison to a Harkonnen, but he had room for improvement, she thought to herself, cooling down. But then, he did the absolutely unthinkable.

Her mouth dried as his head smoothly turned to look up at her and her Bene Gesserit sisters, blue eyes daring to twinkle something disastrously humiliating as they somehow fixed onto her from an impossible distance. He smiled and kissed one of his blades in gesture to her, then turned his attention to his uncle, bowing deferentially. It pleased the crowd greatly, and Tii Sanura wondered if these arena visits would one day fully strip her hearing abilities away as sisters chattered amongst themselves with a flat amusement Tii Sanura could not stand, but kept from feeling resentment towards. Such a small attempt to ruffle her golden feathers would not succeed. She watched on, her blood pressure stabilizing from its slight disturbance.

The bastard. He never bored her.

The pageant went on routinely enough; two hulking, delirious men stumbled out into the arena—the last of the House of Atreides. The name made the base of her spine tingle inexplicably. Perhaps it is her weakness of favor creeping up again, she would wonder; the thought of her childhood friend, his parents, Duncan Idaho and Gurney Haleck swept away in a harrowing night of fire and blood made her blood chill slightly. Perhaps it was the fragility of power in such a bloodthirsty imperial court; it often haunted her these days, knowing that the lives of her parents, her younger brothers, her ladies in waiting, herself, hung in such a precarious and delicate balance. Knowing the treachery of her near Uncle-in-law. The guarantees of disaster from moments of weakness. All the more reason to be perfect. One slip up, one ignorant action, and she could lose control of the game she was playing.

Still, those weren’t the answers, she knew that. It was something deeper. Something much more primal, animal. Like rats would escape pirate ships in those faraway ancient years. It felt wrong in a real way. But she didn’t let this trouble hover over her long. Only at night, in bed, did she contemplate the tension within her body. She knew it was not fear, so what was it? Perhaps if she could feel more she would know.

The arena’s cheers spiked in volume and Tii Sanura blinked, returning to what was conspiring beneath her. Feyd made easy work of the two drugged men, much to the delight of the ravenous crowds, but one still stood. And she meant that, too—he was standing. He was upright, alert and sharp. Her spine straightened in interest. Finally. Something interesting.

The two men squabbled briefly until Feyd realized the situation his uncle had placed him in. To anyone but Tii Sanura’s surprise and thrill, he removed his shield with a beaming expression. Her skin prickled slightly at the memory the motion conjured. When she came too close—much, much too close. It is agreeable for a Bene Gesserit to be able care for her partner, but what she felt that day was intolerable. The heavy burden of it on her sweat-slick chest, skin glistening with sweat and a few smears of blood, their muscles contracting and rippling as they fought each other with a heat that didn’t come from competition or bloodlust. Desire.

The word made her think of shuddering. There could be nothing more shameful, certainly. Especially for her kind—excellence was the only option, mastery was her only aim—her mother would have thought her a braindead whore if she had seen her that day. It almost made her think of feeling ashamed, but she only felt disgusted at her own laziness. It would never happen again.

Another swell of cheers. Tii Sanura left her mind again and focused on the battle beneath her—Feyd Rautha was at the mercy of his opponent’s blade, the point staring him directly in his eyes. She knew that he could only be laughing, and just to prove her point his blackened smile bloomed across his face. The man struggled against Feyd Rautha’a grip on the blade, trying to deal the finishing blow, but Tii Sanura knew her betrothed was well-equipped to handle such a minor threat. This was mere play to him. In an instant he had turned the blade onto the final member of House Atreides, sinking it into his chest.

She held back the sensation she felt watching it, the blade piercing her, imagining the heat of Feyd Rautha’s enthralling stare as he watched the life fade from his opponent. The man crumbled, and Feyd dropped him to the ground. He turned to his audience, raising his blade in victory. More roaring, almost like the oceans of Caladan themselves. She could hear their roaring. She could hear their ghosts.

He met her eyes again. She remained unfazed as she held it. He smiled slowly; it was not the same one as before. She knew that look, when she would politely excuse herself when he was getting a bit too touchy with one of his concubines—pets, he’d call them—and the air sparked with carnal heat.

Hunger. He was hungry. And he wasn’t looking anywhere else but her.

The sister closest to her jested softly. “It seems your betrothed is ready for you, Duchess Sanura.”

“He always looks like a dog in heat,” she cooly remarked, “There is no need to jump to such conclusions.”

Another one spoke again, Lady Margot Fenring, one she preferred out of her sisters, aside from the Reverend Mother Superior herself. She smiled bemusedly, eyeing her with a knowing that made Tii Sanura simultaneously relieved and discomforted.

“I hope you brought something for him to feast on, Duchess Sanura, if you do not want to be the one he devours.”

She allowed herself a bemused chuckle. “A fair assessment, I admit…”

She rose from her seat, undaunted by his dark stare. She slowly cocked her head, a small smirk quirking the corner of her mouth upright, forming a familiar wrinkle in her cheek and exposing her dimples. The arena roared with cheers at the interaction.

“I can assure you; he’s not the only rabid dog I’ve tamed. There will be no devouring.”

“You speak with the confidence of a girl, sister,” she warned.

The Duchess’s smile twitched into something genuine as she turned to look at her.

“He is a mere boy, sister. I have faced much worse than Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.”

“Worse,” Lady Fenring remarked quietly, “I will must admit, the thought of worse troubles one deeply.”

A soft laugh left Tii Sanura’s lips like a breath. “Wise words, I cannot disagree.”

She turned back to the arena. Feyd was gone, with only bodies and pandemonium left in his wake.

He certainly never bored her.

***

They never strayed from their ritual, no matter how much time had passed. Feyd-Rautha waited patiently in his betrothed’s quarters, eyeing the golden box sat in the center of her bed from a seat in the corner of the room.

She was taking a bit long.

He tapped his fingers against the metal armrest with some annoyance but he would keep his cool; she wasn’t going to toy with him this time. His mind wandered to the events of the arena—her icy smirk, her leisurely movements. The people of Daquan were so fascinating in their complete and utter absence of desire, of urgency. Understandable for a people that have hailed from paradise, but it still fascinated and confounded the Harkonnen.

They were certainly a high-achieving people, a quality clearly displayed in Tii Sanura. With no lack nor sense of imperial ambition, her people tended towards scholarly, military, artistic or spiritual pursuits—the level of wealth on their planet was immeasurable to anyone who had never seen it, alien to those who did not grow up in such sheer opulence. The Sur-Kar were among the eldest of the great families; their dynasty serving critical elements to the foundation of the empire of today—the first planet to possess Spice, although not nearly as potent or abundant as Arrakis. They were a sister planet, in fact, and although the differences in culture and landscape were obvious, they possessed the same treacherous deserts deeper in the Southeast of the planet—in images, the deep desert bloomed out like a scar.

Feyd broke out of his thoughts and let out a heavy sigh through his nose. Instead of pondering Tii Sanura’s planet, it would be preferable to have the woman herself before him.

As if she had heard his thoughts, she entered through the hissing doors, her shoulders far more relaxed than they should’ve been. She let out a heaving sigh of her own, starting to remove her many rich golden shawls and copper-colored garbs. He watched eagerly, unsure if she knew he was there, but he certainly wasn’t going to call attention to himself now. He took in the golden inscriptions on her dark brown skin with all of the awe his cold black heart could manage. She didn’t undress, much to his dissatisfaction, but his eyes feasted with on her bared arms and shoulders, glistening with golden passages from the Daquani’s various ancient scriptures—there were many to give strength, tenacity, to cool the mind and spirit, to bring fortune and blessings, protections, the like. Superstitions that were outdated in a world where chance had been long buried.

“Are you ignoring me, or have you forgotten how we meet,” he asked, gravelly voice creeping along the walls towards her.

She stopped, then slowly turned around. Her golden makeup shimmered on her eyelids, harmonizing with the undertones in the high apples of her cheeks. She glowed like a precious jewel. No matter who he crossed paths with, Tii Sanura was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He would say across the galaxy, if it wasn’t such a foolishly sentimental thing to say. She would throw such a silly compliment back into his face with blasé amusement. Her dark, void-like eyes slowly came to life as a small smile formed upon her lips. He kept his cool resolve.

“Perhaps I do not care either way, My Lord na-Baron.”

He smiled in return, pleased with the biting humor in her tone.

“The only trick you couldn’t play on me is convincing me of such a lie.”

Her mouth barely twitched into a growing smile before she corrected her face and rolled her eyes.

“Oh dear, I see the rumored hereditary madness has set in. Just as I feared.”

He let the insult roll off of his back like water as he slowly rose from his seat, stalking towards her like one of those giant cats from her planet. She had one as a pet, he recalled. He spied the sketches she had drawn in a small pocketbook she used to carry with her when they were younger—he wasn’t sure what it was for—her mood had always improved after flipping through its pages.

“It’s been so long since you’ve visited. Are you afraid?”

Her face softened in amusement. “Yes. I am quite terrified. I’m trembling as we speak.”

“You misunderstand what I refer to.”

She frowned at him as she meticulously folded her shawls and scarves, the brushed past him to set them down in the very chair he had sat on.

“Is there something I’m not aware of?”

“Today is the day we are both of age,” he said, holding back any potential hint of emotion from the phrase, “Our marriage is imminent.”

She didn’t display any hint of being affected, but only nodded. “Hm. Yes, I know. Why would this scare me, exactly? I know everything there is to know about you. I doubt I will have any ugly surprises any other poor noblewoman would have in my place.”

Feyd Rautha studied her closely. She didn’t give it away, but she was bluffing. He could feel it.

“No bridal nerves,” he poked, gaze searingly meandering across her face.

She laughed, brushing past him again and placing a knee on the bed, leaning over to grab the golden box. “What, do you think I’ve been twirling my hair and kicking my feet as I fantasize about the wedding with my ladies in waiting? Or perhaps plucking petals off of flowers in the night, biting my nails down to the cuticle?“

She turned to face him, her voice lifting to a mocking octave. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

She handed him the box, her expression serene and friendly. “I know what is in store. Here.”

He took the box, breaking his intense stare on her and sliding it open. It moved with the unsurprising weight of solid gold—the wealth of these people was borderline obscene.

Within the midsize box was a strange red fruit and an ivory hilted knife, dotted with gemstones of a deep and bloody red hue. He opted to take the knife first—a butterfly knife, upon closer inspection. A hint of a smile formed on his lips, she remembered what he asked her for the last time they’d met; it had been so long even he’d forgotten. In combat, it was obviously useless; he had asked for the gift with the hidden intention of having something equally as tangible as her when she was absent, with the hope she would stop haunting his thoughts if there was a reminder of her readily at his fingertips instead of memories and dreams.

Her eyes held a satisfied glint at his obvious pleasure. “Do you like your birthday gift?”

He looked to her, a devilish grin forming on his face. “Is this all?”

She ignored his suggestive remark with annoyance. “I pray to the gods one day you will manage to finally utter the words thank you.”

“I appreciate this, Tii-Tii.”

She seemed to stiffen a bit at the sound of her nickname, and she broke her gaze from his, moving away.

“Get out, I’m going to change.”

His grin widened playfully. “Certainly you still don’t intend to feign decency now; I am your husband, after all.”

She let out a scoff. “Near husband. I’m not asking again.”

Tii Sanura was the only woman he obeyed.

It didn’t take long for her to have changed and join him in the hall. She refused the assistance of their slaves or servants, insisting on dressing and bathing on her own. He suspected her being wary of constant eyes, but the reason for such a reason wasn’t very clear. He later came to the much more obvious conclusion that she was disgusted by them.

Ever modest, she looked more Bene Gesserit than before in the black gown she had put on: long sleeves that poured past her hands, a hood that cloaked her entire head and face from unwanted view. Of course, the fabric shimmered, as did everything from Daquan. Beauty and Tii Sanura did not wander far from one another. The dress was not stingy with her figure, and Feyd took in the curve of her hips with painfully restrained fervor. He looked away when she eyed him under the glowing light that hovered overhead between them. She brandished the fruit from her sleeve, barely containing it in her palm.

“We’ll need a bowl, you eat the seeds.”

He made a face. “You want me to chew on seeds?”

“I thought you were of age,” she chided, “You whine like a child.”

He shot her a look, and she raised her eyebrows an inch or two, eyes glistening with humor. She loved to annoy him when they were left alone together.

“So sensitive all of the sudden! Perhaps I do need to visit more often, these beaten dogs of yours coddle you.”

“It’s respect,” he corrected with some edge, “At some point you will actually need to show it to your husband.”

She only smiled more, knowing his bluffs of retribution. “Delicate baby boy.”

His eyes lingered on her mouth for a moment, making him slow down their pace to his quarters. Feyd’s jaw clenched as a vision of putting her in her place against the wall burned through his mind. He fought it as quickly as it had come, shaking his head with a slight chuckle as he broke his hot stare. By the time it passed, she had stopped her smiling and was looking away from him, having clearly gleaned what had crossed his mind. The weight of their silence made them start walking again—perhaps sharing the hope of escaping it, even for a brief moment of relief.

He cleared his throat, and the collar of his shirt suddenly felt tight, making it hard to swallow. She tossed the fruit in the air as they winded through the halls of the Harkonnens’ underworld palace, the occasional flashes of white light from the fireworks giving brief reprise from the heavy shadows around them. So much of it felt like a strange dream to Tii Sanura, with all of the darkness and high, shadowy ceilings. She could never get used to this strange, colorless planet. At home, the rich golden suns shone through every window and crevice, kissing her people’s brown skin of various shades. A far cry from the albino appearance of Harkonnens under their black sun.

She eyed Feyd-Rautha discreetly—when they first met on Geidi Prime, she was convinced her betrothed was a ghost. It was one of the few frights he had ever gotten over on her. Before her training, he could sneak up on her and surprise her, getting a laugh out of her high-pitched squeak, but those days had passed. But, once they had made it inside, she saw the fine quality of his features, the pleasing peach-colored hue of his pale skin. His eyes went from terrifying pools of ink to a keen soft blue stare, and soon she felt luckier than most of her peers with the looks of her betrothed. If directly asked (and with enough honey wine), Tii Sanura could not lie about the fact that her betrothed possessed beautiful qualities about his appearance. The older they got, the more he grew into them and the more handsome he had been becoming. It made the idea of intimacy less tolerable and more intriguing.

He felt her stare and looked at her from the corner of his eye, making her look away. She shoved the feelings blooming in her stomach into the smallest box she could and willed it away.

“You still have no qualms about marrying me,” he questioned, gaze now fixed on her hood.

“No, of course not. You’re the only person I can barely stand out of the great houses. Everyone else is just too stupid. I’d end up killing him one way or another—gods forbid such an animal would ever try to touch me, it would be more messy than my parents would be able to overlook.”

His ears perked, and a smile played on his lips. “And if I were to touch you?”

“You have touched me,” she replied loftily, “Or have you blocked out the memories of me beating you into a pulp to salvage your pride?”

She looked up at him with a wicked glint in her eye, eager to pounce on an opportunity to shift the mood to something else. Feyd stole a glance at the expression, then scoffed lightly.

He had half a mind to grab her, hold her down, and have his way with her just to see how she reacted. He knew better than to force himself onto her—he’d be kissing his gravestone if he tried—that wouldn’t bring him the pleasure he sought. She wanted him, he knew this. Her humiliated surrender to her need was what he truly hungered for. He wanted the power to unravel her.

She sighed, tossing the fruit again. He started to think of how he was going to begin as they neared his quarters, passing the guards, who Tii Sanura pointedly ignored.

His pets rose in excitement as he entered, but then retreated at his companion’s presence, giving defiant black-eyed stares. Her gaze shifted to them, hiding her expression from his face, and within mere moments they had retreated to the same corner as the slaves. He didn’t know when or how, but she had made her dislike of them very obvious when they were teenagers. He had to replace one of them in the aftermath of this dislike being shown, but never said she was jealous. She didn’t even act particularly troubled by them, but she was clearly revolted by their existence, and, he suspected, their purpose for their na-Baron. After her training with the Bene Gesserit the flashes of proof that she claimed him as he did were resigned to memories. But he didn’t believe they had vanished. Her nose wrinkled slightly in pointed distaste but she addressed Feyd cooly.

“Have you forgotten your manners? You didn’t have your quarters cleaned for your betrothed’s visit?”

He smiled at her, amused by her inexplicable temperance. “Do my darlings still bother you, Tii-Tii?”

“Remove them,” she commanded immediately, eyes fixed on the bald servant woman. “Take them for a walk, or whatever those things do.”

The woman straightened up from cowering under her haunting gaze, ushering the three women from their position and leaving the room. Her eyes moved to the servants cowering in various corners, eyeing her warily.

“You may leave,” she told them.

They quickly filed out, heads bowed and shoulders slumped. Feyd almost wanted to laugh, but knew better than to provoke her—an incensed Tii Sanura with mind control abilities was more dangerous than any atomic arsenal that could be launched at him.

He was glad to have such a woman as his wife.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she lowered her hood, face glowing softly in the low, sparse light of the na-Baron’s room. He watched her with barely cloaked intrigue, freeing his throat from his collar as he moved towards her with a light smirk. She seemed oblivious to his demeanor as she continued to reprimand him.

“I’m not surprised by the barbarism your relatives display, but I do expect some semblance of class from my husband.”

“Near husband,” he corrected, stalking up behind her and placing his hand on the small of her back, “Or does your jealousy make you forget?”

She chuckled, moving away from his touch unceremoniously. “I am not jealous of filth. I am tolerant of your Harkonnen ways, but it is unsightly. Hopefully spending time in my court will help refine some of your rougher edges…although I’m not holding onto much.”

He watched with sharp eyes as she took a bowl off of a sleek black table, eyed it, and, after deciding it was clean enough, sat down on his bed and made a gesture for him to sit with her. Gladly.

“You know my pets eat out of these,” he lied, eager to tease a reaction out of her.

“Not yet, obviously,” she dismissed, “Whatever poor bastard’s their lunch just got a few more hours.”

She brandished a small black knife out of her sleeve and handed it to him with a sigh. He chuckled, but took the knife as she carefully undid the barely visible labyrinth of fastened clips and buttons that had apparently held her gown together. He watched her with interest as he sliced the fruit.

“Too lazy?”

“Too expensive,” she clarified, gesturing to her outfit with some annoyance, “I swear, my mother’s trying to drown me in fabric...”

The hood and sleeves were simply elements of a cloak that covered her actual outfit. Feyd was feeling his appetite sharpen by the second. It would prove modest to anyone else, with loose, flowing trousers and a woolen, long-sleeved tunic, but for the Daquani, especially one of her standing, he knew that what he was seeing before him was absolutely not for anyone else’s eyes but his. It was just then he observed her braids had been taken down from their elaborate updo she had at the arena—when, he didn’t know—as they gently spilled over her shoulders and framed her foxlike face. She sighed again, watching him skillfully remove each juicy seed from the fruit’s pale flesh.

“You should squeeze it,” she told him casually, curling her legs up next to her onto the bed, “The seeds will fall out.”

He paused, glancing up at her serene, delicate face before turning the fruit over and squeezing it firmly. Tii Sanura watched his hand contract around it, the seeds spilling out into the bowl as he crushed it in his grip. She felt it again; the heat that set her ablaze from head to toe the final time they’d sparred. It had been then, when he had her on the ground, the flat of his blade pressed against the hot pulse that flowed down her neck, that same hand pinning her wrist to the ground with iron-like strength as their faces brushed dangerously against each other, that she realized they were becoming a man and a woman intended to be married and no longer the youthful partners in crime she could easily maintain a satisfactory internal distance from. It was then she became aware of a new weakness, one that caught her by surprise—she never thought it possible to see him in such a way, but there she’d been, flushed in an immeasurable amount of places, wanting to feel more than his blade against her skin.

There was not a feeling more taxing, more tenacious than desire. She could feel it blooming in her stomach with dread that she put all her will into tempering. His eyes were boring into her in a way that made her want to run away, retreat, but she refused to show such a pathetic display of weakness. He managed to get all of the seeds out, discarding the fruit out into the hall where the servants remained, flinching at his motion before he returned to her, sliding both sides of the blade along his tongue to lick off the juice. She stole a brief glance at the motion, but remained unaffected, her mask solid.

“Hm; what is this?”

“My uncle gifted me some recreated seeds they made in his laboratory. Pomegranate is what they called it.”

“Strange name.”

“All dead languages sound strange if you don’t put down your knives long enough to study them,” she subtly reprimanded.

A soft laugh passed through his nose as he returned to her side on the foot of his silken-sheeted bed.

“Tii-Tii, aren’t women from your planet meant to be less…annoying?”

“I wish I could ask the same about the men from yours.”

The juice of the pomegranate seeds gradually coated their tongues as they chewed on them and continued to make playful jabs at the other.

“I want a pleasant wife,” Feyd proclaimed with the gravity of a command, “A respectful one.”

Obedient was a far-fetched fantasy.

“If you want a pleasant and respectful wife, then you must please and respect her,” she said with the impersonal tone of a proverb, “You must plant seeds to harvest what you desire.”

He eyed her quizzically as she continued eating pomegranate seeds. She didn’t respond to the question in his stare, in fact, she seemed to be avoiding his gaze altogether.

“Tii-Tii,” he began slowly, “It’s unlike you to avoid a subject.”

He watched her shoulders square off with interest. Perhaps he had more leeway over her than he anticipated.

“I don’t—“

“We both know playing coy isn’t a convincing look on you,” he interrupted, a wicked smile forming on his face.

“Whatever you wish to speak about, I will speak on,” she said, “But I must admit I don’t know what you want to discuss.”

“The consummation of our marriage.”

She didn’t miss a beat, tilting her head with a shrug. “Yes, a necessary duty. It will be fulfilled, I will give you heirs. I can guarantee no difficulty in the…process.”

Upon finally meeting her betrothed’s gaze, Tii Sanura fell silent. The heat of his stare was unmistakable, and a shiver went down her spine. This couldn’t happen yet, she thought to herself, no overextending.

“Of course, it will wait until our wedding night,” she clarified, testing the waters of his mood, “Anything beforehand would be improper.”

He didn’t answer her, only took the bowl in his hands and lifted it to her mouth.

“Spit them out.”

Hunger. It was burning off of him so intensely she could feel it against her cheeks, which were growing more flushed by the moment. She stared at him in an oppressively long silence before her eyes shifted away to the floor, then gradually met his again. She was blushing, he realized.

“Feyd, what are you doing?”

Her voice had become much more softer, confused. It made him want to pounce, but that wouldn’t do him any good, not when he was getting her where he wanted her. His silence in response weighed down the air around them with what felt to her like tons—she was cornered and she knew it. There were two options: she could fight him off and swat him away, which would anger him, but he could not resist her Voice’s commands. The other one she dare not think of, lest she forget herself. Slowly, she spit the seeds out, watching him a bit nervously. He couldn’t tell she was nervous, of course, no one could, but he had the air of certainty of a predator closing in on its hunt.

She was not ignorant to the fact her betrothed was dangerous and forceful. He was clever, manipulative, calculating, but ultimately a slave to his desires. The Reverend Mother Superior had appointed the two to one another for just this precise reason: one of the sharpest of her students to serve as a companion and counsel to such a husband, but also to keep him contained. She was well aware of her husband-to-be’s danger, and the genuine hazards that came with the heat of his passions.

Tii Sanura was still confident in her ability to defend herself physically, and she knew he had certainly not forgotten how swiftly she could put him down, even if there proved more struggle in the present day. But no, she realized, Feyd did not intend to force his way through to her at all; he knew he could tug on the threads of physical desire that he intended to conjure within her. She also knew, furthermore, that such a refutation and humiliation of her self-discipline was the gratification he wanted—how long, she couldn’t determine.

She rose from the bed as he set the bowl down. He was watching her like a panther.

“What’s wrong,” he questioned, voice saccharine with humor, “You seem tense.”

“Certainly…you can wait a few more months for an heir—“

“I don’t care about heirs, Sanura. I think that’s obvious enough.”

The way he’d said her name made her want to reconsider her resolve, but involuntary alarm bells went off as he approached her—his expression was so dark, his stare so heavy on her face that it reminded her of his thrill in the arena today, his sharp, powerful movements as he struck down his opponents. Damn him, she thought, he’s even got the propaganda working on me.

She watched as his eyes raked her body, her face, and his aura got shadowy as he stepped towards her. Bad, bad, was all that she could think, this still couldn’t happen yet. They had to be married. She tried to spin up a diversion with her words, but they were beyond unintelligible, let alone obvious lies.

“I am not like you, Feyd. I don’t harbor such desires, I am not…I do not have lustful wants. I cannot…It’s not right.”

He only held a knowing smile in his eyes as he closed in on her slowly, standing over her and peering down with evident satisfaction. She was too prideful to back away from him, no matter how badly she wanted to. Or perhaps she didn’t want to. He couldn’t tell, and Tii Sanura didn’t know herself right now. He held her jaw gently, making her hold his stare. He could feel her pulse racing under her skin, and she felt it quicken the longer she knew he could feel how fast her heartbeat was getting. It wasn’t right, she could only helplessly repeat to herself, it wasn’t time yet, it wasn’t right.

The more it kept repeating, the less it was starting to matter. The heat coming from his body was beginning to eclipse how stupid and reckless such an indulgence would be, what a delicate night this was, and how she had been avoiding this exact situation for the past year. A new voice spoke in response: and what a miserable year it has been.

“I have trouble with that, Sanura,” he said quietly, grazing one of her flushed cheeks with this thumb, “See, I don’t think you’re telling the truth.”

She lied like breathing. “I am.”

He clicked his tongue, smiling slightly. “No, you’re not. I can smell it off of you. I know my wife.”

“Near wife,” she quickly corrected, brushing his hand aside.

Her pedantry annoyed him, it wasn’t going to distract him from his goal. He knew just how to punish her for it.

“My wife all the same,” he countered, “Just as I am yours. Besides, you think I can’t tell your only weakness? You can barely think straight and all I’ve done is touch you a little.”

She was fortuitous in her composure—he knew the embarrassment that must’ve been flushing through her body at his open recognition of her obvious desire. She held his gaze now without his help; she had the strength of a challenge behind her stare. His mocking smile grew.

“I have no weakness. You are too used to the pathetic women on this planet to understand that.”

“Oh, Tii-Tii,” he lamented with a sigh, “You know I hate it when you lie to me. Do you think I’m as stupid as everyone else?”

He stepped towards her, and she stepped back. There was mild surprise in her eyes underneath her cool expression; she didn’t do it consciously. He felt his pulse starting to rise; she was cracking.

“I am not one of your whores,” she told him firmly, “You cannot have your way with me as you please. You must have my agreement.”

He smiled, eagerly backing her against the wall. “My darling beloved, I already have it. Don’t I?”

Her eyes flared with sudden alarm. “Feyd, what in the gods’ name is making you speak in such a way?”

“I am not a boy anymore, Sanura,” he said, eyes tracing her skin before returning to press down on her gaze, “And you are not a naive girl. You are a woman. You are a…beautiful woman.”

“I will not be demeaned in such a way,” she warned.

“It is not my intention to do such a thing.”

“You are cornering me like an animal.”

He smiled. “Are you cornered? Are you admitting such a thing?”

She blinked, then a sudden wave of anger darkened her features. He knew before she opened her mouth that she was about to use her Voice on him—he clasped his hand on her mouth, caging her to the wall with the rest of his body. He watched fire bloom in her eyes with reverence.

“You could not understand the way I have longed for you,” he spoke, voice too soft for anyone else but them to hear, “I would not disrespect a woman such as yourself with harm or force. But I will not wait any longer.”

Her eyes were alarmed and questioning. He willingly gave her the answer.

“I need you.”

His fingers gently grazed the scriptures that were raised on her soft skin, trying not to let his breath tremble—he did not anticipate being the slightest bit nervous to make his advance, but he couldn’t help it, not when it was her.

“You’re getting goosebumps,” he remarked with a grin, “Now why is that?”

He teased the edge of her waistband gently, watching her chest rise and fall in short, tight breaths. She was so much more easier to toy with than he thought, or she held back more needs of her own than he could’ve imagined.

“I’ve always wondered about that day.”

Tii Sanura felt her heart drop in humiliation, but an undeniable thrill shot through her. Part of her feared he’d forgotten, consider what he could be sticking his dick in every night, but here he was, admitting it had sat as heavy on his chest as hers.

“If no one had the opportunity to stop us…what I could’ve done to you…”

His fingers slid between the waistband and her bare skin as he slowly grabbed ahold of her hip, holding her in place. Her breath shuddered involuntarily, sending a jolt of hunger through his body.

“Mm, see? You aren’t made of stone, my jewel. You are a woman.”

She looked away with obvious discomfort and shame, but Feyd wanted to press a bit more before retreating. He didn’t lie, he would not force her.

“I will wait for you to come to me,” he said, leaning in to speak softly into her ear, “I won’t judge you for your needs, Tii-Tii. I know I am the only man to have ever touched you like this.”

They looked at each other, the pretense of denial have shattered, making their gazes wide open, their feelings and intentions obvious, unable to cloak them from the other. Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth, a bit worried she would immediately lash out with a command.

She did not. She was silent. Her lips trembled.

He glanced between them and her eyes, his body slowly closing in on hers until he knew she wouldn’t resist him. He kissed her, gently, so as not to scare her too much, taking hold of her waist underneath her tunic. Her body was rigid and he could sense the nervous, confused energy coming off of her. He parted his lips from hers, feeling her trembling breath against his face.

“F-Feyd…”

She was stuttering, her mind seemingly incapable of forming a coherent thought as she frowned. Her eyes seemed to take in his face in a new way, but she couldn’t make the two different images fit. He kissed her lips again. Then her cheeks, then, with a flash of weakness, he kissed her neck, and her breath audibly drew.

“Feyd, please…”

I can’t take any more, is what she didn’t say but he knew what she meant. It made his blood get even hotter, rushing straight to his groin. His fingers dug into her skin, perfumed with roses, and he inhaled the scent greedily with a swallow.

“You think I don’t know the ways I make you excited?”

She stiffened as he forced his leg between her thighs and pressed against her, making her exhale loudly and mutter under her breath, closing her eyes and turning her face away.

“You can’t—I must…I can’t.”

She felt the cold blade of his newly gifted knife caress her cheek before he pressed the flat of it against her face to turn her face towards his, making her open her eyes and meet his gaze in challenge.

“Mm, those pretty eyes,” he said softly, trailing the dagger point down her neck, then chest, “You can’t what, my darling?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your pet,” she demanded, hand closing around the hilt of a blade tucked in her waistband.

“No, no, of course not,” he soothed, voice rumbling in her ears as he tilted her chin up with his jewel-jilted knife, “But you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Her eyebrows drew together, and Feyd felt a thrill flash through him like a shiver. What will you do now?

He lowered his mouth to hers, eyes burning into hers, challenging her to stop him. She tried to wriggle but it only created friction between their intertwined bodies. Her eyes shut with a grunt at the feeling of heat and a jolt of pleasure blooming between her legs against his thigh. He watched her, tongue grazing his lips.

“You disgust me,” she calmly jabbed at him, trying not to give a reaction.

He chuckled. “Oh. Do I?”

“Get off of me,” she insisted, “I’m only warning you—once…”

Her voice faltered at the feeling of his blade’s tip tracing her bare waist as he pressed harder, his erection pressing against her thigh. It was upsettingly sizeable, just as she remembered when he was on top of her before. She had prayed it was just a trick of her mind.

Fuck, no, no—she couldn’t, definitely not, at least, before they were wed. It was not only beyond taboo for a woman of her standing in Daquan—but a blow against her pride as a Bene Gesserit. She had proven herself to the Reverend Mother, and she was supposed to throw that away, be knocked up under the seductive force of a Harkonnen? It sounded beyond deranged.

“I will not lie with you,” she told him firmly, finding some ground in her desire-afflicted mind. “You cannot force me.”

“Oh, you’re really breaking, aren’t you,” he murmured against her neck, parting his lips afterwards to taste her skin.

Her chest rose high, and her left hand involuntarily grabbed onto him as she pressed her lips together, fighting the soft shudder trying to move through her body. Her right hand had a white knuckle grip on her dagger, but it faltered.

“I will not lie with you before we are wed,” she said, “I will make you stop if I have to.”

He only laughed. “You don’t have to stop me yet, Tii-Tii?”

“Feyd,” she whispered, her tone even. A warning.

“I won’t give you my heir now,” he reassured, “But that doesn’t prevent me from giving you what you need, don’t worry.”

He started to kiss down to her chest, her skin hot against his lips.

“You really do need it, don’t you? I can tell you do, or you wouldn’t be hanging onto me like that.”

The smugness in his voice both made her frustration and desire rise to a breaking point. She parted her lips to speak, but her voice had disappeared as he tossed his blade aside, undoing the top buttons of her tunic so fast she didn’t even get the chance to try and stop him. He still seemed to hold some sense of respect for her sense of modesty; instead of ripping the fabric free from her body, he let it fall slack and open, revealing her torso to him. He took in the new skin, how the golden tattoos adorned her chest, and he couldn’t help but trace the pads of his finger across them, mesmerized.

“I still can’t understand it, what you’ve done to me,” he muttered softly, tracing the tattoos that weaved up her neck. She shivered slightly at the sensation, despite her best efforts.

Her will was starting to crumble as his fingers slid under her waistband, teasing at her undergarment, his touch creeping lower so slowly her legs were becoming weak. He licked atop her collarbone and tasted her skin, her head slowly tilting back as he dragged his tongue across her throat, tasting her pulse, gently grazing his teeth against her flesh. She made a soft sound, the tension in her body softening. Feyd grinned in victory, feeling the tension in her hips slowly loosening. That’s my girl, just as you’re supposed to.

“I can feel your legs shaking,” he said, words coming out in a low hum, “You’re this pathetic, just from my touch?”

Feyd was losing sight of anything beyond this moment. Her weak, bated breath, the moan building in her throat, the heat coming off of her intoxicating skin—it was overwhelming in the most delicious way. Her breath caught as she stared up at him, feeling, with equal parts terror and awe, completely helpless. It was a state of being she never thought possible; she was always far ahead of her peers, enemies, and colleagues. Never, in her lifetime, had anyone put her in such a weak, pliable position—certainly never a man of the Great Houses.

But here he was: her husband, the only one she ever thought close to matching her, doing just that, and about to push beyond it. Her lips slowly parted as her breath evened and he gently brushed his mouth against his. Their eyes fell shut at the mutual feeling.

“Kiss me,” he whispered against her mouth.

The heavy footsteps reached Tii Sanura’s ears before they reached his, and as the doors hissed, she had summoned a surge of strength within her to shove him away and quickly lunge over to the seat her cloak was and tugging it on. He fell back onto his bed in pure disorientation as she fastened a few of the bigger buttons and pulled the hood over her beautiful, precious face. Feyd quickly sat up as he looked from her cloaked figure to his cousin’s hulking frame barging into his quarters. An overwhelming wave of hatred washed over him as he glanced between them both with suspicion and curiosity. The fucking bastard, he seethed to himself.

“Uncle wants you to see him,” Rabban said, “And you, too.”

She ignored him, leaving the room smoothly with her hood up. Feyd watched her slip through his fingers in furious agony. The fucking bastard; he was so close.

“What—“

Feyd’s white-hot glare was enough to make Rabban turn away and leave.

***

Tii Sanura’s aura was dark and heavy as they were all escorted to meet with the Baron. She stalked ahead of the men in silence, her cloaked hands clasped firmly behind her back. Feyd eyed her with a discreet sense of pride while Rabban eyed her warily. Her hooded figure was unsettling to The Beast; there was something about the silence and swiftness of her movements which set his spine straight. This mood troubled him; in the underworld of corridors they travelled, she could easily slip from his sight and do god knows what. He remembered the day she interrupted his training session hours after he had insulted her culture’s customs, and she brutally beat him with just the same coordination and grace as she had in her movements now. Needless to say, he apologized.

Rabban glanced to Feyd, but his cousin’s face, as usual, remained impossible to decipher.

The three entered the quarters of Baron Harkonnen in silence. Instantaneously, Tii Sanura’s entire aura shifted from agitated to perfectly collected. The Baron blew smoke from his hookah, smiling at the sight of her as he reclined in his ink black bath. It took all her fortitude to not allow disgust to creep up in her mind at the unpleasant sight.

“Ah, my dear nice-in-law,” he remarked, “I’m glad you visited today.”

She smiled, briefly inclining her hooded head. “Lord Baron.”

Feyd and Rabban stood by as the Baron Harkonnen and Tii Sanura exchanged disturbing pleasantries with warm smiles.

He chuckled, rising the hookah to his lips. “How did you like your betrothed’s performance today? Did you not find it impressive? He’s improved, no?”

Feyd eyed her as he awaited her answer; she knew better than to refuse the statement or show any degree of affection towards the na-Baron, but there was always a sliver within him that hungered for her approval.

“He has learned well,” she affirmed smoothly.

“Perhaps after the wedding you can test your blade against his again, see for yourself.”

A soft smile briefly spread on her lips as she turned to him, gaze spelling vengeance. Feyd’s gaze tossed the challenge back with a small smirk. Her eyes said something he couldn’t decipher in response. Rabban glanced between the two discreetly, but his cousin still caught his eye, making him avert his gaze. Tii Sanura’s eyebrow rose a quirk as she glanced over at Rabban as well before turning her attention back to the eldest Harkonnen.

“Perhaps indeed, Lord Baron, but at least let him give me heirs first.”

He chuckled lightly, smoke billowing from his lips. Rabban observed the three with split second glances before remaining still, lest their withering stares fix onto him. He never trusted the Daquani girl. She was too clever, too good at saying the perfect things at the perfect time. His time on Arrakis only made him more wary—to come home to a woman so similar to the rats he fought on Arrakis, charming room after room, bathed in gold and glittering jewels, wrapping his Uncle around her finger only spelled trouble to him.

She was skilled at eliciting any paternal affections the soulless Baron Vladmir Harkonnen possessed—her mental acuity and combat skills already made her the bride he’d envisioned for his prized nephew, but her family’s power and prowess bumped her up to god’s personal gift to him. As if to prove his point, the Baron’s expression glowed with the same fondness he looked upon Feyd with—she was already family.

Rabban swallowed his annoyance, and Baron Vladmir’s eyes slid over to him slowly as if he’d sensed it; his expression quickly souring.

“You may leave.”

Anyone who could make Rabban go away in a moment’s notice immediately gained the Duchess’s favor. Feyd watched her back slowly relax as Rabban left, slinking up next to her. She didn’t shift her focus from his Uncle as their hands brushed against each other.

“Now then, enough pleasantries,” the Baron dismissed, “I have spoken with your family this week. I am sure you know Tii.”

She nodded. “Indeed, My Lord.”

“We have agreed that tomorrow is the day you two shall finally unite.”

Tii Sanura’s stomach dropped, and Feyd suppressed a smile. It seems he didn’t need to wait a few more months after all. He could sense the tension in his fiancé, though, and brushed the satisfaction he felt aside. Either she was truly afraid to marry him, or she knew something he didn’t.

She didn’t falter; in fact, she smiled. “I see, when are we to return to Daquan?”

“They intend to send for you tonight. A bit hasty, but I suspect they are a bit protective of their heir all alone on Geidi Prime, all these years aside. We’ve also discussed your living arrangements.”

Feyd eyed his Uncle suspiciously. “Living arrangements?”

“Yes, the Duke and Duchess have generously invited you to live as newlyweds in their court; I see no protest. You will enjoy yourself, nephew; I have heard many stories of the pleasure of Daquan. Consider it another gift for your birthday.”

Feyd’s jaw clenched as he recalled the afternoon attempt on his life in the arena with the Atreides slave with some annoyance. He pondered drowning his Uncle as his expression darkened. His lips dared to part and speak the thought, but Tii Sanura pinched him discreetly to tell him to be quiet. Sensing something beyond his understanding, he obliged his wife.

“Don’t tell me you’re still upset, nephew, you proved yourself quite well,” the Baron chided, chuckling, “Besides, I have another gift for your birthday.”

His lips parted into a smile that made Tii Sanura’s blood chill.

“Arrakis.”

The air in the room shifted. Tii Sanura’s mind fell still. Arrakis. The sister planet to her own, populated with a people whose ancestors undoubtedly lived in some semblance of the peace and calm hers did before the Empire discovered their Spice, before the Harkonnens sunk their claws into the planet. She held her composure, but wanted to swallow. The thought of ruling over Arrakis made her throat feel like sandpaper. The thought of Arrakis made her blood pulse and thicken. She wanted to sit, she wanted to leave immediately, she wanted to go back home.

Feyd placed his hand on her lower back, glancing over to her. She resented the way it calmed her. She couldn’t stand it.

“Rabban has obviously proved his incompetence, and I need Spice production stabilized. And you, my dearest niece-in-law, you will undoubtedly find a way to make yourself of use in this effort.”

“Of course, Lord Baron,” she assured, her expression placid.

“Of course, still, there are more talks to be had beyond this, but your union, and our houses’ unions are imperative. Go and prepare for your voyage, and allow me to be the first to congratulate you—I sense your union will be…more than agreeable.”

The Baron grinned, and instinctively Tii Sanura’s stepped away from Feyd’s touch to give a slight bow of respect. She offered a meditative smile, bowing her head slightly again and leaving silently. Feyd-Rautha followed, eyes fixed on her curiously. What did she know that he didn’t?

The moment the doors shut, Tii Sanura whirled around, and her hand shot out and collided harshly with Feyd-Rautha’s face. Without missing a beat, she walked towards her quarters at full stride, frustrations bubbling within her as if they had all come to boil.

“Do not ever touch me in that man’s presence,” she snapped lowly, eyes smoldering with barely restrained frustration, “I will not tolerate such humiliation, and you—“

She suddenly cut herself off as Feyd watched the anger boil over into the darkest glare he’d ever seen on his betrothed’s face. They held each other’s gazes, and a flash of realization passed over Tii Sanura’s face, sweeping away her temper as quickly as it had descended, causing him some dissatisfaction—he had never seen her so alive. She sucked her teeth, giving him a harsh look and stalking off back to her quarters.

The bastard.

As she rounded the corner, Feyd grabbed her and pinned her to the wall, eyes smoldering. Her gaze held heat too, and it flared back at him with upset and desire. His hand closed around her throat carefully, holding her to the wall as he whispered in her ear. She was learning new things about herself today—the second was what the sensation of such a gesture did to her body. His breath fanned against her face before her spoke quietly into her ear, mindful that his voice didn’t carry beyond the dark, empty hallway. To her shock and thrill, her language flowed from his lips as he spoke.

“Don’t hit me like that unless you’re willing to pay for it,” he told her, voice practically a low growl, “When we’re married, the next time you strike me like that, I’m going to bend you over the first thing I see and fuck that attitude right out of you. That’d be just what you needed, wouldn’t it? I bet you need it now.”

Their breaths were heavy as he let go of her throat, grabbing the back of her neck, and pulled her into a heated, aching kiss. She grabbed onto the fabric of his tunic with a soft quaver of her voice in her throat, opening her mouth—her body had nearly taken over her mind with need, and she crumbled into the kiss with almost as much need as her husband-to-be. He had to hold back the satisfied groan that wanted to rumble in his chest at her near matching his hunger before suddenly pushing him back as much as he would allow. Her breath was quiet but heavy. Her eyes were unmistakable, even in the shadows of the Harkonnen palace. Feyd held her tighter, leaning in again and taking another kiss.

She slowly closed her eyes, her eyebrows briefly creasing before her expression softened into nothingness again. Her body relaxed into a deep exhale, and suddenly, everything became…

Feyd’s world blurred around him. His mind spun as his feet’s hold on the ground seemed to lapse in and out. All he could hang onto was her scent, her heat, the pulsing blood that rushed through her body. Then, her voice. It whispered to him, but she didn’t open her mouth. A Bene Gesserit trick, he realized.

Follow me.

He wanted to be angry at her slight smirk, but he couldn’t; his mind and body were sedated under her cooling presence as she rose from the wall and took his hand off of her throat, linking their fingers to lead him through the darkness. He opened his mouth, but her whispers stopped him.

Don’t speak. You don’t need to. I know what it is you need.

Somehow he could still see her eyes through the shadows that devoured them both. His heartbeat filled his ears—but whispers did, too, whispers he couldn’t understand. He heard her gently laugh, much to his annoyance and stoking his lust. His hunger couldn’t decide if he preferred how she unraveled for him, or how she could assert her will over every aspect of his being at a moment’s notice.

He blinked, and suddenly his mind cleared. They were in her room. His cock strained against his pants as she reclined on her bed, resting on her elbows. He could see the curves of her breasts through her cloak—was she only wearing her cloak?

“Come,” she told him, her gaze dangerous. Another change.

She didn’t need to command him. Feyd knew the danger he had to be in for her to invite her to his bed, but he had no control. He slowly climbed on top of her, wary of whatever she had up her sleeve.

Careful, her Voice whispered. Not a command, but a warning. His mind sharpened with the familiarity of being caught in one of her traps. Her looked over her serene face with confusion.

“The time has come, my friend,” she said softly, “When I am to test if you are simply an animal, or a man.”

The world suddenly grew clear, and he became acutely aware of something pointing at the side of his neck.

“I hold the Gom Jabbar at your neck,” she told him, eyes scathingly watchful, “One move, and I kill you.”

He swallowed, his desires becoming increasingly stoked by the passing moment. She had him bested once again.

“What is my test,” he asked, eyes taking in glimpses of the bare inscribed skin underneath the black, shimmering fabric.

“Focus,” she sweetly reprimanded, “Or you will die by your wife’s hand.”

He held her stare, feeling his cock aching painfully. She moved her sleeve, revealing a small box further up the bed. He moved with her as she slowly reclined until her head was right next to it, and his hand threatened to slide into the mysterious contraption.

“Put your hand into the box,” she instructed, her lips brushing against his.

He was very wary of her intentions now, she was too open, too intoxicating. Hesitantly, he followed her directions while stealing glances at her.

“What is in it, Sanura?”

Her teeth gleamed in the light as a knowing smile curved her full, pillowy mouth.

“Pain.”

The moment the word left her lips, agony overcame his entire being. He knew to hold still, she would kill him without thinking, but his hand felt as if it was being put through multiple tortures all at once—the skin and muscles flaying off of bone, the fire consuming bubbling flesh, the freezing cold making the sinews brittle and dead. It was too much—he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

He held his wife’s dangerous, enigmatic stare as his hips slightly thrust against her and his cock pulsed and twitched in his pants. She felt it, but didn’t respond.

“Don’t move,” she warned.

His eyes were seeing white with the overwhelming sensations consuming his body—he held onto his wife’s instruction, trying to find her eyes through the haze. He was certain at this point that his hand was long gone, but the pain continued, telling him otherwise.

A groan filled his throat, and she clicked her tongue.

“Silence,” she told him.

His breath was ragged as he fought it down. This woman would be the death of him. He couldn’t tell if he hated her or loved her in this moment of torment.

He fixed his gaze onto hers, forcefully keeping himself upright with nothing but spite and terror. He watched her smile grow, but then she became blurry, and her whispers filled his ears. He felt her careful touch wipe his eyes so he could see clearly again.

“Very good,” she said.

Tears involuntarily rolled down the na-Baron’s face. He was right at the gates of release as she lowered the Gom Jabbar, visibly pleased. The pain lowered from its mind-frying crest, making him nearly collapse onto her if it weren’t for the tension holding his muscles in place.

“You can take your hand out, now.”

Feyd discovered with some shock that his hand was completely intact. Pristine, even. He swallowed, looking down at his wife in shock as his nervous system slowly stabilized. She was smiling. It was a strange one. Not the kind from games or torment, but unmistakably tender. Feyd’s heart slammed in his chest as he slowly rested his forehead against hers, but she allowed it.

“Very good,” she repeated, leaning upwards to gently press her cool cheek against his hot, teary face.

His words rasped out. “Am I an animal, my love?”

She chuckled sweetly, the devilwoman. He wanted to ravage her right then and there.

“You are an animal of a man, my husband. But you prove a man, indeed.”

“So have I passed your Bene Gesserit test, then,” he asked, eyelids heavy as he lifted himself up and let his gaze pass over her body again.

“Yes,” she said, “And now…”

He pressed his hips into her slowly, desire slowly reviving his traumatized senses. “…Now?”

“Now…”

She slowly lifted her chin, tasting the salt on his cheeks, feeling the hungry tremor pass through his body with satisfaction. His hands balled into fists, gripping the silken sheets in his hands. He inhaled her scent, roses and sweat and lust, mouth nearly watering. She grinned as she spoke into his ear.

“You must leave and prepare to depart for our wedding.”

At the flash of indignation on his face, she quickly changed her tone.

“Now,” she commanded.

Involuntarily, he rose, his face blank. She lied back with a sigh, placing the Gom Jabbar back into its cloth sheath and placing it on the bed next to her.

“I will see you soon, my friend,” she teased, “Perhaps your pets can satisfy you.”

The monstrous woman, he thought to himself as he unwillingly left her quarters. I knew she was jealous of them.

Tii Sanura let out a heaving exhale, lying back on the silken pillows and closing her eyes. It was only then her awareness noticed the pair of servants in the corner, awestruck and terrified. She sat up, covering herself with a bit of embarrassment.

“Oh dear, my apologies,” she said, finally addressing them, “I am usually not so sloppy. That was rather…improper of us.”

The two women eyed her warily. She considered them, then gave a small, benevolent smile.

“You may stand properly. I will be your new mistress, and I do not hail from a house of savagery. I expect my servants to stand with some semblance of grace.”

The two women shared a look of confusion, but quickly separated, timidly emerging from the corner with their heads bowed and shoulders crumbled. They faced her and looked at her, but she quickly realized the slaves of the Harkonnens did not know how to stand properly.

“Oh dear,” she remarked.

The slaves tensed in fear, trembling in anticipation of a brutal punishment. Tii Sanura rose from the bed.

“You must lift your heads, my darlings. Stand as I do.”

They observed her, then, warily straightened their spines, their shoulders squaring. Her expression was calm but warm, and she nodded in approval.

“That is better, but we will work on it.”

She considered them in silence, and the slaves gradually became less tense, unsure of what to do or anticipate from the stranger.

“What are your names?”

They feared her too much to speak. Her eyes softened.

“That is alright. You will decide yourselves when the time is right.”

She clothed herself, then gestured for them to approach. They avoided her eyes, but moved towards her quickly.

“You shall join me in Daquan. Is this agreeable?”

The two women nodded, hesitant to disobey, curious and eager to leave the cruel House Harkonnen to discover the court of their new mistress. She smiled.

“I suspected as much. Stay close to me. I will not allow otherwise.”

***

Feyd immediately sought out his wife the moment they were on their way to Daquan in a rage. His footsteps were silent—habit of a trained killer, but his fury was easily felt by Tii Sanura as she and the two Harkonnen slave women conversed.

He stormed into her quarters, meeting an unbelievably bizarre sight—two of his house’s slaves, smiling, conversing freely with his wife, dressed in the luxurious fabrics and jewels that she was adorning them in. Their faces fell in mortal terror at the sight of him, but his wife was unmoved. His stomach twisted, a new, unpleasant feeling. Something was wrong.

“Ah, hello, my friend.”

He moved to grab the slaves, but his wife’s dark stare stopped him in his tracks.

“Take one step towards them and I will return their suffering to you hundredfold,” she snapped, then smiled, “Do you understand?”

Indignation rose to a peak, he snapped at them. “Out.”

Tii Sanura was clearly annoyed by his addressing of the women, but she remained calm.

“No, no; you may stay. I do not want the Harkonmen envoys near you.”

“What is wrong with you, woman,” he demanded, stalking towards her as the women retreated to share a corner, frozen in silence.

She watched him calmly, her expression serene as always. Her eyebrows rose in mock sympathy.

“You did not ease your affliction with your pets?”

Her eyes flitted over to the women with a playful wink; embarrassment simultaneously infuriated and aroused him, and he glared back at the women. They stood differently, he noticed, and then he realized they were awaiting her instructions. Something was wrong.

“What is this,” he questioned, voice forcibly calmed, “What is happening in this room?”

She seemed to be glowing with a quiet joy, her features no longer held the shadow they did in Geidi Prime. She touched his face.

“Calm yourself,” she commanded gently, “And hear me.”

Feyd’s head swam as his nervous system suddenly slowed down. She guided him to her bed, and the two sat. He had never seem such warmth in her eyes.

“I will give you what you need,” she assured, whispering so as not to reach the ears of the women in the corner, “I can promise you; it will outclass any pleasure you derive from suffering. I will give you something better. Let your anger go.”

Her hand soothingly rubbed his back, a motion he did not understand, but wanted to continue. His confusion under the gaze of slaves made him tense. This was beyond humiliation.

“Feyd, do you trust me?”

Easy answer. “No.”

She laughed softly. “I will change that. But you can. I am fond of you, and our marriage ensures your safety.”

Safety?

The na-Baron knew he was missed crucial pieces of the puzzle his wife-to-be had built, but needed no additional information to understand he was caught in her web, and traveling through space directly into the nest itself.

“I cannot tell you everything until we are wed, and your safety is guaranteed.”

Her fingers caressed his jaw soothingly, and he looked at her. He didn’t know who the woman before him was.

“What are you planning, Tii Sanura,” he asked her, voice low.

“It is not my plan. It is the plan. And Vladimir Harkonnen is not included.”

A conspiracy. Familiar ground. He felt a bit more settled with this knowledge, but still, he was wary.

“I am your hostage, then?”

She laughed. It was a laugh he remembered from long ago, when she teased him for not having eyebrows when they were children.

“There is no need for hostages. The course is set. There is no escape. You are my betrothed. We are marrying, and that is all. They want you to breed. I want you to live.”

The word intrigued him. “Breed?”

She laughed slightly. “You will understand soon enough. I see glimpses of the path, but I will see it all. I will make sure you survive the coming storm.”

He scanned her face, but there was no way to know if Tii Sanura was ever lying, not to mention she was speaking nonsense. Seeing he couldn’t understand her, she sighed.

“Give me a moment.”

She led the women outside, conversing with the guards—no, instructions, Feyd corrected, orders to protect them if trouble arose—then returned inside so they were alone. Her eyes were fond, affectionate. It made his stomach churn. His head was spinning.

“I apologize that I cannot ease your confusion, my friend. Plans have been in motion since we have been betrothed; this is all I can tell you for now. You will learn the rest on your own.”

She went over to him, cupping his cheek in her hand and kneeling before him, resting onto his lap. Feyd felt the blood rush to his groin immediately.

“You have known no other life than the one given to you on Geidi Prime. It is a brutal, unnatural existence, but you have become the best specimen of such a place, which is why I fought for you.”

Fought?

“Your way of life has perfected you for the Baron’s purposes. But I wish to show you new ways of life—better ways. You burn what does not need burning, you strike when you need to caress. You will learn these things in Daquan.”

His heartbeat was slamming in his chest as she slid between his legs, looking up at him as he felt her breasts gently pressing against his lower abdomen, stoking the fires of his lust punishingly.

“I only ask of you to let me show you the way. I believe you can be redeemed. Let me show you the way to redemption.”

“I do not need to be redeemed,” he demanded, placing his hand around her throat, “You insult me.”

She smiled, and chuckled softly. “I will first teach you the ways of unsullied pleasure. Let me demonstrate my first lesson, and we will see how you feel afterwards.”

Her hands freely massaged his painful erection with careful pressure. His head swam his need; his grip tightened on her throat. She placed her hand over his, and he curiously allowed her to guide it elsewhere, lower, where his hand cupped her breast. His inhale was sharp.

“Do forgive my deception; I am not uneducated in matters of sex.”

The smile in her lips guaranteed her apology was false. Jealously lazily flared in him, but faded as she continued to massage his length through his pants.

“I cannot show any weakness in your court, so I had to hide many aspects of myself. I suspect you will be pleased with the discoveries you make in our time together.”

“I…will not be your pet, woman,” he protested, pleasure beginning to dull his harsher intentions. She deserved to be punished for her antics and condescension, but her hands were undoing him.

“No, you will not,” she assured, moving closer to graze his lips with hers, “You will be my husband.”

He kissed her hungrily, thrilled and conflicted by the newfound passion he was given back by his betrothed. He wished to take it from her, but she gave it so freely, and he needed the release so badly he couldn’t care less how he got her to ease his agonizing denial. She was tugging at his puppet strings, he knew this, but to receive whatever she offered, he would accept being bested. For now.

She broke their lips apart, eyes slowly opening, lids heavy in a way that he never thought possible.

“Do you trust me now,” she asked, kissing his jaw, slowly unbuttoning his trousers.

“No,” he muttered, then, after gathering his thoughts, “I don’t know.”

Her lips brushed against his ear. “Surrender this moment to me, and I will show you the beauty of trust.”

He had no protest. She smiled.

“Mm, I thought so.”

“You witch,” he protested at her gloating.

She only chuckled. “I cannot perform magic tricks, but I understand your confusion.”

Her kiss firmly silenced any retort she had as she closed her hand around his clothed length, making his breath shudder.

“My customs prevent me from making any sexual contact with your bare flesh,” she whispered, her voice wavering, “But the scriptures I studied didn’t mention anything about—“

He cut her off, taking her face in his hands and kissing her with unrestrained hunger as she began stroking him at a measured rhythm. He groaned softly into her mouth, and she tasted it eagerly. She spoke against his lips.

“I want you to be my husband,” she said, breathing heavily, “Do you understand? No other man will do. No other man would be my lover. I want you.”

“I knew you wanted me,” he muttered lazily, completely at the mercy of her skillful hands, “You cannot lie to me about this.”

“I will not lie to you anymore,” she said, words flowing from her lips in the heat of the moment, “There will be no need to. We will be together.”

He growled involuntarily at the feeling of his climax approaching as she sighed.

“You—you belong to me,” he said, it was both a statement and a question.

“We belong to each other,” she whispered, “No one will disturb us. No one will want to.”

His hand closed around her throat again and squeezed. She sighed again, no other man would take control like him, even when he was at his weakest.

“You belong to me,” he repeated—this time, it was a command.

She smiled, making sure to draw each word out, the surrender he had hungered for so ardently for so, very, very long. Her voice was soft and sweet in his ear, but strained under his grip.

“I belong to you.”

He climaxed almost immediately. He groaned as his cum spilled inside his pants; it belonged in her hot, wet cunt, but that was a matter for later. She hummed in affirmation as his cock twitched and pulsed underneath her hand, and made a slight sound of surprise as his hips jutted against her chest. She gripped him tightly and slowed her pace, humming along with his groans, smiling against his skin as his choking slowly changed to gripping her jaw to hold her still for his ravenous kisses, then changed to gripping her hair at her scalp to bare her neck to his hungry mouth.

She gasped as he kissed and sucked at her throat like a starved animal, then, to his astonishment, moaned softly.

“Feyd,” she barely said, her words barely intelligible through her growing sounds of pleasure, “Feyd, wait…”

His teeth grazed her skin, and she shivered with a smile, moving her hand away from his spent cock to press them both against his chest. She was being too indulgent, but then again, he had always been a bad influence.

“You want to wait,” he asked, tugging her head back, “You care about some old books?”

She chuckled, then moaned as he left a mark on her skin with a harsh kiss.

“I must—We must wait.”

She gently pushed him back, and he accepted her resistance. He was satisfied by her willingness to express her desire; her surrender to his demand. Hesitantly, he restrained himself and pulled away. She kissed him softly, caressing his head with such affection he would’ve thought a stranger was touching him.

“Without principles, we are no better than animals,” she said, “Not all disciplines are easy, I don’t deny it.”

She smiled at him, a devilish twinkle forming in her eyes.

“But the rewards for such obedience prove much sweeter than without it.”

The na-Baron took in his betrothed’s blissful features with an odd sense of reverence.

“You are a strange woman,” he remarked.

She smiled in amusement. “And you are a strange man.”

They kissed again, with Tii Sanura climbing into his lap as his hands hungrily roamed her clothed body.

“Are my convoys landing with me, my jewel,” he asked between kisses.

She laughed quietly. “They will make it to our realm. Then, I will have them released into the asteroid belt. Is this agreeable?”

Feyd laughed in return. “Yes, I believe it is. But I will require more of your…assistance.”

Her giggles were music to his ears as he hoisted her up into his arms, then tossed her onto her back on the bed, climbing on top of her and pressing himself between her legs.

He would have had no other woman as his wife.

[hannibalsbaby]

Labor.

Pairing: Otto Hightower x OC!Daella Targaryen (younger sister to Rhaenyra Targaryen).

Warnings: Child marriage, violence, war, incest, murder, child death, torture, language, etc.

This is a snippet from a story I have on Wattpad, but haven't finished. This part isn't even in it, I just wanted to write something here. DO NOT repost to other sites without my permission. Please DO NOT read if you are uncomfortable with the topics above.

King's Landing was a prison – a prison that held Daella within, the only reason she didn't escape to her sister's side was her children. Aenys, Uthor, and Maelys – her sons, the youngest only three name-days old. Her paranoia was on high-alert after hearing Helaena constantly spill out prophetic words that always came true. Helaena's most recent was about rats – the look in her younger sisters eyes was something Daella would never forget. Daella Targaryen – daughter of King Viserys Targaryen, sister of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen was no green dragon, she had to pretend to protect her sons from her deranged brothers. She knew that once her uncle and sister took King's Landing – her and her children would be safe, so she stayed within the vipers den.

Little Maelys Hightower, Daella Targaryen's youngest son, took his father's coloring as did Aenys and Uthor. Though, the young boy was a dragon through and through. The little boy stuck to his mother's dress nearly everyday, his eyes had the same spark in them as she did as a young girl. Daella would never admit, but he was her favorite, he was solely for her – his birth brought her out of a deep depression. He saved her, it was that simple. Daella was tucking in Maelys for the night like she had her other two boys, it was a normal routine until the feeling of cold metal met her throat.

"A son for a son."

The voice was inside of her ear, she could feel the stranger's breath on her face. The man was lowborn, she could tell from his smell. Another man joined them, she could tell by the heavy, careless footsteps. "Please," Daella whispered, her voice breaking – she knew who the culprit behind all of this was. Her uncle Prince Daemon Targaryen, she knew he wouldn't target her specifically – she also knew that you couldn't control mercenaries once they were out of grasp.

"A son for a son." The larger one added onto what the other had said. Blood was dripping from her neck, she could feel it as she was turned to face the larger man. She couldn't stop her lip from quivering at the burlap sack in his hand. At that moment she knew what was going to happen, her sister was right once again. The rats were the real danger within the castle.

A tear slipped down Daella's porcelain cheek, "My son, my son is not who you are looking for. I will show you to who you are looking for, just please – please don't hurt him," her voice was surprisingly strong as her mind was whirling. She felt sick to her stomach as she anticipated the response from one of the two men. As she waited, the larger one yanked her necklace off – pocketing it for himself.

"A son for a son, that's what he said. I'm sure this boy will do just fine," said the man whose dagger was digging into her neck by the second. A whimper left Daella's mouth as she squeezed her eyes closed, this was just a nightmare, she would wake up from it. Everything would be fine. Everything would be fine, it had to be. Not another word was spoken between the pair, the larger one just moved towards Maelys bed. The sharp edge pressed against her throat made her open her eyes, as she did a soundless scream would leave her mouth. The larger man had his hands within the small bed Daella's son slept in – a gurgling, crunching, and squelching noise was the only thing Daella could hear. Her eyes were focused as the man worked, chopping the head of her son off. Her legs finally gave out from under her, the smaller man let her go. The cold floor of the castle was a stark comparison to the fire that was within her body.

A scream finally left Daella's lips, it was blood curdling with an anguish only a mother could know. As she screamed her lungs out, the two men scrambled out of the nursery with a blood soaked sack in tow. Just as quickly as the men left, guards appeared with her husband, Alicent, Helaena, and unfortunately Aemond. Daella sat up on her knees, her face was wet with tears as well as spittle from her deranged screams. Her violet eyes finally met the others within the room.

"You. It was supposed to have been you." Daella's words were coarse, full of loathing as her bloodshot eyes locked onto the one-eyed prince. She would have her revenge on the kinslayer and she would have her revenge on the two men who killed her son. "My son is dead because of you, my sister's son is dead because of you – yet you go unpunished," she spat out at Aemond, her words full of venom yet her eyes held nothing but anguish. She was holding on by a thread, that much was obvious.

[certainempatheticturkeymuffin]

Unawakened Dream really awoke the plot bunnies! Enjoy!

-

The very fabric of Teyvat is unraveling — shattering into unseemly pieces; leaving gaping holes for the Primordial Sea to flood in. Mondstadt has long fallen — Dvalin and Andrius with it — and Venti thought he had no more tears to cry.

And yet…

“Zhong– Zhongli please! You can't leave me too!”

The geo archon lays at his feet, slowly crumbling to dust as erosion dared to claim him in the worst possible moment. The leaking of the geo archon's power destabilizes Teyvat even further. It brings Venti to his knees — threatens to turn him to stone alongside his last and oldest friend…

But Venti can't bring himself to care, as he grips onto Zhongli's crumbling hand and cries into his chest.

Zhongli does not remember Venti's face. He does not remember their shared battles, nor their hopeful songs or idle conversations. Venti is a stranger. And despite that, he gazes upon the image of their melting, shattering, dying reality, and dismisses it: deeming the sobbing archon above him more important.

Despite everything, Zhongli offers a calming smile, laying a half decayed hand upon Venti's unstained white feathers — a speck of soft and clean perfection in a disastrous painting. His voice is quiet and weak, missing his authority and wisdom, but it is still Zhongli.

“You… are important to me. Do not cry; one needn't waste tears over the inevitable and irreversible.”

‘Inevitable and irreversible.’ The thought stills him.

Because nothing is irreversible. Not to that spark split in three. Not to the power long abandoned. Not to the Shade of Time.

It has been millenia since the use of such power. Centuries since he'd thought of it…

Mondstadt would live.

Zhongli would live.

The tears don't stop at this realization, but Venti's grin isn't dampened as he looks into the clouded eyes of the only one left, “Nothing's irreversible Zhongli — not to me! I can fix this! I will fix this! I'll fix Teyvat– I'll save you!”

His words seem to send Zhongli into deep thought, but he speaks before Venti can even begin to draw upon those dimmed sparks, “Is that a promise?”

‘A contract?’ And Venti pauses. Because Zhongli does not know what power those words hold. Does not know that he is the God of Contracts, does not know that a promise bound by him is one impossible to break without severe consequence.

Venti has never entered a proper contract. Though he has always protected Mondstadt (he failed them), if he really felt like it, he could walk away without consequence. He has always retained the freedom of choice, even if the choices are mere illusions.

But what freedom is there if everyone is dead?

So Venti smiles — face marred only by tears, he is a picture of clean perfection amongst muddled destruction, untouched even in the final hour of Teyvat's demise. Untouchable, for even Teyvat's destruction is no guarantee of his own. He draws upon those faded remnants of Istaroth's power — of the power of the First Descender — and his voice is clear, echoing through the remnants of Teyvat and through the Primordial Sea, touching even the realities beyond their dream,

“I'll fix Teyvat, or die trying. May this contract be bound in stone.”

-

So yeah, may or may not make an actual fic, and did NOT intend this to be as ZhongVen as it was, but that image of Venti using Istaroth's power (of BEING Istaroth) really refused to leave me alone lol. I think it's mostly because I ADORE writing time loops, so even if I do already headcanon Venti as a time manipulator, seeing it in animated form... the temptation was too strong lol

[whereserpentswalk]

Don't fall in love with angels. They're allowed to love you and will do nice things for you. But they still serve heaven and its rules before they serve any being in the universe. The nicest, kindest, angel that you could ever meet, will still watch as thousands die because it's the will of fate, would still smite the undead just for being what they are. If they believe you're someone wrong or evil, even if you're just 'born wrong' they will destroy you. Their fire may warm you, but it's still there to burn heretics.

Fall in love with demons, those angels that have left heaven's will. They may be cruel at times, they all fell for different reasons, and many of them don't take well to being asked to say why. But they have their own will, and if you convince them to do good, they will do good. Even the darkest of demons can be reasoned with, because they already had enough reason to abandon the sky. Their fire may burn you, but it is the torch of liberty.

[hotchreidwriter]

Crave his presence [Aaron Hotchner]

Every time you’re near Hotch you can’t think , every time he folds his arms as he talks about a case he gets to you , all you can think about is being in his arms it’s all you can think about .

Paring fem!reader BAU Aaron Hotchner

Content soft fluff Slow burn/comfort/tension build up

Ranting Slow burn heated moments kissing Strauss is mentioned. [Your name] is mentioned

Word count 1.3k

Author notes I enjoyed writing this one , I’m still learning to write for Hotch but this was so so fun . Think this my favorite writing. I love when he folds his arms ….

This song was playing while writing this .. it’s not a must to listen to but this where the heated tension came from .

Please be kind , please ..

"You know what he's doing to me , right?" you whispered, turning to JJ, your voice laced with both curiosity and disbelief.

JJ raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "No, what?" she asked, her tone light and teasing.

Before you could respond, his voice cut through the room like a blade.

"[Your name]."

You froze, your breath catching as Hotch's deep voice called you out. All eyes turned to you as he stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, his unreadable expression making your heart race.

"Is there something you'd like to say in front of all of us?" he asked, his tone even but his gaze piercing.

Your mouth went dry. "Um, no, sir," you stammered, shaking your head quickly. [ Except that your a pain in my ass ]

Hotch didn’t respond, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he returned his attention to the case file in front of him.

You exhaled, feeling the tension dissolve as you sank back into your seat.

JJ leaned closer, her grin widening as she whispered conspiratorially, "Oh, he's got it bad for you."

Her words made your cheeks heat up, but you couldn’t deny the way your heart fluttered at the thought.

After the briefing, the team began to scatter, but Hotch's voice cut through the room like a knife.

"[Your Name], can I see you in my office?"

Your stomach dropped. "S-Sir, is that really necessary?" you asked, your voice trembling, barely louder than a whisper.

Hotch didn’t respond, just gave you that look.

Reluctantly, you followed him up the stairs, feeling the weight of the team’s curious stares. Once inside his office, Hotch closed the door with deliberate precision. Then, to your dismay, he turned to the blinds and shut them, one slat at a time, until the view of the bullpen was completely obscured.

"Sir, I—" you started, but your words caught in your throat.

Hotch raised a hand, silencing you. His face was calm, but the intensity in his eyes sent your pulse racing.

"Let me make something clear," he said, his voice low and measured.

Outside , the bullpen , Spencer frowned, leaning closer to JJ. "What’s going on in there?"

JJ shrugged, her curiosity matching his. "I don’t know, but he never closes the blinds. Whatever it is, it’s big."

"You think she’s in trouble?" Derek chimed in, his tone laced with amusement.

"Trouble?" JJ smirked. "Maybe. But with Hotch? It’s definitely personal."

In Hotch’s office

Hotch takes a step closer to you, his presence imposing, his voice low but firm. "If you want to talk about me, do it on your own time," he says, his tone leaving little room for argument.

"Sir—" you stammer, your voice trembling as you struggle to steady yourself. "The only thing I said was, do you know what he’s doing to me?"

You try to keep your balance, the weight of his gaze nearly crushing you. Your breath hitches as you fight not to look directly at him, but the intensity radiating off him makes it impossible to ignore. There’s a tension between you that feels like it could snap at any second.

Hotch studied you for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "Go on," he said softly. "What do I do to you?"

You turned away, unable to meet his gaze, your voice dropping to a low murmur. "You drive me crazy," you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "You stand up there with your arms folded, looking the way you do... it drives me mad. I can’t think straight when I’m around you."

You paused, your breath hitching as you glanced at him, searching for a reaction. For a moment, there was only silence between you, the tension thick. Then, he finally spoke, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

"[Your Name]."

It was the only thing he said, and yet it was enough to make your heart race as you gathered the courage to continue.

Turning back to him, you met his eyes and let your emotions spill out. “Hotch,” you said, your voice heavy with longing, “do you have any idea how badly I want you? The way you make me feel... I want you. I really want you.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your confession hanging heavily in the air. Hotch stood there, his usually composed demeanor faltering for just a moment. His brows furrowed slightly, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to make sense of what you’d just said.

He swallowed hard, his voice low and steady as he asked, “How bad?”

The question hung between you, his tone laced with curiosity and something deeper—something he couldn’t quite name. Hotch’s jaw tightened as he tried to gather his thoughts, his composure slipping under the weight of your vulnerability.

“How bad do you want me?” he pressed, his voice soft but commanding, almost daring you to say it out loud again.

Hotch...” Your voice trembled, nerves twisting in your stomach. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. Taking a shaky breath, you whispered, “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

Your eyes searched his, desperate for some kind of response—permission, acknowledgment, anything. Slowly, you stepped closer, your hands trembling as they reached for him.

Your fingers grazed his chest, tentative but yearning, and you pulled yourself closer, your body pressing against his. He didn’t pull away.

“I want to be close to you, Hotch,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Just to be near you… every damn time you fold your arms like that, it’s my kryptonite. I can’t think about anything else.”

His silence was heavy, his gaze unreadable, but his stillness spoke volumes. You felt the warmth of his breath as he leaned ever so slightly closer, his composure wavering in the face of your confession.

“[Your name],” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, almost a whisper meant only for you. You do know that this is inappropriate for the work place right?

The sound sent a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding so fiercely it felt as though he might hear it.

You tried to compose yourself, to fight the pull of him, but it was useless. He stayed close, his presence unraveling every thread of resolve you clung to.

“This isn’t inappropriate,” you said softly, barely convincing yourself, the words trembling as they left your lips.

But when you dared to glance up at him, his dark eyes met yours, steady and unyielding.

Part of you wanted to step away, to retreat to the safety of boundaries and professionalism. But the other part—the part that had wondered, had hoped—refused to move.

“Part of me thinks you don’t care, sir,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “And part of me thinks you want this just as much as I do.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering with something unspoken, something raw. For a moment, neither of you moved. The tension between you crackled like electricity, pulling taut until it felt as though something had to give.

But then, in true Aaron Hotchner fashion, he drew back, the distance suddenly a chasm that left you breathless.

“Careful, [Your name],” he said, his voice steady but laced with a quiet warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “Sir,” you said, your voice soft but unwavering, “I know exactly what I want. I don’t want to turn back. I want this—I want you. I want your body close to me.”

Hotch stiffened, his jaw tightening as he glanced away for a brief moment, as if collecting himself. When his eyes returned to yours, they were softer but no less intense. “We can’t do this here,” he said, his tone firm but conflicted.

You tilted your head, a teasing pout tugging at your lips. “If it were anyone else, it’d be fine. But since it’s me…”

His eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Stop,” he said, his voice low and warning, though there was no malice in it. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

You stepped closer, your breath hitching as the tension between you became almost unbearable. “I do ?” you asked ? your voice dropping to barely a whisper. “But I can’t pretend I don’t want this, Aaron. I want you—I’ve wanted you for longer than I should, and it’s driving me crazy.”

He let out a sharp breath, his hands balling into fists at his sides as if resisting the urge to reach for you. “You don’t think I feel the same?” he said, his voice low, strained. “I crave you more than you know, but we can’t—” He broke off, his voice cracking slightly, the weight of his restraint evident. “Not here. Not like this.”

Your heart raced as his words sank in, the layers of his struggle evident in his tone. It wasn’t rejection—it was hesitation born of responsibility, of the lines you both shouldn’t cross but couldn’t stop toeing.

“I don’t care about ‘here’ or ‘like this,’” you said softly, leaning in just enough to close the space between you, but not quite touching him. “I just care about you.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, the storm inside him written plainly on his face. Finally, you whispered, almost to yourself ,

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me he says”.

Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, heavy with unspoken desire. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss. The touch was featherlight at first, as though he was testing the waters, but as you responded, melting into the kiss, it deepened—deliberate and consuming.

His lips left yours only to trail along your jawline, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

He stopped at your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he whispered, “[Your Name], you’re so beautiful. You know that, don’t you?”

Your heart raced, pounding so loudly it drowned out the world around you. “Hotch…” you murmured, your voice trembling as he pressed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, holding onto him like he might slip away.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he admitted, his lips hovering over your skin. Each word sent sparks cascading through your body.

“Let me in, Hotch,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but charged with emotion. “Please, let me in.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his body tense against yours, but then he exhaled, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that promised everything he’d been holding back.

You pull back from the kiss, just enough to take a shaky breath. Your hands drift down his arms, lingering on the strength of his muscles, before moving to his chest. Slowly, deliberately, you circle around him, your fingers trailing across his shoulders and down his back.

"[Your Name]," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver through you.

You stop, turning to face him again, your eyes locking with his. There’s a quiet intensity in his gaze, a silent question you’re not sure you’re ready to answer.

Your hands hover at the hem of his shirt, temptation pulling at you, begging you to undo the buttons one by one and feel the warmth of his skin beneath your palms.

"What’s on your mind?" he asks softly, his voice tinged with curiosity and something deeper.

You hesitate, your fingers curling slightly against the fabric, your heart pounding as you weigh whether to give in to the moment or step away.

What’s on my mind? You glance up at Hotch, your hands still lingering on the buttons of his shirt.

“Right now,” you say, voice low and breathless, “I want to unbutton your shirt and feel you all over. But... that might be out of line, sir.”—“Right?

Your words hang in the air, heavy with tension. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want it,” you add, the confession escaping like a whispered secret.

His hands catch yours, stopping you in place, his touch firm yet gentle. His chest rises and falls as he steadies his breath.

“What are you doing to me?” he murmurs, his voice rough, his dark eyes locked on yours.

As Hotch slowly pulled away, his hands lingering on yours for just a moment longer, he seemed on the verge of letting you continue unbuttoning his shirt. But just as you were about to, a knock at the door broke the tension. A voice—Aaron, no, it was David Rossi's voice—made you jump, your heart racing as you realized, with some embarrassment, that you'd forgotten you were still in in his office during business hours , in the heat of the moment you couldn’t believe you forgot .

You instinctively stepped back, allowing Hotch to straighten himself out, and you did the same, trying to collect your thoughts.

"Aaron, can we talk for a minute?" Rossi's voice came through the door.

Hotch looked at you for a beat before responding. "Come in."

Rossi stepped into the office, a little sheepish. "Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt."

"No, it’s fine," you replied quickly, stepping back even further from Hotch.

Rossi turned to Hotch, telling him that Strauss needed to discuss something regarding the case. As he spoke, you felt a pang of disappointment, the moment slipping away, the air between you and Hotch thick with unspoken words.

As you moved to leave, Hotch stepped closer to you, his presence overwhelming, yet gentle. "We'll finish this discussion later, okay?" he said softly, his hand brushing your shoulder as though to reassure you, but there was something more in his touch—something unspoken that lingered.

@hoe4hotchner

[cantankerouscanuck]

So @tealgoat has a splendid ISAT AU and I couldn't help but write this. Names mean so much to me in my family's heritage, so when I saw her post detailing "Loop would take Odile's surname as their own", I knew what i wanted to write

Features Mifune and my hc surname for the family being "Kisaragi"

[nikethestatue]

The First Flight

Azriel flies Elain from House of Wind to the townhouse. Another lil fic for my Elain Archeron Week. Enjoy!

“I’ll get Nes,” Cassian announced loudly and proudly. “You get Lucien,” he told Rhys. “And you can get Elain,” that was directed at Azriel.

“We’ll see if Nes will allow you to carry her,” Azriel noted dryly.

“Of course she will!” Cassian assured him with enviable confidence. “I am the biggest and the strongest and she’ll feel safest with me.”

At ‘biggest and strongest’ Azriel raised his brow. 

“Cass, don’t get upset if Nesta doesn’t want to fly with you,” Feyre warned cautiously.

They landed in the House of Wind and Azriel fell back, preferring not to deal with the drama that was about to ensue. His only objective right now was to have Elain agree to have him carry her and fly her to the townhome. If he was stuck with Lucien–again–he’d just hurl himself off the wall. He did not need to carry Lucien as well.

Things went as well as he predicted between Nesta and Cassian. She was ready to hurl herself off the wall at the suggestion of Cass flying her. She and Feyre proceeded to bicker between the two of them, with Cassian definitely not helping, and Rhysand attempting to play some kind of referee, which was the worst idea possible. 

Azriel left them to their own devices and slipped out of the room, quickly making his way to where Elain was housed. He bypassed the small library and entered the sitting room, quietly opening the door and stepping inside.

He didn’t want to spook her, so instead, he sent out a shadow, hoping that she knew that it was him in the room with her. The shadow raced towards the sombre, sad figure that sat in front of the window. She was wearing a plain, but well-tailored cream-colour dress, and her hair was tied into a loose braid on her back. The shadow slithered over Elain’s leg and then landed on her hands, wrapping itself around her fingers. She looked down and smiled softly. There was no fear and no alarm in her expression. The shadow caressed Elain’s hand, twirling around her fingers and darting back and forth. 

Azriel approached quietly and carefully, not wanting to startle her. But Elain turned her head to him and looked him up and down. He was dressed in full armour, black and gleaming, and it occurred to him that maybe this was not the best idea. He knew that he looked menacing when he was dressed like this–and the armour was designed to instil fear and trepidation. Standing here now, with this shy, traumatised girl, looming over her was probably a terrifying sight. Shit. He should’ve thought about it before he came here. 

To Azriel’s utter surprise, Elain did not shy away and only said ‘hello’.

“Hello,” he offered, trying to make his deep, hoarse voice sound as gentle and unthreatening as possible. As he would typically do with a scared animal, he lowered himself onto his hunches in front of her and smiled. “Am I disturbing you?” he asked.

She shook her head no.

“How are you feeling?”

She thought for a moment, really considering his question, and then answered ‘I am sad’.

“I understand,” he nodded.

She looked at him, her eyes clear for once, her expression thoughtful and then whispered, “You probably do”.

He wanted to tuck a loose strand of her golden brown hair behind her ear, but he didn’t permit himself to be so bold with her. 

“Here is the deal,” he told her instead. “We’d like to move you and Nesta to the townhome where Rhys and Feyre live. In the city. Would that be alright with you?”

She seemed almost surprised when he’d asked for her opinion, and he dawned on him that most decisions about her life were probably made by someone else. She wasn’t used to being consulted. 

She nodded.

“Good. So we will need to fly down there,” he explained. “Do you think you can do that for me?”

She nodded again, her huge brown eyes drinking him in. He didn’t mind it at all. Unlike almost everyone else, it seemed that Elain wasn’t scared of him whatsoever. In fact, she seemed quite comfortable in his presence, which was very unusual. He didn’t quite know what to do with this–someone like her not being frightened of him.

“You can fly with me. Or, if you are not keen on that, you can fly with Cassian or with Rhys. How does that sound?” 

“With you,” she told him immediately, without hesitation. 

He smiled at her and whispered, “that’s my good girl”.

At these words, she seemed to perk up and then slowly licked her lower lip, before biting it softly.

He’d have to keep this in mind for later. Looked like she wanted to be his good girl.

“Do you want to take anything with you?” he offered, as she got up from the chair. He wasn’t sure if he should be touching her, but it’s like his hands had a mind of their own, and he reached and put his hand on her back, supporting her.

“No. I don’t have anything. Only my ribbons,” she said flatly. He walked beside her, still holding his palm to her back, and she didn’t ask him to remove it. In her bedroom, she grabbed a handful of ribbons and then looked around, searching to put them somewhere.

He extended his hand and said, “I’ll keep them.”

She dropped them in his open palm and he stuck the bundle in his pocket.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he thought to ask her then. 

She thought about it, “I am not sure. I’ve never been anywhere very high. This place is quite high up in the air and I don’t mind it.”

Azriel sought to reassure her, saying, “if you don’t feel well at any point, let me know. We can always take breaks.”

“I trust you,” Elain said simply. 

“Alright then, come,” he beckoned her and she followed him to the balcony. There, he stooped and opened his arms, “ready?”

She nodded, “ready” and then he carefully scooped her up and held her tightly to his chest.

She was light and small, very thin, almost sickly, and it angered him. The whole thing angered him. The fact that Nesta didn’t allow anyone to see Elain in the past seven weeks, and kept her isolated, was probably not the best idea. If he were Rhys, Azriel didn’t think he would’ve listened to Nesta and would’ve done everything to help Elain. But then, he wasn’t Rhys and Elain wasn’t his. But if she were his, things would’ve been different.

He kept his touch respectful, but he felt her next to him, the shape of her body, and having touched many a female in his lifetime, he ascertained that she would be soft and plumper if she actually ate. She wasn’t shaped like her sisters, and for whatever reason, it pleased him. He wasn’t sure why, because she was mated to another. The thought made his teeth clench and he stepped off the railing and plunged down.

“Ahhh,” she sucked in a breath in fright, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her face into his chest.

He smiled and stroked her head, as they flew at a smooth, unhurried pace. He was glad that he just snatched her and didn’t give the others a chance to carry her instead of him. This was his time. 

Cassian was rather obvious in his attraction to Nesta. He was the least subtle male in existence, so it wasn’t exactly surprising that everyone, including Nesta, were aware of Cassian’s interest. Azriel, however…he kept his interests to himself. And from the moment Elain was Made, he couldn’t stifle his interest in her. He couldn’t stop the desire that coursed through his veins. It wasn’t a lustful need, but it wasn’t brotherly or paternal either. 

“Am I heavy?” she asked after a few moments.

“No,” he laughed. “No you aren’t.”

Her finger traced the scales of his armour, around the bicep and she murmured, “you are very strong…”

“Well, I am an Illyrian warrior.”

It sounded stupid even to his own ears, but he was too distracted by how she felt in his arms, by how her hair fluttered in the wind and swept over his face. He was too distracted by how she reached for his arm and how she shifted against his chest, her soft thighs moving until he could touch the curve of her bottom. 

Mother’s tits!

He didn’t think that this would affect him quite so strongly, but here he was, hot within his leathers, filling his lungs with the jasmine and honey scent of her, counting every pale freckle on her nose and cheeks. He moved his fingers just so, brushing over her bottom, pretending like he needed to readjust her position. He did. Only he did it for his own benefit. She didn’t seem to mind though. She leaned into his embrace, pliant and soft, and watched the city below them.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, awed by the sights beneath his wings. “I can’t believe that I am flying! It’s…it’s incredible!”

“I am glad you are enjoying it,” he answered. While she was looking down, he carefully dragged his nose over the top of her head, scenting her. It was neutral, but two things he could immediately tell–she wasn’t scared of him and she was very subtly aroused. Very subtly. But there was a tiny shift in her scent, a slight warming of her skin, a new spark to her eyes and cheeks. Her lips weren’t as pale as before. Whatever she was feeling, she liked it. And he wondered if it was the first thing that she liked about her new life, about this new world? Was he the first, and so far, only thing that she enjoyed in her new form?

At that thought, Azriel felt a certain smugness. 

Did he actually make her happy?

She moved again, comfortable and at ease in his arms. Her small little tit pushed into his breast plate and he hated that he was wearing it, because he couldn’t feel the softness of her breasts at his chest. 

“That’s Sidra,” he began explaining, “and that’s the sea and the port. Over there,” he jerked his head to the north, “is Illyria. On a clear day, you can see Ramiel, a holy mountain.”

“That’s where you are from,” she said. It wasn’t a question. 

“It is.”

“I’d like to visit one day,” she surprised him.

“Illyria?”

“Yes. Why not? I am sure there is beauty to your land. Both you and Cassian are good men.”

He wasn’t sure about her assessment but he didn’t argue.

Slowly, he began descending, making sure that he didn’t cause her any discomfort and watching for any signs of dizziness. But she was a trooper and seemed just fine. It pleased him, for whatever reason. Elain being comfortable with flying, not being afraid of heights, enjoying herself–it mattered to him. 

He landed on the front lawn of the townhouse, and walked down the four marble steps, before pushing the door open with his foot.

He crossed the threshold with Elain still in his arms, carrying her as if she was his bride. She wasn’t. But it didn’t stop him.

Her hair had loosened from the braid, and long strands tugged on the scales of his uniform, connecting them like golden threads. She lay in his embrace like a pale golden mass and he loved it. He was still holding her, when he finally noticed Feyre, who apparently had winnowed back home. She was watching them, wide eyed, and with a stupid little smile on her lips.  

Sighing, Azriel set Elain on her feet, making sure that she was steady on her feet. 

He didn’t plan on it, but he also couldn’t bring himself to part with her. He couldn’t end this peaceful lovely interlude just like that. He simply wasn’t ready. So, he beat Feyre to whatever she was about to say, and turned to Elain, who stood there, looking a little lost.

“Would you like me to show you the garden?” he offered. 

Elain looked up at him, looking relieved, and then nodded once. 

It seemed like she wasn’t ready to part with him either.