#olive does appear in all of my fics

[hoperays-song]

Human Johnny: Random Headcannon

Human Johnny would have a dog. A dog he found like three years before Sing 2 when he was like 15 after a fight with his dad. Johnny ran off in storm after a fight and came across this tiny muddy, flea covered puppy in an alley and just... brought it home with him. 

Marcus of course did the usual parent thing of “Absolutely not, we are not getting a dog, we’re taking it to the shelter in the morning”. And yet, when he went down to the garage the next morning he realized that Johnny had spent the night sleeping on concrete next to this tiny scrap of fur just in case she was cold and he just couldn’t bring himself to separate the two. 

Johnny got to keep the puppy. He named her Olive and trained her himself. She likes to run next to him when he goes out skateboarding. They think she’s a pitbull/doberman/lab mix.

***Olive as a puppy.

[sansaorgana]

— FORBIDDEN FRUIT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Baron Vladimir Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — After your planet was conquered by The Harkonnens, you are sent to Giedi Prime as a war prize to marry one of The Baron's nephews. However, Baron Vladimir changes his plans at the sight of you and decides to take you as his wife. Feyd-Rautha does not give up easily, though.

REQUEST — (1) // (2)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It's finally here! I got carried away, not gonna lie... Look at the word count! 🙈 I might have forgotten about some warnings, just keep in mind the fic is dark and twisted 😝 By creating the Reader's homeworld and its customs I was loosely inspired by the mediterranean and islamic cultures but of course her physical appearance is not being described. 🤍

WARNINGS — arranged/forced marriage, blood, death, Baron Harkonnen being an absolute and non-consensual creep, Feyd-Rautha being non-consensual as well in the beginning, SMUT, fingering, oral, breeding (artificial and natural), incest undertones (they're not related but he calls her Aunt and she calls him nephew) + Feyd's traumatic past briefly mentioned, Reader is a few years older than Feyd but he is aged up to 20

WORD COUNT — 13,560 (🤡)

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Your homeworld used to be a Paradise. The sky was always blue, the weather warm but not too hot due to the light breeze coming from the Ocean. Cypress trees, pistachio nuts, olive branches and fish were what Pairi Daêza was famous for in the past centuries. It was a small planet that remained unnoticed and neutral in most of the conflicts. The Imperial Family loved to spend their holidays on Pairi Daêza and import their goods in a form of a tribute.

That was history. And although you were born on this beautiful planet, in your teenage years the whole world crumbled down and you were exposed to the true reality of the war. When one of the Imperial geologists had found a huge spice deposit under your planet’s Ocean, the destructive war began.

Your parents tried their best to avoid the conflict. They offered the Emperor to dry a huge part of the Ocean to harvest spice from there. In fact, your father the Sultan saw an opportunity of getting wealth and influence in this situation. And that probably was his downfall. The Emperor wanted all the spice for himself.

But The Emperor was not the one to get his hands dirty. No, he hired the most fearsome warriors and assassins to teach your planet a lesson. The Harkonnens.

While the battles were taking place on the ground, their special machinery was drying out the Ocean and harvesting the spice hidden underneath the water surface. The whole planet began to die off due to the lack of water. The crops were evaporating in the heat, people were starving and their homes destroyed. The Harkonnens were kidnapping your citizens to be their slaves and your father and his army were too weak to protect them. The subjects of the Sultan started a rebellion with the help of The Harkonnens and after long years of the ongoing and destructive war, it was the final blow for your father’s weak reign.

You were an adult woman now, standing proudly with a veil covering nearly your whole face with only eyes being on display like all unmarried women of Pairi Daêza traditionally wore. Surrounded from all sides by The Harkonnen army in your father’s throne room, holding your mother’s hand. The dignified and beautiful Sultana with the last piece of jewellery she had refused to give away – a majestic headpiece made of gold and sparkling gemstones of all the possible colours. They reflected the dim light creeping inside through the windows of the ruined Pairi Daêza Palace where you had been born and resided for your whole life. And where you would die with only a few the most loyal guards protecting you.

The front doors opened loudly and a huge, beastly looking Harkonnen man stormed inside with a few of his identical soldiers. You had heard of him, he was the terror of Pairi Daêza in the past few years. The Beast Rabban himself. He dealt with your guards completely on his own, feasting on their deaths with a psychotic smirk. You swallowed thickly at the size of his hands; so big and strong they could break you in half. You hoped for a swift and quick death – as a Shehzadi of Pairi Daêza you had your privileges and you counted that the mercy of Beast Rabban would be one of them.

He started to approach you confidently, his black armour stained with the blood of your guards, contrasting with his sickly pale skin. Your father stepped out to cover you and your mother with his own body as if it would stop the Beast. Rabban froze at the sight and let out a contemptuous laughter that echoed through the throne room.

“Your reign is over, Sultan (Y/L/N),” he announced. “Pairi Daêza and its spice is under The Harkonnen rule.”

“Pairi Daêza no longer exists. You have destroyed my world and you want to rule over the ruins,” your father drawled through the gritted teeth.

“We do not care about your world. We care about the spice. But you… You will be remembered as the Sultan whose reign was the last. The death of your world will forever be attached to your name,” Rabban pointed out and reached for his blade. “Come to me and fight like a man, I shall give you the privilege of defending yourself. Do not cling to the skirts of your wife and daughter. By doing so, you put them in the path of my blade.”

“Don’t hurt them,” your father approached him, despite your hands trying to stop him. “The planet and the spice are yours. You can kill me but spare my family,” he pleaded.

“Your wife will be given to the new Governor of Pairi Daêza and he will do as he pleases with her. Your daughter is our prize I will take with me to Giedi Prime,” Rabban laid his terrifying eyes on you and you froze out of fear. You’d rather die than be taken away to The Harkonnens. He could only see your eyes but it was enough for him to smirk and lick his lips in a disgusting manner.

This scenario was worse than the death you had been expecting.

“You will die,” he told your father and pointed at one of the deceased guards for your father to take his sword and be able to defend himself in a fair fight.

But you knew already it would be a slaughter you did not wish to see.

“Don’t kill him! Don’t kill my father!” You screamed and took a step ahead. Your mother sobbed behind your back.

“(Y/N), don’t…” your father shook his head.

“I will offer myself to you willingly if you spare his life and let him govern this planet in The Harkonnen name. He will obey your orders and so will I,” you promised.

It was common for parents to sacrifice themselves for their children. No one would ever question such an act. Why couldn’t it go both ways? You loved your parents just as much as they loved you. Especially in the last years of the war, you had grown very close having basically no one else by your side.

If you were all to die together, it was not a bad ending. But if they tried to kill your father, send you away and give your mother away to a stranger… you could not let that happen.

“What makes you think we care about women giving themselves to us willingly, Shehzadi?” Rabban snorted at you but he approached you slowly with his blade held up. “You’re confident to offer so little for wanting so much in return,” the tip of his blade lifting up the hem of your face veil as you trembled out of fear.

“There is no need for bloodshed. My father will bend his knee and I will go with you, my Lord,” you choked out, trying to hide your obvious fear.

Rabban tilted his head and laughed at you. Then, in one swift move he cut the veil open and you gasped as the fabric fell down on the floor, leaving you exposed in front of him and his Harkonnen soldiers. It was one of the greatest humiliations for the Pairi Daêza woman for her to reveal her face in front of a man outside her close family before her wedding. It was her husband who was supposed to lift the veil off of her face on their wedding day and see her first before every other man would. To take the veil off of an unmarried woman in an aggressive manner like this was the greatest disrespect that back in the day men had been punished for by the law.

Embarrassed and humbled down, you stood still, trying to stare back at the Beast Rabban with your shoulders straight and your lips pursed out of anger and determination.

“You are not mine for the taking. I am to take you to Giedi Prime and my uncle shall decide what to do with you. Most likely he will want you to be my younger brother’s bride because it is him who will inherit the title one day,” he told you and you felt a knot forming in your stomach.

You hated Rabban but he was the devil you knew from the stories and now personally as well. His brother was a new character in the story that you feared. What was he like? 

“Why is that not you?” You asked him. “You have just conquered a planet for your uncle, have you not, my Lord?”

“It is not I who argues with my uncle’s decisions,” Rabban snapped at you but you saw in his cruel eyes that you had touched a sensitive subject with your question. “Will you bend your knee, Sultan (Y/L/N)?” He asked your father.

He was staring at you with a terrified expression on his face. He couldn’t believe what you had just done. But you knew he wouldn’t throw a fist now. He would bend his knee because your father was a weak man.

Deep down, despite your love for him, you hated him for his weakness. Most of your problems, most of the failures in this war were caused by this trait of his. You couldn’t blame him, though. The Sultans of Pairi Daêza had never been trained to fight or lead military campaigns. There had been no need for that in the past.

“I, Sultan (Y/F/N) of The House (Y/L/N), pledge my allegiance to The House Harkonnen,” your father kneeled and bowed his head down.

You watched Rabban closely. He could accept this offer but he could also simply behead your father.

“In the name of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, may your service be accepted, Sultan (Y/L/N),” he nodded his head. “We didn’t know who to make the Governor of this wasteland anyway,” he snorted. “I guess this is solved. However, you will be watched carefully,” he squinted his eyes at your father. “I will leave my guards here and you will be spied on every second of your pathetic life, Sultan.”

“Yes, my Lord,” your father nodded. “What about the rebellion you helped to start? The citizens of Pairi Daêza do not wish me to stay in this Palace anymore.”

“You have my army to command now. You can slay them,” Rabban shrugged his arms and your father stood up clumsily.

“You helped them to start the rebellion against me and now you’re giving me your army to slay the rebels?” He asked to make sure.

“All we care about is your spice,” Rabban’s voice sounded casual and then he turned around to look at you again. “And your daughter,” he added with a smirk before approaching you and grabbing you by your arm roughly. You squealed as he started to walk you out of the room.

“Let me go!” You protested.

“You’re already breaking our arrangement, woman. You promised to be obedient,” he barked at you.

“I want to say goodbye to my parents,” you told him.

“It’s not the last time you’re seeing them. That is, if they play nice and don’t start anything,” he threatened as he looked at your scared parents.

Your mother risked it, though, and she ran up to you. Her shaking hands grabbed yours as she sobbed. She couldn’t say much because of her state but she didn’t have to.

“I will be fine, mama. I will survive and you have to as well, do you hear me? Otherwise my sacrifice won’t matter,” you told her and she nodded her head, silently choking on her sobs.

“That’s enough,” Rabban threw you over his shoulder swiftly like you were a sack of potatoes and he took you out of the Palace – straight to the huge Harkonnen ship that was destined to go back on Giedi Prime.

You were a war prize.

You didn’t know much about Giedi Prime except for scary legends and myths. The heavy industrial landscape was something you had not been used to nor was their black sun that was making everything on the planet black-and-white when you were spending time outside. Not that you had spent lots of time there. You were transported from the ship to the huge black fortress and into the chambers with a few female servants waiting for you. They bathed you carefully and put you in long black robes with a veil mimicking the ones that were traditional for the Pairi Daêza unmarried women. Only your eyes were visible when you looked at yourself in the mirror, but barely – the veil was decorated with dangling silver chains. They were making you look even more mysterious and kind of dangerous but the whole outfit felt like a mockery of the traditional robes of your people.

The unmarried women of Pairi Daêza were hiding their faces but their dresses were often made of a few layers of sheer and colourful materials. Just because they were under a cover, didn’t mean they were not cheerful and full of life. The dresses would be often decorated with lace, flowers or embroidery. They were flowy and ethereal when the women walked down the streets and all the married women who no longer had to hide their faces were envious as they remembered their younger days. On Giedi Prime you looked as if you were in a deep state of mourning. But perhaps you were. Your planet was destroyed, your family humiliated. And no one knew what would happen to you.

You were taken by the guards and followed by the servants to a huge throne room of The Baron Harkonnen. You had heard of him from your father so you expected the worst but his unnaturally huge and floating form still made the blood in your veins run cold. He was enormous and repulsing; sickly. Kept alive by the machinery behind him and the undying will to rule forever.

He was accompanied by Rabban who smirked at you when you walked inside. There was another man standing there, too. He was young; strong and muscular but also slim. Tall and proud in the way he stood. His face was full of cruelty and mockery but you had to admit he was rather attractive… at least for a Harkonnen male. His lips were full, his eyes reminded you of a snake but they were decorated with a long set of eyelashes. You hoped he was the younger brother that Beast Rabban had mentioned before.

You stood in front of the stairs leading to The Baron’s throne and you bowed down, waiting for his reaction.

“Shehzadi (Y/L/N),” he greeted you in a harsh, deep voice that sent shivers down your spine. “Finally I get to see you… Or not,” he added and you raised your head to lay your eyes on him. He was observing you carefully and so was the young man. “Take her veil off, Rabban, show me what you’ve brought here,” he snapped at his nephew and the Beast approached you. “She better be pretty enough for Feyd-Rautha if you decided to spare her father’s life for her,” The Baron teased him. 

“Who would have thought that women were your weakness,” the man named Feyd hissed at his brother and you got startled by the sound of his voice. It was identical to The Baron’s in a twisted and uncomfortable way that formed a knot in your stomach.

You felt oddly bad for the Beast Rabban. He was the one to conquer your planet and he was the one to take you. Yet, you were a prize that he had won not for himself but for his spoiled younger brother. You couldn’t quite understand the dynamic of this family yet.

He stood next to you and grabbed the fabric of your veil in his fist in his usual brutal manner. By the pace of his breath, you could hear that he was as nervous as you were. If The Baron would not like you, he would be punished for going soft on your father.

Rabban’s hand hesitated before tearing the veil off of your face. It caught his younger brother’s attention. He hissed and walked up to you with a short knife in his hands that he had been playing with as if out of boredom. He smirked at you and revealed black teeth that made you flinch at the sight. Your reaction only excited him.

“How long do I have to wait, brother?” He asked as he cut the veil open, impatiently. Rabban took a step back and allowed his brother to take a better look at you. The Baron tried to peek in but Feyd was standing right in front of you and covering your face completely from his uncle’s sight.

The young man hummed to himself and tilted his head both sides. He raised his hand up and grabbed your chin to squeeze it gently.

“How old is she?” He asked his brother as if you could not speak.

“Shehzadi (Y/N) is twenty years old like you are,” Rabban tried to recommend your virtues the best he could, like he was a slave seller.

“Five and twenty,” you corrected him confidently, not feeling any shame about your age. Rabban took a sharp breath in as Feyd gave him a scolding look.

“A bit old, isn’t it?” The Baron’s voice interrupted them.

Feyd looked you up and down with so much fire in his eyes that you started to feel your cheeks heating up. You had never been looked at this way not only because of the custom of covering your face but also because it was not a way that men on Pairi Daêza would court women in.

“I’ll take her,” Feyd shrugged his arms as he announced to his uncle. He turned around to look at him and you sighed out of relief. So did Rabban.

“Move aside, Feyd,” The Baron barked at his nephew, impatiently. “It is I who decide,” he added and Feyd took a step to the left, revealing your form to his uncle. You had both of the brothers standing on both sides and their hideous uncle looming over a few steps ahead of you.

In complete silence he was watching you for a long while, puffing on his pipe. Finally, he beckoned you over to come closer. You gathered the fabric of your skirt in your hands and took a few steps ahead with your heart pounding in your chest.

“I shall take her,” he stated as the whole room went dead silent.

“What are you talking about?!” Feyd protested and you chewed on the insides of your cheeks, trying not to burst into tears. “She is mine for the taking!”

The Baron was a disgusting creature but you were aware that being his wife would give you more power and influence than marrying any of his nephews. It would protect your family better, too.

And every power came with a sacrifice.

Still, your dignity wanted to join Feyd-Rautha’s tantrum. You had been expecting to be given in marriage to a young and healthy warrior. Not an old and sickly piece of greasy meat in front of you.

“Shut up, boy!” The Baron yelled at Feyd and you flinched. “Don’t startle, my Shehzadi,” he cooed to you in a malicious whisper. “As you can see, none of my nephews are worthy of you nor my throne one day. You shall give me an heir,” he told you and you nodded, obediently. Fighting him had no purpose.

Feyd was furious. You heard him walking out of the room angrily and slamming the door behind him.

“You have just made an enemy, my Shehzadi,” The Baron reached his swollen pale hand with the green and blue veins popping out. You gently took it and nearly gagged at the feeling of it.

“Me, my Lord?” You tried to bat your eyelashes at him. Your voice shivered out of fear and he smirked at you.

“Feyd-Rautha will no longer be the Na-Baron when our son is born. He will do everything to get rid of you and the child. You shall be careful, sweet Shehzadi,” he warned you. “I have my ways of keeping him obedient. When he’s not showing you proper respect, you will tell me, yes?”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” you nodded.

“Good,” he squeezed our hand gently and you felt your stomach turning. “Go, prepare for the wedding,” he let go of you and raised his finger to touch your cheek. It was getting difficult to hide your repulsion but on the other hand it was oddly satisfying to know that you were chosen by The Baron himself.

You bowed down and walked out of the room with the guards and servants. They all were staring at you with widened eyes, as shocked with the outcome of this day as you were.

You hadn’t seen The Baron for the past few weeks of the preparations for the wedding. In fact, you hadn't seen anyone. You had been kept a prisoner in one part of the fortress but you did not mind that at all because you had lots of servants and your chambers did not lack any luxury. The only thing you missed was nature – the greenery, the sound of birds, the feeling of the sun on your skin, the light breeze of the Ocean. But there was no way of coming back to it. Pairi Daêza had none of it anymore.

Spoiled as a child, you were harshened in your teenage years by the war taking place in your homeland. Despite your father’s weakness flowing in your blood, you had learnt how to adapt and survive. You would survive just well on Giedi Prime, you decided.

The only thing you dreaded about your marriage was the physical aspect of the union. However, you had been informed by the medic visiting you every morning about the nature of your future duties.

“These injections are supposed to prepare your body for carrying a son,” he told you after sticking a syringe with an odd liquid into your vein. “After the wedding you will be bred to carry The Baron’s heir, my Lady.”

“Bred?” You swallowed thickly.

“I will insert the seed during a swift and painless procedure, my Lady,” he assured you.

“So… I will not be…” You didn’t know how to say it without offending The Baron.

The medic knew, though. He looked up into your eyes as your face was covered with the black veil. The Baron had liked your homeworld’s tradition and allowed you to cover your face until the wedding.

“The Baron’s health does not allow such activities,” he informed you and you sighed out of relief. “Which does not mean he will not demand some… other duties.”

You nodded your head at him. Some other duties, whatever they meant, you could survive. It was the haunting image of him hovering over you or taking you from behind that was keeping you sleepless recently. You had come to Giedi Prime completely innocent in that subject but you made your Harkonnen servants tell you all about it. They were experienced, especially the ones who had been called late at night to Feyd-Rautha’s chambers. The young na-baron apparently liked sex a lot. The more you were finding out about him and his nature, the more glad you were that it was his uncle you were marrying. At least he was not so young; not so full of adrenaline and testosterone as his nephew.

Giedi Prime had not had a Baroness in a long time. The ceremony was about to be the grandest you had ever experienced. The leaders of the great houses had been invited – your parents amongst them. Even The Emperor himself had sent an envoy to take part in the event in his name. You had never expected to hold such importance in the Galaxy. After all, you were only a Shehzadi of a small and unimportant Pairi Daêza. The spice deposit had truly changed everything.

Your servant women worked on your huge wedding dress. It was black, too, of course. Everything was black. But there was some meaning behind it, in fact, since the wedding was an occasion to mourn your maidenhood and your previous life. The veil covering your face was decorated and attached to the upper part of your bodice, so when your face would be revealed and the veil taken off, your dress would stop being so modest and show off your breasts squeezed by a corset. You didn’t feel comfortable with that idea. Women on Pairi Daêza were not known for revealing their physical virtues in such a way. But Harkonnen women were their husbands’ prizes and trophies. You wanted to make The Baron proud because it would keep him happy. And keeping him happy meant the safety of you and your family. You didn’t want to play many games. You just wanted to survive.

You actually wanted to give him a son. Because giving him a son would seal your fate as The Baroness. Your position would be untouchable and that awful Feyd-Rautha could throw tantrums about it but it would be your son who would inherit the title of The Baron.

You were allowed to see your parents before the ceremony because they were supposed to leave early in the morning on the next day and in the evening there would be no occasion to be left alone with them like you were now. Alone in a room with your mother and father whose faces looked worried and exhausted. Their clothes were different than you remembered. Less colourful as if they were grieving, too.

“Are you alright?” Your mother asked you. She approached you and tried to lift the veil off but it refused to move.

“It is attached to the dress. I am fine,” you assured her. “Do not worry, my face is not bruised. You will see when he takes it off,” you nodded.

“It is an honour for you to marry The Baron himself,” your father smiled at you gently. “A great honour that he has liked you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” your mother scolded him. “It is awful, awful news. You know what he’s like. He’s destroyed our planet!”

“She can handle that for all the power she’s going to have now,” he shrugged his arms.

“How easy it is to say for a man,” your mother sighed. “You owe her your life.”

“I do and I am grateful,” your father nodded his head at you.

“And yet you demand more,” you whispered to him. He froze. “You demand of me to keep The Baron happy so he doesn’t get rid of you. But that is your part of the deal. You shall obey him and play nice as you promised. As long as you do that, there is no threat and my protection is not required.”

“If you think this way, why are you here, all dressed up to get married?” He raised his eyebrow.

“For mother,” you held her hands gently, “because you will not be able to protect her like me,” you added sternly.

Your father looked away, frustrated. He wanted to snap at you but he could not. Not when you were The Baron’s bride. You were no longer his daughter but almost another man’s wife. And the man was too powerful to disrespect.

The ownership of women. Once your father’s, then your husband’s. Freedom would come only in the case of a man’s death. And yet, men wondered why so many women were so angry and bloodthirsty.

“Time’s up,” one of the guards entered the room harshly. “Shehzadi (Y/N) is asked to attend the ceremony,” he announced and nodded at you. You nodded back and squeezed your mother’s hands for the last time before following the guard into the dark and cold corridor of the fortress, trying to keep your veiled head high.

Out of the people gathered for the ceremony, one pair of eyes was locked on you the most intensely. The dark eyes of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen were observing your every move, every gesture, every breath and every word. You felt suffocated by his gaze. It was full of fire like the first time he had seen you but also full of hatred and contempt. You couldn’t tell if he wanted to claim you or kill you. Perhaps both answers were true. You wouldn’t be surprised after hearing all the stories about him.

You feared him the most out of all The Harkonnens. Beast Rabban was the devil you knew and you were his weakness because you were the prize he had conquered himself. The Baron was terrifying and dangerous but he was rather calm and he treated you like a pet so as long as you were quiet and obedient, he did not take pleasure in tormenting you. Feyd-Rautha was different. He was psychotic and your wedding to his uncle was making him lose the greatest deal – his inheritance.

The worst part of the wedding ceremony was the kiss. Not that The Baron had been particularly passionate about it but something about his lips touching yours – even though briefly – was making your insides twist. Perhaps being married to him wouldn’t be as easy to survive as you had been hoping.

When The Wedding Games had begun, Feyd-Rautha joined them eagerly with all the fierceness a warrior could possess. It was an old and dreadful tradition full of blood and violence, a display of power and murderous Harkonnen nature. The men, usually gladiators, were fighting for life and death. Only one could remain and become the winner who would be forever remembered. When his nephew joined the fight, your new husband didn’t look very pleased and he followed every movement of his boy carefully, keeping his eye on the guard, too. He was scared of losing his heir after all.

You watched Feyd-Rautha fight as well. His moves were swift and confident. It was bringing him joy to both hurt and be hurt. He was playful in combat – smirking, winking, occasionally looking back to make sure you were watching. And whenever he was the one to take the blow, he would let out a laugh and hiss in pleasure. He was an odd, scary creature because he had no fear of any sort of pain. Not even death most likely.

Eventually, he killed the last opponent right in front of your eyes, wanting for you to flinch, you suspected. You did not give him such satisfaction. All the years of the war on your planet had made you immune to the sight of such violence and death.

He let out a triumphant yell and raised the bloody knife before bowing down and reaching his hands out with the blade towards you. You stood up and accepted his offering as you had been taught by your servants the past few weeks during your preparations.

“Thy display of power and bravery has been noticed, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you told him the words you had learnt by heart.

“For my Baroness I will shed the blood of my enemies,” he looked up intensely at you and you swallowed thickly. You hated when he was staring like this. You only nodded and turned around to hand the bloody blade to one of the guards who would secure it. The blade would later be on display in the Memory Room.

You sat back down and forced a small meal upon yourself. In the meantime, your husband had already left the party. Not that you minded.

Feyd and Rabban were sitting nearby. Both were staring at you but the older one actually looked as if he was sorry for you. He hadn’t spoken a word to you ever since his uncle had decided to be the one to marry you. It was nearly funny how back on Pairi Daêza everyone feared the Beast Rabban but here on Giedi Prime he was the least important pawn of the game.

Around midnight, one of The Baron’s servants leaned in to whisper into your ear to inform you that your husband had been waiting for you in his chambers. You swallowed thickly and nodded your head before standing up and leaving the dining room as fast as possible.

In the dark corridor you slowed down, though, not wanting to walk too fast and approach the dreaded room too soon. The guards were not following you but you knew the way, you had been taught it by your servants even though your chambers were in a different part of the fortress. Now, as The Baroness, you would get the new ones – even more splendid and luxurious. But you had been told you would not share them with your husband which was a great comfort.

Halfway there you heard footsteps behind you and you angered. Whatever humiliation was there to come, you did not want any witnesses. The corridor was dark and empty and yet some guard decided to follow you. You turned around furiously, ready to scold him. But it was no guard. It was Feyd-Rautha.

He leaned on the wall with a smirk and squinted his eyes at you.

“What do you want?” You asked him and clenched your jaw.

“Like a sheep for slaughter,” he snorted at you.

“That is none of your business, I believe,” you straightened yourself and raised your chin up.

He didn’t like your remark as he moved away from the wall and approached you quickly. In no time you felt his face looming over yours, mere inches away.

“I know what he’s going to do to you,” he whispered as you tried to remain cool but his words made you terrified. There was an odd sparkle in his eye, like he was enjoying your torment. He probably was.

“Fuck me?” You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you.

“Well, well, well, look at how dirty your mouth can be, Shehzadi,” Feyd-Rautha grabbed your cheeks to squeeze them and your eyes widened at his insolence.

“To you, I’m The Baroness,” you mumbled out.

“Sure you are, little snake. How else should I call you? An aunt?” He teased. “I shall,” he added. “No, he’s not going to fuck you. But he’s going to touch you and this reeking, slimy feeling won’t ever leave your skin. You will feel him always,” he moved even closer to you. You wondered how he could know such things. Then you felt how hard he was underneath his leather pants. You were scared he would hurt you now, which would make your husband furious and toss you aside, surely. 

“Sounds like you’d like to watch,” you drawled, regretting it instantly. He took a sharp breath in and pushed you against the wall, still holding your cheeks but now you were trapped between his body and the cold marble.

“Don’t be disgusting,” he warned you. It was surprising there were things he was finding gross. He didn’t look like the type. “You’ve no idea what’s waiting for you, aunt,” he hissed.

“Aw, you’re worried?” You cooed and he let go of your cheeks angrily. He remained close to you, though. You felt his hot breath on your face. He smelled like blood and leather.

Feyd’s hands dropped to your waist. Before you could stop him, he was pulling up all the layers of your dress, desperately trying to get the access between your legs. You grabbed his wrists, trying to stop him quietly.

“No, no, no, please, no,” you whispered in a panic. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, aunt. He’s going to do it,” Feyd snorted at your words and froze when all the layers of your dress that had been on the way were finally moved aside. A cold shiver went down your legs at the feeling of your exposed thighs. Feyd cupped your womanhood covered with black silky underwear. You gasped at the feeling as your eyes widened when you looked at his face. His lips curled into a smirk as you shook your head.

“Relax, Baroness, I’ll ease you for him,” he told you as his fingers hooked on the edge of your underwear. You felt his cold fingertips brushing your pussy softly and a set of shivers went down your spine at that sensation.

You didn’t know how to feel about it. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you were getting dizzy. Your mind wanted him to stop but your body did not. Despite the lack of experience, you knew that The Baron would not make you feel the same way as his young nephew would.

“I won’t fuck you,” he let out a raspy whisper, “he would kill us both for that.”

“He wouldn’t know,” you told him and Feyd tilted his head at you. “I’ve been examined by the medic this morning to prove my innocence. I doubt he will examine me now again.”

“Believe me, he would know,” Feyd let out a laugh as he moved your underwear aside and exposed your womanhood. It was too dark for you to feel ashamed of it but it still felt incredibly wrong. Yet, you didn’t ask him to stop. Not that it would change anything.

He raised his hand up to his full lips and licked them while staring deep into your widened eyes. Then he put his hand between your legs again and began to touch you in your most intimate place. You sighed at the feeling of his wet and cold fingers trying to get between your folds.

“Open your legs further,” he ordered and your body obeyed by moving the legs more apart before your mind could take over and make a responsible decision to run away. Not that you could run away because with his free hand he grabbed one of your wrists and pinned it to the wall above your head.

Once he got a better access to your pussy, Feyd focused on massaging your sweet spot that made your eyes roll to the back of your head, occasionally dipping his finger carefully inside of you to gather some of your wetness. You moaned softly and dug your fingernails into his bicep, feeling a close release. He was smirking at how fast he could make you reach your high but you didn’t care. You hated him but his fingers were skilled, making you stand on your toes as the muscles of your abdomen tensed, desperately wanting more friction.

“I’m gonna…” You gasped and that was when he took his hand away, fixed your underwear and took a step back, letting the folds of your dress fall down to their place. It took you a moment to collect yourself and realise that he had left you without a release but with a deep and urgent need. “What was that?” You asked.

“Now it won’t hurt when my uncle does the same to you, aunt. Maybe you’ll even cum with his fingers inside you as you remember my fingers on your cunt,” Feyd chuckled contemptuously and licked his fingers clean as you watched with terror in your eyes. “Sweet. Like I’ve imagined a cunt from Paradise to be,” he commented and turned around to walk back to the party, leaving you breathless and dizzy with an ache between your legs.

For a while you forgot where to go. You kept taking wrong turns before finally approaching the doors leading to The Baron’s chambers. At your state you weren’t even scared anymore. Feyd-Rautha had eased your mind indeed and reduced your body functions to one primal need.

You pushed the door open softly and entered your husband’s chambers. They were nearly empty and very cold. In the middle of it, there was a big bathtub full of a black substance. He was bathing in it and puffing on his pipe as he squinted his eyes at you.

“What took you so long, Baroness?” He asked and you cleared your throat, trying not to sound too shook up. The sight of him in that bathtub made your desire much lesser, though. Even the memory of Feyd-Rautha’s cold fingertips brushing your clit lightly and teasing you with pleasure could not make you feel the same excitement again.

“I’m sorry. I got lost,” you answered, which had been only half a lie.

“Don’t worry, Baroness, you will soon remember the way,” he wasn’t angry and he beckoned you over with a move of his wrist.

You approached him obediently although your limbs were getting numb. You were left completely alone with him and you had no idea what he would want now from you. As your husband he could demand anything and you’d have to follow.

“Undress yourself,” his voice was softer than when he would address his nephews but it was still an order as he watched carefully with squinted eyes.

You nodded shyly at his words and began to clumsily take your gown off. It was a complicated piece of fashion and you did not have any servants to assist you. However, your husband was not rushing you, he simply watched and he was visibly content.

When you were naked, you covered yourself with your hands as you stood in front of him. He looked up from his bathtub and puffed on his pipe with a smirk.

“No, no, don’t hide,” he shook his head. “Come, join me,” he invited you in and you swallowed thickly at the black slime he had been bathing in. You doubted it was harmful but you didn’t want to sit in the same substance as him. “Join me,” he repeated, more sternly this time and you bit on your lower lip as you nodded and entered the bathtub.

Your body was shaking but the odd liquid was nicely warm and relaxing. The feeling of it helped you ease a bit. You sat as far away as possible from him.

“Come closer, Baroness. You see, I’m old now and not of the best health. I sadly cannot perform my marital duties and satisfy you like a husband would,” he pretended to feel sorry for you. “But I want to play with you a little and admire my new wife,” he reached out his hand and you took a deep breath in before holding it and letting him pull you closer. “Do you know why I took you for myself?” He whispered and you shook your head. “Because he wanted you so much.”

When you left The Baron’s chambers, there were two scared female servants waiting already behind the doors. At the sight of you leaving in a hurry, they entered – most likely to finish what you had started. You hurried to the rooms that were supposed to be yours now. They were empty since your own servants would come in the morning.

You had been barely dressed because you wanted to leave his room as fast as possible. This time taking your dress off took you a few seconds and you jumped into the bathtub in the bathroom and filled it with warm water. With a sponge laying on the counter you started to scrub your body harshly, causing the skin to bleed in a few places. You wanted to get the black slime off of you and – most importantly – your husband’s touch.

Feyd had been right. What his uncle had done to you was not the worst – he had been touching and teasing, sniffing your scent and caressing your skin as he had whispered about the beauty of youth and innocence. But the fact that it had been him doing so, it made it the most disgusting thing you had ever experienced. You gagged at the very memory of it and now, after your wedding night, you no longer felt comfortable with the idea of being bred with his son even if it would be an artificial conception.

You started to sob uncontrollably. You hated The Harkonnens. They had destroyed your planet and your childhood. Now they destroyed your innocence and womanhood. You would never get free of them.

But death was not an option. It would be an easy way out. You had to be strong.

The medic’s procedure had truly been quick and painless but you felt disgusting leaving the medical wing of the fortress knowing that The Baron’s seed might be already growing in you. To make it worse, on your way back to your chambers, you spotted Feyd-Rautha coming back from the training yards. He smirked at the sight of you as you froze, still remembering the last night’s blasphemous act of intimacy that he had performed.

“Aunt,” he greeted you with a nod of his head.

“Nephew,” you answered in a similar manner as you looked him up and down.

Sweaty from the combat and still wielding a blade, he looked incredibly magnetic at that moment. His youthful and fearless energy was unfortunately drawing you in. The way he was staring at you made you remember how good his fingers had felt on your pussy and it brought the heat up to your cheeks. You wished he would stay away from you because his very presence was a torment.

“How was it?” He leaned in when he spoke to you, his eyes carefully watching your figure. You did not give him an answer. “Did you cum?”

“You’re an insolent brat, Feyd-Rautha,” you told him sternly and he straightened himself. You spoiled his fun by not being scared nor disgusted. “I want you to stay away from me since I might already be carrying your uncle’s true heir,” you added.

The playfulness of his eyes turned into anger very quickly. He pointed at your abdomen with his blade and you flinched. The guards standing a few steps behind you, hurried to your side immediately.

“You will soon realise, aunt,” Feyd drawled, “that he is your enemy – not me. He will destroy you like he destroys everything he ever lays his hands on.”

“Like he destroyed you?” You raised your eyebrow curiously and he lowered the blade. His jaw clenched but there was a shadow of hurt in his eyes at that moment, which surprised you. You didn’t expect a man like him to ever feel hurt.

Feyd-Rautha did not reply to that. He walked away without a word, followed by your guards’ eyes.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” One of them asked you and you nodded. “Shall we tell The Baron about the incident?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “His nephew’s antics must be tempered.”

Six months had passed since your wedding day and you still were not carrying The Baron’s heir. Your husband was growing impatient and the only thing stopping him from getting angry at you was the medic’s declaration that it had not been your fault but the seed’s quality was weak due to your husband’s age and condition. Even enhanced artificially with the Harkonnen science, it could not settle well in your womb. At this point you were so drugged with their injections to the point that you wouldn’t be surprised if a simple touch of any other man than your husband would put a son in you. How ironic.

You had no idea what The Baron had done to Feyd-Rautha but after the corridor’s incident the young man had been avoiding you. He had been watching you carefully from afar with eyes full of hatred like an ominous shadow following you behind wherever you would go. But he would not approach you nor talk to you unless he had to in an official situation. He would always address you with respect as The Baroness or Aunt. You had noticed that it brought him a twisted pleasure to call you by that name.

Your husband hadn’t been spending much more time with you either. He would be next to you during the official events and he would ask you to join him in his chambers about once or twice a week but other than that you had been spending your days alone with nobody but your female servants and male guards, occasionally with the medic. It was a lonely life but at least you weren’t exposed too much to the dreadful Harkonnens… except for the nights you were expected to perform some sort of marital duties.

No amount of time had made you used to The Baron’s touch. You would flinch every time he caressed your body or admired it while whispering the filthiest things. But after the first month your body had developed a defence mechanism of dissociation during those acts.

Technically speaking, though, after six months of being The Baroness Harkonnen, you remained a virgin. The marriage had not been consummated properly so The Baron could divorce you without consequences any day. Giving him a son was the only thing that would legitimise your union. And as much as you dreaded his spawn growing inside of you, you wanted to secure your position. The frustration of not getting pregnant had brought you to tears many times before.

It did now as well. An hour after finding out that the last week’s procedure had failed and the seed had not settled in your womb. The medic had been both sorry for you and himself because he had known that The Baron’s rage would mostly be aimed at him for not doing enough. Soon, though, you were sure, it would reach you as well.

Your chambers were being cleaned at the moment and you wanted to be alone so you wandered to a different part of the fortress and hid in one of the empty study rooms. You kicked your shoes off and sat on a black leather armchair by the wall as you sobbed into your hands, curling up with your feet up on the seat. You felt so small and unimportant at that moment; you missed home and you missed your mother’s embrace. You missed any sort of affection.

Focused on self-pity you did not hear the doors opening. You only startled at the sound of them closing loudly and you froze at the sight of Feyd-Rautha who had just entered the study room. At first, he stiffened seeing you as well.

“What are you doing here, aunt?” He asked, carefully.

“It is none of your business, go away,” you ordered, trying for your voice not to break and reveal your crying state.

“You cannot command that,” he snorted at you.

“I am your Baroness. I can and I will,” you sniffled your tears back and you hugged yourself tighter as if you wanted to protect yourself from him.

Feyd ignored your words, though. He approached you confidently and smirked after realising what you had been doing.

“Yes, feast on the sight of me crying,” you snapped. “What a pleasure it must be for you. Let me please you further, dear nephew. I am still not expecting an heir that would take your place. Happy now?” Your voice trembled.

“Look at you, you’re glowing,” he crouched down to be on your level as he whispered in an oddly seductive way. You furrowed your brows at his words and he reached his hand out to brush your cheek stained with tears. “They’ve injected so many hormones into you, Baroness, you’re practically begging to be fucked. You’ve no idea what the smell of you does to men around you…” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked the tip softly. “The taste… Even your tears are an aphrodisiac,” he looked up at you and you swallowed thickly. It was making you uncomfortable but for the first time in a long time you felt seen. “What a torment it must be. Do you touch yourself, aunt?” He asked and the insolent question snapped you back to reality.

“I’ve no idea how he punishes you but you’re asking to be punished again,” you warned him.

“I can show you how he punishes me,” Feyd did not wait for your answer as he took his black shirt off, revealing his pale and strong chest. His hard muscles were simply beautiful, you had to admit it. But when he turned around to show you his back, he revealed dozens of thin scars scattered all over. Some were white and bumpy, visibly old. But some were more fresh and still reddened. You hissed at the sight and he turned his head around to look at your face.

“I’m sorry, I did not know…” You admitted and reached your hand out to touch some of them gently. You let your finger follow the lines and he smirked.

“Don’t be sorry, aunt. I enjoy the whipping,” he grabbed your wrist and turned his body in your direction again.

“It is hard to believe, Feyd-Rautha,” you admitted. “I thought his punishment was based on threats.”

“His methods are more sophisticated,” Feyd sneered. “Now, I’ve revealed myself to you, Baroness. Will you reveal yourself to me?” He asked and you furrowed your brow. “Do you touch yourself?” He repeated the question that caused your cheeks to heat up.

“Sometimes,” you answered. “I start but I never finish because somewhere in the middle I get haunted by the visions of his hands touching me and they make me sick,” you whispered your secret.

“Poor aunt, you must be so tense,” Feyd cooed to you and let go of your wrist. “So ready and eager to welcome a child in her womb and yet so unsatisfied.”

You hated to admit that he was right. The amount of hormones that had been injected made your breasts and womanhood sensitive, a single brush of your servant’s hand during the bathtime was enough to fill you with desire. Most of the time you were walking around with an itch deep between your legs, a heavy burden that could not be removed by any means.

Now, Feyd-Rautha being so close to you and talking to you in such a manner was not helping. In fact, it was making your condition worse.

“What do you care?” You asked. “I thought you don’t want me to carry him a son. If he tossed me aside or even killed me, it would be your victory,” you pointed out.

“My greatest victory would be humiliating him by putting my son in your womb,” Feyd watched your reaction carefully but you didn’t even flinch at the sound of that.

He was young and so full of life. You were sure he’d succeed during the first try. It would secure your position and keep The Baron Happy.

“What if he finds out? He’d kill us both,” you bit on your lower lip.

“And you think I would allow that?” He snorted at you, revealing his black teeth. You were so shook up that in this state you even found them attractive. The fact they were so black, so different, so extraordinary, symbolising his brutality. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted his toxic saliva to poison your innocence. You wanted to be trapped under him as he ravages you.

He had to notice the shift of your gaze, the way you face changed its expression. He smirked triumphantly, already knowing that you craved him.

“The medic… He will see I was deflowered,” your last hesitation made you speak up your concerns.

“The medic?” Feyd-Rautha chuckled contemptuously. “The same one who is working for me? The same one who is making sure that my uncle’s seed is not succeeding?”

“Wh-what?” You choked out but he only smirked as he shushed you.

“Don’t forget you were supposed to be mine, little snake. I do not give up easily,” he admitted and with one rapid movement of his strong hands he pushed your legs apart as your thin silky dress pulled up, revealing you to him. “Let’s give you a quick release before I properly breed you. You must be in such pain and torment,” he cooed.

Your eyes widened at his actions but you did not protest. Your limbs were getting numb out of the overwhelming desire and feeling his breath on your pussy was nearly enough to make you cum on spot.

Feyd dropped to his knees and leaned in even closer, biting the soft flesh of your thighs gently with his black teeth and leaving trails of saliva. You felt your womanhood pulsating, begging for his attention. He had to notice the twitching muscles underneath your underwear as well as he chuckled and took it off of you greedily. He froze for a moment with his eyes fixed on his prize and he slowly licked his lips.

“So swollen and eager. The smell is enough to put only one thought in my head,” he admitted. “Make you swell with my seed. Come here,” he crooned in his coarse voice that sent shivers down your spine as he grabbed your ankles and pulled you closer to the edge of the armchair’s seat. He threw your feet over his muscular shoulders and opened his mouth to stick out his long and slim tongue to show it off for you as you took a deep and shaky breath in.

Feyd leaned in and buried his face between your wet folds that had been anticipating any sort of release for weeks now. You gasped loudly at the sensation of the tip of his tongue tickling your sensitive sweet spot. His mouth was so skilled that he did not require the assistance of his hands as he placed them flat on your thighs to keep steady. He would gather your wetness with his tongue and then dip it all inside of you, making your back arch and hips rise slightly for more friction. There were times when his whole face was buried deep into you but he did not even flinch from the lack of air as he was devouring you, licking you completely clean like a starving dog and then focusing again on your swollen clit. Whenever he teased it, you were sure you’d cum now but then he would move his tongue away over and over, keeping you on the edge.

Your gasps and soft moans filled the room. You were trying to hold yourself back a little, ashamed of being so displayed for him but on the other hand it was him kneeling down to lick your pussy like a servant. It was you who was in control and the thought of that alone was enough to turn you on even more.

Your hands had been squeezing the armchair’s leather fabric but you dared to place them on the back of Feyd’s bald head and he did not protest. In fact, he moaned at the feeling as a pleasurable vibration went down your body. Your toes curled when you pushed his face even deeper and you felt the pressure of his nose on your clit when he was fucking you with his long tongue.

The overwhelming desire stripped you out of shame as you began to move his head up and down, rubbing your pussy all over his face while your moans grew higher and louder. Fuck it, you thought, you deserved it. After months of such a sad and awful marriage, being The Baron’s trophy wife, unsatisfied and yet violated by his repulsing touch, you deserved to cum on his handsome nephew’s face. It was the least Feyd-Rautha could do to make it up for you.

With a loud moan, shaky breath and trembling legs you finally reached your peak. Although the movements of your hips came to a halt and your hands stopped pushing his face, he was relentlessly sucking on your clit throughout your high, until you begged him to stop and he hesitantly let go of your glistening pussy with your sticky juices vulgarly dripping down his chin as you looked down at him with hazy eyes.

“I could feast on you for days, Baroness, you’re as sweet as a ripe fruit from your homeworld,” Feyd did not bother with wiping his face. He took your limp feet and calves from his shoulders and threw them back on the floor before placing one last kiss upon your wet mound as your pussy twitched uncontrollably in an aftershock.

You didn’t know what to say. You could see the hunger in him, he expected more and you wanted it, too. You wanted to feel his cock inside of you, you wanted him to fuck you like The Baron could never do.

“Claim me, Feyd-Rautha,” you ordered in a weak voice. “I want to remember with satisfaction each time he asks for me that it is you who have claimed me and fucked me. Put your son in me and smile every time you see me walking swollen with your seed as you know that it is yours and not his. If you’re a good boy now, I might reward you and let you feast on my fruit every night in my chambers,” you promised, like it would bring him more pleasure than you, which was not true at all. You craved it as much as him, if not more.

Your words elicited even greater hunger inside of him as he grabbed you by your ankles and pulled you down on the cold marble floor. The coolness of the stone brought some relief to your feverish body, your dress was still pulled up and you watched Feyd positioning himself above you as you bit on your lower lip and realised he would truly claim you now, on the floor of an empty room in secret. There was something barbaric about it and the fact you were an innocent lady from a planet known as Paradise who would be taken by such a brute warrior was making you go dizzy. You didn’t even fear the pain that would come with it because you wanted it – you wanted him to stretch you out and fill you.

When such thoughts were invading your mind and exciting you all over again, Feyd got his cock out of his leather pants and stroked it at the sight of you waiting for him with your legs open. With his free hand he gathered the wetness of your pussy and coated his length with it before hovering over you with his face inches away from yours.

“It’s going to hurt, my Lady,” he warned you with a smirk, there was absolutely no worry in his voice.

“I want you to hurt me,” you nodded and grabbed his biceps, ready to dig your nails in them as he’d slide inside.

Your spent and overstimulated pussy was relaxed enough to welcome him but the burning sensation made your back arch and your eyes roll, you were sure your fingernails made his shoulders bleed but you did not care. The pain was overwhelming and mixed with pleasure, you felt as full as you could and yet he still had more and more to give you, sliding it inside slowly, inch by inch, with a raspy moan and his forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re so tight,” Feyd breathed out, “open your eyes,” he commanded and your eyes fluttered open to stare into his cold and intense gaze. “I want you to look at me when I fill you up with my son,” he added and you nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak but already getting used to his size as if your pussy was made for his cock.

Once you nodded, he started rutting into you with all his force without any warning. You dug your fingernails even deeper into his flesh and moaned out of pleasure as the spasms of pain travelled through your body. His moves were fast and rough, relentless; nearly automatic like he was a machine and not a human. With each stroke he was hitting a spot inside of you that was making you gasp and writhe underneath him, leaving you a drooling and whimpering mess. Feyd used one of his hands to grab your cheeks and squeeze them gently to shut you up before joining his lips with yours in a sloppy and possessive kiss. You could taste yourself on him and you moaned at the taste – it was sweet indeed from all the hormones you had been injected with. It was no wonder he got addicted already, you would get, too. In fact, you explored his mouth with the tip of your tongue in order to clean it off of your juices completely, greedily licking them away from him as you were letting out muffled moans into his mouth.

His hips were brutal and his mouth was aggressive but you wanted nothing else but this. Hearing the stories about his sexual appetite you had been scared but now you wanted to laugh at your old self. It was nothing to fear, it was something to anticipate.

The fact that the act was forbidden, that he was your husband’s young nephew and a rival of some sort, was making it even better. You were welcoming each of his rough thrusts with eagerness, hoping it would fill your already swollen womb. Your whole body was ready to take the seed and as much as you dreaded the idea of carrying your husband’s son under your heart, you found the idea of carrying Feyd-Rautha’s heir much more appealing. If he would be like his biological father, he’d be handsome and fearsome, psychotic and depraved. You’d see your lover in him – not your husband – and it was giving you satisfaction.

Feyd’s hands dropped to your breasts as he tore the fabric of your dress open to expose them for himself to squeeze and pull on your hard nipples. You broke the kiss and cupped his face to push it down to your neck where you needed his open-mouthed sloppy kisses and soft bites of his black teeth. He obeyed and then he moved his head even lower to give the same treatment to your breasts, occasionally accompanying your moans with his low grunts.

You could feel that your second peak was coming close and you wanted to make him finish, too, so you spoke up in a shaky, hazy voice.

“Fill me up, give me a son,” you pleaded in a raspy whisper. “I want it so bad, I want to swell with your baby.”

Feyd moved his head up once again and joined your lips in another kiss – this time it was messy with teeth clashing and uncontrollable moans as the movement of his hips became less steady. In a few short spasmodic thrusts he spilled his thick black cum inside of your pussy. The feeling of his hard cock filling you deep inside straight into your womb was enough to bring you to your second peak as well.

Once he was definitely finished, he broke the kiss between you two and moved up to slide out of you and hide his cock back into his pants. You whined at the empty feeling and watched him put his shirt back on while breathing heavily, still laying on the floor, exposed with your dress torn up and your hair a mess. Feeling like a whore and absolutely loving it.

“You will go to the medic tomorrow and tell him that he had to be mistaken and the seed had made its way inside of you,” he informed you oh-so-formally.

“You’re so sure of your success?” You asked.

“I am,” he leaned in to look at you. “Don’t worry, I shall still visit you at night whenever you invite me. I’m a dog at your command now,” he admitted shamelessly and you sat up, resting on your elbows to take a better look at him.

That fearsome warrior was completely under your spell and all you had to do was to let him taste your pussy. You laughed at him. He had so many other women, yet it was you who made him this way. You knew why. It was because you were a war prize, because you were from Paradise and because you were an off-world Shehzadi. But most importantly he wanted you because you were his uncle’s Baroness. He craved you to spite him.

“And if I command you to never touch me nor speak to me again? I have already used you for my own gain,” you teased and raised one of your feet to caress his thigh with it.

Feyd angrily grabbed your ankle and looked into your eyes intensely.

“Don’t think I will allow my child to be called his heir and watch myself being tossed aside as my son is remembered as Vladimir Harkonnen’s spawn,” he threatened.

You didn’t answer that, unsure about the meaning of his words. He gave you one last angry gaze and pushed your foot away before walking out of the room as if nothing had just happened.

Of course the medic did not believe your words but he pretended that he had. He couldn’t know that Feyd had told you about the fact that he was working for him so he just played along and informed the Baron that he had been mistaken and you were, in fact, finally pregnant with his son.

You had been hoping that once you’d be pregnant, your husband would leave you alone. But no, how wrong you had been. He was now keeping you around him nearly all the time as if you were a precious cargo. He invited many great leaders for official banquets and showed you off. He would sit you on his lap and keep his huge hand on your swollen abdomen proudly.

But you did not even mind that much – not when you knew that the child was not his. You would often catch Feyd-Rautha’s gaze somewhere in the room and give him a mysterious smile as he would give you a smirk. It was your secret, your revenge on The Baron Harkonnen.

And late at night he would creep inside your room and please you however you wanted him to, only to disappear before the first rays of the black sun would hit you, as if he was only a dream or a ghost. You would recognise his smell now everywhere, though. The feeling of his touch differed so much from others. There was nothing but pure and raw desire bonding you two together and yet, when you watched him in the gladiator arena next to your husband, you feared for his life and you would startle at the sight of his opponents attacking him.

You knew that if something or someone threatened your life, Feyd-Rautha would protect you and he was more physically capable of it than his uncle. You needed him alive to keep you and your son safe.

You admired his body and his strength, the amount of his devotion to you and his little revenge plan. He was magnetic and you almost felt lucky to be chosen by him even though it was you having the upper hand in this relationship.

Some nights he was not coming to you, too busy with other things or perhaps too exhausted after the training. You didn’t mind since your body needed a rest as well, especially now when you were six months pregnant already. That night was one of those lonely nights and you had problems with falling asleep, so when you were woken up abruptly in the early morning by your servants, you didn’t hide your annoyance.

“What is it?” You snapped and rubbed your eyes.

“It’s… It’s The Baron, my Lady,” the girl’s black Harkonnen eyes were widened out of fear.

“What about him?” You yawned and sat up, squinting your eyes at the sun creeping inside through the windows. Another servant was already opening the curtains.

“He… He drowned last night, my Lady,” the girl informed you and you froze.

“What?” You asked, blinking slowly, not sure if it wasn’t a dream. “What are you talking about? What do you mean drowned? My husband is dead?”

“Yes, Baroness… He drowned in his bathtub. My condolences,” she bowed down. “You are awaited by the lords for the council,” she informed you.

You were speechless as you allowed them to dress you up in a humble black dress of mourning. They did your hair up and put a light make up on your face to hide the dark bags underneath your eyes. Your mind was spinning with an endless train of thoughts.

One thing was certain – it had been no accident. It had to be Feyd-Rautha’s doing.

And as much as you were relieved to hear about The Baron’s death since he would never touch nor hurt you ever again… you were scared of what would happen now. There was no way the lords would allow you to rule as the widow. You were an off-world woman who had been married to their Baron as a war prize. You were a pet, nothing more. You only hoped to convince them to let your son be an heir as they call someone else a regent in his name. You couldn’t hope even for the regent title.

You were escorted to the council room by the guards and when you entered it, every man inside went silent. They bowed down and gave you their condolences but their eyes held no sympathy. Feyd-Rautha was not amongst them.

“Thank you, my lords,” you took a seat at the end of the long, black table. “It is a great tragedy but thankfully before his death, my husband has managed to produce an heir,” you brought up the topic immediately as the men looked at each other. “What is it?” You asked.

“The boy is not even born yet, my Lady,” one of the lords spoke up and pointed at Rabban. “If we announce Count Rabban the next Baron… or Feyd-Rautha as the late Baron wanted… Well, then they might produce their own heirs in the future. They are both young and capable.”

You got dizzy at those words and the reactions of other men. They seemed to hum in approval.

“So, I am to be tossed aside?” You asked, angrily. “I am carrying your late Baron’s son and you’re tossing me aside? The child inside me is a rightful heir,” you protested.

“And what would you want?” A different lord asked without even addressing you properly. You realised you had already lost. “Perhaps you want to be The Baroness Regent? Over my dead body I will let a woman – let alone from Pairi Daêza – to command me.”

“Enough!” The doors opened and Feyd-Rautha walked inside with his head held high and a playful smirk on his face. The way he confidently walked and scanned the room with his eyes was enough proof for you to know that it was him who had killed your husband. “The child is not yet born, that is a fair point,” he looked at the lord who had addressed the matter, “therefore at the time of my uncle’s death I was still the Na-Baron,” he added and you gasped softly. You couldn’t believe that he betrayed you. You chewed on the inside of your cheek at the realisation how stupid you had been to think you were playing on the same side.

You had never discussed any details of his plan with him. But you were carrying his son and you hoped he would protect you and the child. Apparently, he only tormented you for his own fun. You wanted to cry. You had lost everything.

Then he looked at you and his face softened a little at the sight of your trembling lip and sad eyes.

“I will wed my uncle’s widow to be my Baroness as the old levirate law says,” he announced and you froze out of shock. Levirate was a law about brothers but you guessed an uncle with such an important title counted as that, too.

“Respecting that law is not expected from you, my Lord Baron,” one of the lords informed him. “You can choose any other bride.”

“I can,” Feyd nodded and stood behind your chair as he rested his hand on your shoulder, “but I will not. I’m choosing Baroness (Y/N) Harkonnen to be my bride,” he announced as the lords looked at each other, as surprised as you were. Out of relief you reached your hand up to hold his and squeeze it in a grateful manner. “I also want to make it known,” Feyd raised his voice and everyone went silent as they looked at him, “that the child she is carrying is mine and not my late uncle’s, therefore her son is my heir.”

Your heart started to pound in your chest. The eyes of the lords were staring at you with such intensity that you were afraid they would make a hole inside of you. You swallowed thickly, knowing perfectly well that you just had to admit to your sins now.

“I confirm,” you nodded and they began to whisper between each other. Feyd’s hand squeezed yours.

“If you do not believe me nor The Baroness, the medic might make a public announcement of the paternity test but I do hope you will not humiliate your Baroness like that,” Feyd told them and they all went silent again.

“N-no, my lord Baron,” one of the lords stood up and bowed down in your direction. “We accept the child as yours and we will let others know.”

“I do not want this matter to be discussed nor questioned,” Feyd stated harshly.

“With all respect, brother,” Rabban spoke up suddenly and you laid your eyes on him, curious about what he was going to say, “the matter that has been discussed and questioned so far was our uncle’s fatherhood. The only thing we have found out today was the identity of the man our Baroness has laid with.”

“Rabban,” Feyd barked at him.

“It is quite alright,” you said. “I am rather relieved that I do not have to lie about it anymore as I am proud to carry Feyd-Rautha’s son under my heart,” you smiled at the lords. Some of them rolled their eyes but they still nodded their heads at you.

“Then it’s settled,” Feyd announced. “Go back to your chambers as we settle the details about my uncle’s funeral and the rest of the upcoming ceremonies, my Lady,” he looked down at you and you nodded. He helped you to stand up and placed a kiss upon the palm of your hand before taking your seat by the table.

You were taken back to your chambers accompanied by the guard as you caressed your womb gently, very content with the outcome of that council.

The excitement made you less tired so you just ordered breakfast. Once you were finishing it, the doors to your bedroom opened and Feyd-Rautha entered your chamber. For the first time by daylight, without making it a secret. You stood up from the table and approached him with a smile before you threw your hands around his neck.

“My darling,” you greeted him. “I have doubted you for a short while this morning, you know that?”

“Have I not told you that I would not allow my son to be remembered as his heir?” Feyd smiled at you and pulled you closer by your hips – as close as he could with your swollen womb between you two.

“But the lords were right. You do not have to marry me. I can give you a son, he can be your heir. There is no need to wed me,” you pointed out.

“Don’t you want it?” Feyd tilted his head.

“I’m asking do you want it,” you pointed out.

“I wanted to marry you a year ago when you came here, after I lifted up that veil. Why would I change my mind?” He put his hand on your abdomen and caressed it possessively. “You were supposed to be mine. You would have been mine if he hadn’t wanted to spite me.”

“Why do you want me?” You asked. “As a Baron you could have anyone. One of the Imperial Princesses even.”

“You’ve got what it takes, my Lady. You’re stubborn and strong. I’ve claimed you, you are mine,” he insisted.

You cupped his face and caressed his cheeks with your fingertips. It was hard to believe that he was yours now. Your husband. You would no longer dread these words.

“I will be a good wife to you, Feyd-Rautha,” you promised, genuinely. You did not want any games nor conflict. “I want only one thing from you.”

“And what is it?” He squinted his eyes at you, curiously.

“Safety,” you pleaded. “Of me and my family.”

“Your family is now my family,” he nodded and you sighed with relief. “I want a few things from you, too,” he added and you bit on your lower lip.

“What is it?” You asked.

“You will share your chambers with me,” he started and you nodded, “you will give me more heirs,” he added and you smiled at that, “and you will never mention him again,” he finished sternly.

“Never mention who?” You asked softly and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon his lips. “There is only you and I.”

MASTERLIST

[seravphs]

drabbles:

✧ modern intimacy | 200 fluff

Gojo watches you get ready for your anniversary date.

✧ all roads lead home | 600 fluff

Gojo “my girl is mad at me I hope I die” Satoru, companion piece to modern intimacy

✧ all the rumors are true | 450 fluff

He’s an idol. You’re a hairstylist.

short/long fic:

✧ dinner plans | 1k fluff

Gojo's a brat.

✧ spoil | 1k fluff

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy. 

✧ sweetheart, psychopathic crush | 1.5k fluff and mild angst 

“What I want from the river is what I always want: / to be held by a stronger thing that, in the end, chooses mercy.” - Advantages of Being Evergreen by Oliver Baez Bendorf

✧ starboy | 1.6k fluff

Your job description entails taking care of one (1) astronaut on his way to Mars. It doesn’t say anything about falling in love with him. 

✧ arrive through obliteration | 3.5k smut

Gojo deserves a trophy for winning his fight against Sukuna. You’re happy to deliver.

✧ you get me closer to god | 3.7k fluff

Kneeling by your bed, rosary wrapped around your knuckles, lips pressed to the burnished rosewood, you pray. God, please send me another guardian angel. A blast of static from the TV behind you. The one you sent me- “Hey, how does the thing work?” Gojo says, accompanied by loud thumps. You cringe in silence. He’s strange.

✧ graveyard shift | 4.5k fluff | (not really a) mafia au

When you took the job, you knew working the night shift at your local convenience store would be boring. That’s fine; you’re here to make enough to pay rent, not to smile for strangers who don’t care anyways.The appearance of a stranger who seems to have a lot to hide is tantalizing bait to your boredom, but you can’t give in. That is, if you have a choice at all.

✧ the commutative property of relationships | 4.5k smut

Gojo and you have little to nothing in common besides a friend group and a shared crush on Nanami Kento. However, as befitting the sorcerer to end all sorcerers, of course Gojo has one up on you - he’s actually made a move on Nanami. If he offers to give you a taste through him, who are you to turn down such a golden opportunity?

✧ star power | 6.8k fluff

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

universes: 

✧ cruel summer 

✧ teen dad gojo 

series:

✧ let your hand become a blade so I may take it | royal au | 1/7 chapters

Updated knight! gojo x princess! reader

✧ the hand which holds the knife | royal au | 2 chapters 

OLD DRAFT of knight! gojo x princess! reader

✧ spring in hell and everything’s blooming | 2/5 chapters | estimated 12k 

There is before-Getou and after-Getou. In both spaces, Gojo exists.

✧ beating hearts promised to bared teeth | 1/2 chapters | estimated 20k

When a kind stranger offers you his home because your gambling addict of a father can’t pay rent, you’re left in charge of a shrine - with a catch. Once you arrive at your new home, you learn a crucial fact that he conveniently left out. You’re the new god in charge, and his familiar, who now belongs to you, does not like you. What’s a new god to do, especially when she finds herself slowly falling for the fox spirit?

[sagesolsticewrites]

Welcome Home

Rosie finally returns home after his second tour, and you take the opportunity to show him exactly how much you missed him

Special thanks to my bestie @winniemaywebber for making a whole playlist for this fic??? What??? What in the world did I do to deserve such wonderful friends 😭

Warnings: mature content (oral (f receiving), PinV penetration), some dom/sub dynamics if you squint (Rosie’s switchyyyy in this 🥰), swearing, mentions of scars/wounds, historical inaccuracies (18+! minors begone!)

Word count: 1.8k!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist

You wait anxiously on the train platform, amongst a hundred other wives and mothers and friends waiting for their loved ones’ safe return.

When Rosie had told you that he was re-enlisting after his first tour… a thousand emotions had run through you at once. Terror. Disbelief. Pride. Of course your Robert wouldn’t be satisfied until the job was finished.

And now it was. Germany had surrendered, and Rosie was finally coming home to you.

There was a hiss and a squeal as the long-awaited train pulled to a stop, and then a cacophony of shouting and joyous cheers as loved ones called to each other.

You scan the sea of joyful reunions, searching for a familiar head of curls.

A shout of your name makes you turn your head, and there he is.

Eyes sparkling, mustache neatly groomed, looking as handsome as ever in his dress uniform, stood Rosie.

Your feet carry you to him as if they have a mind of their own, and Rosie fights through the crowd to meet you halfway, catching you as you launch yourself into his arms.

You laugh in disbelief— he’s here, holding you, he’s real— as you urgently press your lips to his, the tears you’ve been trying to hold back spilling over your cheeks.

You pull away just enough to catch your breath, noses pressed together, lips brushing as you murmur soft, hurried greetings of “welcome home, baby,” “missed you so much,” “so, so proud of you.”

After what feels like an eternity of being back in his arms, lips locked in a passionate kiss, Rosie pulls away just slightly.

“Take me home, honey pie,” he murmurs, and you nod eagerly.

You let out a yelp of surprise as, rather than setting you down to lead you out to the car, Rosie simply turns and carries you out to the lot with you securely in his arms.

He pulls you in for yet another urgent kiss when he sets you down as you arrive at the car, and the promise of more sparking in his eyes has you speeding to your Brooklyn apartment.

It’s difficult to unlock the door with his lips attacking your neck, never mind his wandering hands, but you manage it, and close it quickly behind you as Rosie wastes no time in leading you to your bedroom.

“I missed you,” he murmurs between kisses, pulling you flush against him, his hands resting low on your waist, “so much, honey.”

“Missed you,” you whimper, fumbling with the buttons as you make quick work of tossing his jacket off to some corner of your room as he does the same to your dress.

He catches on quickly, yanking off his tie and drab olive shirt, leaving him just in his slacks as he walks you backwards, leaving a trail of hot kisses all down your neck.

“Been dreaming about this for so long,” he mumbles against your skin, “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna do to you when I got home.”

You shiver as he lays you down gently on the bed, his fingertips tracing the satin edges of your brassiere.

“Want me to show you?”

His voice is hoarse and raspy against your ear, making goosebumps appear all over you.

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands wandering over his exposed skin for the first time in far too long, “Please.”

You feel him grin against your skin as his mouth attacks your neck, making your back arch off the bed. 

Once your neck has been thoroughly kissed, sucked, and nipped into submission, he steps back to admire his handiwork.

You let his gaze linger on you until you can’t stand it and lift one leg to nudge him into doing something, your breath hitching when he grabs your ankle, his eyes darkening.

A glint in his eye, he bends down to brush a kiss to your ankle, your calf, your knee… he kisses his way up your leg, making you whine when he avoids your increasingly damp core in favor of continuing his path up to your hipbone. He stops to scatter kisses all along your stomach before mouthing at the valley between your breasts as he makes quick work of your brassiere.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” he says, one hand coming up to cup your breast reverently, “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, trailing his lips to wrap around your nipple and suck.

His name leaves your mouth in a cry as he swirls his tongue around your peaked bud, pulling away with a pop to turn his attention to your other breast. 

Your hand buries itself in his curls as he pulls away once more, tugging him up for a kiss. His tongue meets yours as you moan into his mouth, grinding up into him with a whine in an attempt to ease the pressure in your core.

“I gotcha, honey, I gotcha,” he breathes against your lips, his searing blue gaze locking on yours as his mouth follows a trail down, down, down to the waistband of your panties.

“Robbie,” you whine, the old nickname tumbling from your lips as he digs his teeth softly into the flesh above your waistband, gently easing your underwear off.

“Oh, honey,” he gasps, taking in your damp core, “When I tell you I’ve been dreaming about this for so long…”

Before you can grind out an impatient stop talking, his mouth is on you.

You moan, long and loud, as he licks deep through your folds, his nose at the perfect angle to add just the right amount of pressure to your clit.

“Shit, darling,” he groans as he licks and sucks at your core, the vibrations making your toes curl, “Taste even better than I remembered, fuck—”

Unable to keep eye contact, your head falls back against the bed with a choked whine, your hands finding their way down to grip at Robert’s curls.

Each talented movement of his tongue brings you closer to release, that string of tension in your belly growing tighter and tighter. 

Robert’s tongue brushes a very particular spot inside you that has you gasping for air, giving his curls a particularly aggressive yank, which in turn causes him to growl against you— and that’s the moment that the string snaps and sends you over the edge.

You feel Robert’s mouth move frantically against you as you ride out your orgasm, his mouth and mustache damp with your release as he pulls away, brushing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about doing that, honey,” he says, kissing his way back up to your mouth, “But none of them came close to the real thing.”

You smile into the kiss before he pulls away, hovering over you.

You take the chance to scan over Rosie’s body, tracing the lines and curves of him with your fingertips, taking in the scars and scrapes and bruises.

He freezes above you, avoiding your eyes as you try to meet his gaze, concerned.

Eventually, you realize what he’s having difficulty with.

“Robbie,” you say softly, cupping his cheek so his eyes meet yours once more, “You’re beautiful. These scars don’t change that. And I know you may not believe me right now—” you begin to brush featherlight kisses to the scrapes and bruises decorating his face and neck, “— but I’ll keep reminding you every day until you do.”

At his unconvinced nod, you take a chance. You leverage your weight and flip so that you’re now the one hovering over him.

“These scars—” you say between gentle kisses to each and every mark decorating his skin, “are a reminder to you and everyone who knows you that you’re a fighter. You— you stayed, honey, you did what you knew was right and saw it through to the end and even though I was absolutely terrified of losing you—” you inhale shakily as some of the fear you’d felt over the past few months seeps into your voice before you collect yourself, “I couldn’t be prouder. My brave, brave boy.”

You capture his lips in a tender yet heated kiss, and he melts against you, one hand moving up to fist into your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer.

You slowly begin to grind against him, your bare skin gliding deliciously against the fabric of his slacks covering the bulge at the apex of his thighs.

“Sweetheart, I—” he gasps desperately into your mouth, “shit, I need to be inside you. Lemme show my girl how much I missed her, please—”

You moan, the sound swallowed by his mouth as you fumble with his belt, Rosie wriggling out of his slacks and boxers impatiently.

You can’t resist grinding against him a few times, his breath catching at the feeling of your damp folds gliding against his bare cock.

“Honey,” he whines, burying his face in your neck, “Quit teasing, please, waited so long for this, lemme fuck you, please—”

You relent, nearly as unable to stand your own teasing as he is. Your breaths mingle as he positions himself at your entrance and you slowly, slowly, sink down onto him, biting back a stuttering moan as you stretch around him.

“Oh sweetheart,” Rosie groans, pretty blue eyes fluttering shut, “Fuck— you feel so good, honey, so tight—”

You whine at the praise, slowly rocking in his lap as you adjust to his size, gradually moving up and down his length at a toe-curlingly slow pace.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he gasps into your mouth, gripping at your hips in a futile attempt to speed you up, “Shit, you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

An entirely too innocent giggle escapes you as you continue to ride him agonizingly slowly, teasing yourself as much as him. 

After several minutes of teasing, Robert’s soft pleading only adding to the growing tension in your core — “waited so long for this, honey, please, please don’t make me wait any longer,”— your breathing becomes heavy. Robert’s hands wander over every inch of you, leaving trails of fire as you finally, finally, speed up in earnest.

“Robbie,” you gasp, “Missed this so much, baby, missed you—”

“Missed you more, sweet girl,” he breathes, burying his face in your neck to muffle the stuttering moan that escapes him, “F-fuck, ‘m gonna—”

“C’mon, baby, please,” you breathe into his ear, fisting his curls as you feel your orgasm building, “‘M right there, please, Robbie…”

His fingers dig into your skin, groaning your name, hips stuttering as he spills into you, your release following almost immediately after.

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, Robert letting out a soft whine as you carefully lift yourself off of him.

“I’m so, so happy you’re home, honey,” you whisper breathlessly as you curl up next to him on the bed, fingertips tracing his jaw, pulling him close so your noses brush, “I love you.”

“I love you more, honey pie,” comes Rosie’s soft reply, grinning against your lips as he pulls you in for a long, sweet kiss.

[nihildenial]

"Fifty Shades of Pink" a Papa Emeritus III x Omega fic

SMUT UNDER CUT

one chapter ; wc: 6,586

There wasn’t much that could surprise Omega anymore. He’s been topside for about six years now, served as rhythm guitarist for three Papas, and performed countless ritual performances.

This, however, was something new.

“Isn’t it perfecto ?” The short man in front of him throws his arms wide and does a slow spin.

Omega simply blinks his lavender eyes and tries his best to think of a way to put what he’s thinking into nice-enough words. Why the hell did he agree to go to the cobbler to pick up the Terzo’s loafers and leave his kin with the man? “It’s…tailored nicely.”

Terzo Emeritus, Papa Emeritus III, a forty-three year old, pouts like an affronted child. He turns back to the large floor length mirror and takes in his appearance from the tailors’ platform. “I think I look like I belong in one of those fancy Ivy League college fraternities! Alpha told me pink was my color. Imagine a beer in my hand.”

“You took advice from Alpha? The Ghoul who still puts on different colored socks because he’s too lazy to find a pair from his dresser?”

The raven-haired man huffs, “You were too busy with Francesco! Maybe if you weren’t such a bossy-pants, you would have been here. I think I’ll keep it like this just to show you that I do look handsome.”

Omega sets down the several pairs of ties and socks on the vacant chair next to the platform. Of course his kin would disappear when someone had to tell Terzo he looked like a bottle of pepto-bismol. “I didn’t say you weren’t handsome. It’s tailored well to your figure. The color on the other hand…”

“Pink is the new black! Slimming for the masculine shape, and feminine to complement the olive tone of my sun-kissed Italian tan.”

The large Quintessence Ghoul sighs, “Just humor me and try the gold that we originally agreed on.”

“No!” Terzo steps off the platform, losing the extra inches of height. “I like this. We’re going to check out and go back to the Ministry.”

“You look like a child dressed for church.” He could pick the small man up with one hand and shake him like a naughty toddler.

Terzo flips a loose bang out of his eyes, “I’ll let you be the first to take it off me.”

Omega holds back a grumble, “What is the horrible pink shirt for anyway? You’re still getting the white suit, right?”

“Of course, I’m getting the white suit! This is for a new music video; Sister Imperator finally said the budget was thick enough to shoot it,” His fingers make sure the Grucifix cufflinks are facing the same direction, leading Omega and his purchases to the Ralph Lauren counter.

“Mr. Emeritus, I see the tailor was able to make those adjustments for you.” The woman flashes a polite smile.

Omega sees it falter a bit as he feels his four kin reappear at his side. Of course, Alpha has damn pink socks. “We are not getting pink socks too.”

Alpha puts the offending socks on top of Omega’s well-chosen accessories. “He looks good in pink.”

“I’m buying the damn socks, Omega,” Terzo affirms and lets the woman take all the items to begin scanning.

Omega could be petty and not hand over the Ministry credit card, but Terzo strikes him with a look that promises a reward for being good. “Fine,” He grumbles and nudges Alpha out of the way so he can sign the receipt. The woman hands back the large items in several bags and the five glamoured hellbeasts follow their leader out onto the busy 5th Avenue streets. Glamouring all of them, they walk undisturbed down the block to where a sleek SUV idles.

“That’s what you spent all that time getting fitted for?” Is the first thing out of Sister Imperator’s mouth when they all pile into the car. A bag of clothing for some of the Sisters of Sin sits by her feet in the passenger seat.

Omega sits directly behind her, letting her take in Terzo in the driver side middle seat. “I said the same thing.”

“We like it, Papa,” Pebble chirps from the third row, “All of us back here do.”

Alpha and Mist nod.

All eyes turn to Zephyr, who is unfortunately stuck sitting between Omega and Terzo. “I mean…Papa can make anything look fetching.”

Terzo claps a hand on the air Ghoul’s shoulder, “Majority rules! Now, let us get back to the Abbey so I can make sure the equipment is ready for shooting tomorrow.”

Sister Imperator pinches the bridge of her nose, but nods for the Brother of Blasphemy to go ahead and drive away.

“I made sure we got the white suit, at least,” Omega watches the bustling city slowly crawl past them in traffic.

“I knew I could count on you, Omega,” She says, reaching back and patting the Ghoul’s knee.

—----------

For the music video of He Is , the Ghouls weren’t needed as actors or instrumentalists, so Terzo gave them all the day off–except for Omega.

“Your punishment for yesterday is that you get to spend the day with us as we shoot.” It’s like four in the morning so they could get the shots down at the river around mid afternoon.

He wants to whine like a Ghoul kit. “They’re going hunting! Deer season just began!”

“Maybe I’ll take pity on you after the lunch break,” Terzo chides with a wink, “Now sit in your chair and be good for Papa. You can be my waterboy.”

Omega would do most anything for him. Sitting and zoning out while his beautiful Papa twirls his dramatic ass around a sound stage may sound like a relaxing afternoon, but his kin are out frolicking among the large forest and hunting.

Terzo stands on his tip-toes to presumably kiss Omega, but the antipope simply smacks his lips a hair’s breadth away and bounds out of the Ghoul’s arms.

That motherfucker, Omega sits back in the shitty makeup-chair with a huff.

Sister Rebecca raises a beauty blender. Her brown eyes are bright as she’s nearly bouncing in place/ “Could I try something on you? I got a new, thinner foundation to use for you and the Ghouls in an upcoming photoshoot.”

He sees how hopeful she is. She wasn’t chosen by Sister Imperator to be in the music video because of her skills at makeup. Both of them were stuck watching this anyway.

Omega reaches up and undoes his mask. “Knock yourself out. Don’t be offended if I fall asleep.”

“I also have some head massage techniques I could try out…?” She grins.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

A few hours pass with Omega submitting to anything Sister Rebecca wanted.

The new foundation she got did make his hell-soot colored skin more luminous, and flattened some pores that he’s been a bit self-conscious of. She smudged some eyeliner here, a small dusting of brightening powder on his eyelids, and something moisturizing that tastes like cherries on his lips.

Omega can’t help the happy rumble when her manicured hands reward him with a truly sinful scalp massage. Thankfully it isn’t loud enough to disrupt the filming across the room, but Sister Imperator does shoot them a glare that sobers both of them up enough to stop.

“That’s a wrap!” Comes the director’s call.

“This was really helpful, Omega, thank you.” The sister begins to put away most of the new makeup. She leaves out Terzo’s papal paint in case he needs to reapply during any of the recording.

He looks at himself in the mirror, “I feel good in this. Much better than the grease paint of the last tour.”

She huffs a laugh, “Yeah, that stuff was disgusting to work with and have on. Here’s some wipes to take it off.”

Omega takes in the nearly flawless quality of his charcoal skin, “Actually, I might keep it on for a bit. See how it wears.”

“Of course, I’ll leave those here,” She rolls the makeup suitcase with her as she follows the production crew towards the Abbey sanctuary.

In the mirror he can see the reflection of Terzo talking to the two young children that were in the video. Their father was an archbishop from the Salem Ministry, and was one of the only clergy members with young enough twin children.

Terzo was always so great with people. It breaks Omega’s heart that he and his kin hold the man’s love and there’s little chance for mini-Terzos to come into being.

“ Grazie, miei dolci bambini ,” The antipope pats their heads, eliciting delighted laughs as the boy and girl toddle over to their watchful father and mother. He struts to Omega, taking a long swig from the water bottle Omega was tasked with keeping. “Wasn’t I absolutely sinful?”

The Quintessence Ghoul inclines his head, “There’s hardly been a time when you’re not. It was good to see those kids so happy.”

“ Sono una famiglia adorabile , quite the lovely little family, no?” Terzo smiles. He steps forward to peer around Omega’s back.

“What do you think? I let Sister Rebecca experiment with some new shit,” He turns fully to face the antipope. He relishes the shocked flush that crawls through the cracks of Terzo’s papal paint.

For once the man is rendered speechless. His mouth opens and closes like one of the fish Pebble caught the other day in the Abbey lake. “I…”

Omega sees his chance to get some payback, “I think I should let her do this more often, yes?” He makes sure most of the room has cleared (mostly just making sure Imperator is gone) and uses his larger form to back Terzo against the vanity counter. He lets his hands rest on those beautifully familiar and full hips and leans down.

Terzo takes the bait and sighs happily into their shared breath–except Omega smacks his lips together and pulls back before their lips could meet. “It’s a shame, really. My lip balm is cherry-flavored.”

The shorter man’s mismatched green and white eyes fly open in betrayal, “You motherfucker!”

Omega folds up the vanity chair and saunters to the doorway, “I might take pity on you after lunch.” He grins at the imaginary lasers shooting him in the back.

—------

Terzo and Omega have always been this way. One of them does something immature to the other, then other retaliates, then they make up by the fucking the absolute shit out of each other. It’s very much a game of cat and mouse or freeze-tag, making the four other Ghouls roll their eyes when an argument inevitably happens.

Terzo’s a little shit.

Omega’s a little shit in the form of a 6 ft 7 Quintessence Ghoul.

Nothing is better than the angry-eventually-loving makeup sex. Tonight was going to be quite a treat judging by the horny mini-glares Terzo gives him between shots of the He Is sanctuary scenes. Omega sits out of the way in his vanity chair and snacks on popcorn provided on the shooting table.

After another two hours of getting footage, the director calls for lunch. They’ll resume in another hour to begin the footage down by the river.

Omega doesn’t know necessarily what they’re going to shoot down there. But he hopes Mist is ripping into the throat of a deer on the banks and ruins their shot so he and Terzo can go fuck.

Speaking of, they do have an hour before resuming…

Terzo is engulfed in a mass of followers and Siblings. He drinks their attention as if he needs it to continue existing. He flashes that sharp smile that’s all shiny, white, perfect teeth and it makes Omega’s black heart do somersaults.

He likes to think that he controls the Antipope, but Terzo is a feral hellbeast in his own way. Even if Omega holds the man facedown against the mattress more times than Terzo rides him, Omega would fold faster to the man’s orders than the other way around.

The crowd moves towards the Dining Hall across the cloister courtyard, carrying Terzo with them. He doesn’t even spare the Ghoul a glance as the group filters outside.

Omega holds back a growl. So that’s how it’s going to be.

Lunch flys by. Omega tears into a pack of beef jerky and one of Pebble’s edibles. If he got upset, then he can go fuck off. Omega’s horny as shit and being forced to be a waterboy for a frustratingly beautiful and petty man while Pebble got to sink his fangs into a tender deer flank.

By the time they resume filming at the hill that leads to the Wallkill river, Pebble’s edible has kicked in and relaxed him some. Which is good because his anger shoots back up as Terzo steps out into the mid-afternoon sun in that damned pink shirt under a white waistcoat.

He looks like a douchebag actor in an American frat movie! Paired with black aviator sunglasses, it screams the wrong kind of self-assertion. But then again, Omega hasn’t really thought about what He Is is about…and it begins to make sense as they start filming.

So, he’s been an asshole for no reason. The song is a parody of Christian baptism rock.

Guilt rises in Omega’s chest. How many times has he performed this damned song and not understood what it meant?

The Quintessence Ghoul watches the group film shots of a handful of Sisters of Sin frolic in the meadow that covers the path down to the riverbank. Their flowing white dresses and long hair twirl in the gentle breeze.

It is a nice day. Omega turns his face towards the sun and feels how the foundation moves on his cheeks. He’ll never get tired of being out in the topside sun. The heat from the planet is a pleasant warmth compared to the spikes of fire from the Pits.

He hears water splash. Down at the edge of the grass, Terzo is wading into the water, while in that stupid outfit.

Part of Omega’s brain purrs in happiness knowing the brackish water will destroy the offending shirt but also–

What the Hell is he doing? That outfit alone cost nearly $3,000, and they bought it just yesterday!

Despite the conflict within Omega, he ultimately decides to sit still. He’ll give Terzo a reprimand after he’s done being a destructive little shit. So he sits, watching the Sisters remove their sandals and wade in a bit aways from Terzo.

All of them are only waist-deep.

Are they going to do some sort of synchronized swimming routine? Omega doesn’t remember Terzo being very good at keeping afloat just by himself.

To Omega’s disbelief, the first Sister wades to Terzo and he takes her hands in his right, cradling her against his chest. Her blonde curls flare in the wind coming off the water.

Terzo’s free hand comes up to rest at the back of her skull and he dips her back into the water.

Her perfectly tan hand slides up to his jaw, a teasing thumb brushing against the black paint of his upper lip.

Terzo submerges her entirely then helps her upright, the water rushing from her plump form. Her white choir robe clings to her now stiffly peaked nipples. His hand that held her stomach sneakily cups her right breast during the sloshing of the cold river water.

Omega wouldn’t typically be that upset; he’s always up for a third (or fourth, fifth, and so on) to join him and the Antipope. The Sister is extremely beautiful and has always been kind to the Ghouls, but this bastardization of a water baptism taking place in front of Omega after Terzo was being so fucking petty, absolutely makes Omega’s pointed ears burn with jealousy.

One by one, the baptism continues five more times. Each one has some naughty tease between Terzo and the Sister: the next one gasps out a moan at the cold water when she comes up, the third one unbuttons the infuriatingly pink top button of his shirt, and the fourth Sister’s breasts are basically exposed through the now-soaked white robe.

The fifth woman is more bold than the rest. When the brunette cuddles into Terzo’s baptismal embrace, her hand follows the same path as those before her–up to cup the blurred edge of his papal paint on Terzo’s jaw. He leans her back and submerges her.

She’s guided back up with Terzo’s steady hands (hands that are usually gripping Omega’s white hair as the Ghoul fucks the Hell out of him) and as she lets the face drip from her face, she leans forward and catches his lips.

Terzo doesn’t hesitate to deepen it.

And on the far shore, four unglamoured Ghouls howl with the victory of a fresh kill. It echoes so loudly that it creates ripples on the mostly-calm river.

Omega’s Hell-beast blood boils.

He leaps up from his chair and stomps past the production crew and down to the water’s edge. He ignores the sound of the crew frantically packing up as the scent of ozone fills every molecule of the air by the riverbank.

“ Get the fuck off her !” Omega thunders in Ghoulish.

The Sister squeaks and pulls out of Terzo’s arms so fast she falls onto her ass in the water.

Terzo goes to help her up but Omega leaps from the bank and slams into the raven-haired man.

—---

They collide and go underwater, Terzo’s hands grappling the front of Omega’s vestments as they resurface. The Antipope’s aviators are missing and he goes to search for them but Omega pulls him away from the shore.

“ You make me sit here all day, tease me, and now you decide to snog a Sister during a fake baptism, in front of all these strangers?!” Omega growls as he bodily drags the now fully soaked Antipope to a mostly-submerged cove just out of sight. He tosses Terzo onto the small silver of a rocky beach, making sure it’s enough to bruise, but not actually hurt him.

Terzo spits out some brackish water to the side. His face is equal parts cocky and affronted, but the smirk on his ruined makeup grows as he takes in the Quintessence Ghoul’s burning eartips and heavy rut scent. “It was Sister Imperator’s idea-”

“ I know it fucking wasn’t. You’re just a whore.”

Terzo reclines on the beach as if he wasn’t just dragged through the water like a piece of lumber, “I never took you for a jealous teenage Ghoul.”

Omega snarls, frustration only building at the man’s continued sass. Doesn’t he know what danger he’s in? He trudges through the water and lets his glamour fully fall. He feels his horns reappear and his sleeves bulge as they barely contain the soot-black muscles Omega crafted over centuries as champion in the fighting Pits.

Instead of flinching, Terzo’s erection hardens in his wet trousers. “ Un ragazzo così grande …”

That tone immediately dismisses part of Omega’s fury. There’s appreciation and lust wrapped up in that sentence. How is he supposed to stay angry when Terzo becomes so riled up when he’s in his most authentic form?

“I’m still angry ,” The Ghoul says.

Terzo slicks back his sopping bangs, “I would hope so. I’ve been so naughty I deserve a punishment; merito una sculacciata . A good spanking would make me repent.”

Omega reaches forward and slices through the white vest and pink shirt with a long claw.

“Hey! Fuck you, we just bought this! I could have gotten the salt out of it.”

“You’ve been sitting in brackish water for the past two hours and now you’re upset?” Omega rips the offending material from the man’s body to float off in the water around them. “If anything, this is simply payback. I don’t think I should even touch you. I should leave you here to trudge back to shore; water-logged, naked, and messy-faced.”

Terzo play-struggles as Omega grips his chin tight enough for his claws to press in. The Quintessence Ghoul sees his mismatched eyes roll with pleasure.

“ Filthy .”

“The correct word is-” Terzo’s shit-eating grin grows.

Omega has him on his stomach in the next blink, claws raking down the man’s legs to shred the white trousers. He relishes the red scratches that follow his claws. “Shut the fuck up.”

Terzo lets out a groan and his hands grasp for purchase on the slippery rocks. “ Omega …oh, how you spoil your Papa.”

“Right now, you’re nothing more than my bitch.” Omega has to re-glamour his hands so he can pry apart Terzo’s slippery thighs. When the infuriating man wiggles his ass out of Omega’s grip, the Ghoul smacks the pert right cheek.

Terzo’s echoing gasp is beautiful. Water sloshes over him and pools in the hip dimples above his ass.

Omega should fuck him in this cove more often.

-

Terzo makes Omega carry him back to shore after a rough fuck in the cove. Indulging the man who did make him cum so hard his vision whited out isn’t the thing he has issue with. Staking a claim on Terzo has only partially satisfied him.

The shreds of the blasted pink shirt swirl in his wake as Omega trudges back to shore. As the Quintessence Ghoul walks back to the Abbey at the top of the hill, Terzo lounges in the strong arms.

Terzo idly plays with the black chest hair brushing against his cheek as Omega walks. “Why don’t you like me in pink again?”

“You’re better suited to richer tones.”

“Do you think purple is ugly on me as well?”

Omega rolls his eyes and sets Terzo on his feet as they reach the Abbey’s doors. “Of course not.”

“I would like a reason, per favore ,” Terzo ignores Omega holding open the doors for him.

“You simply look better in colors other than pink. Even going a shade darker like magenta would bring out the warm undertone in your skin.” Omega takes the human’s forearm and turns it over, tracing a claw over the thrumming veins below the skin.

Terzo blinks, “So you aren’t just doing this to spite me.”

Omega’s thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Spite you? For what?”

“Because I had the other Ghouls come with me to the fitting and had you come later,” Terzo admits sheepishly.

“I don’t care about that shit.”

Terzo hums, “So…you tackling me and pounding me into the rocks of a cave wasn’t a consequence of your jealousy from earlier this week?”

Omega takes a deep breath. “No. It’s because…I was jealous of the Sisters in the music video. How they got to hold you, how tender you were while you gave them an unholy baptism, all while wearing the shirt you knew I disliked…I want to feel like you hear my opinion.”

“Oh.” Is all Terzo can say. His face flushes in realization. “I probably was a bit mean and the gold was pretty… Mi dispiace .” He hugs Omega around the middle.

Omega sighs and pets the damp raven hair, “You’re too cute to stay upset with.”

“I promise to make it up to you,” Terzo’s smile is innocent but filled with the promise of something naughty.

The large Ghoul watches the naked antipope saunter inside without a care in the world. He passes a wary Sister Imperator and Cardinal Copia talking in the foyer without a second glance.

-

While the music video was in the editing phase, Sister Imperator called the band together to record ‘He Is.’ It only took a few times to get a good enough recording, and Sister rewarded them with a few days off.

Before Omega could even grasp the fact that he only had a few cleaning chores for the next two days, Terzo was rushing out of the studio room. Rolling his eyes, Omega reracks his guitar and chats with the producer about if there was anything he needed to drag Terzo back to fix.

“So, ‘Mega…want to come hunting with us?” Pebble’s tiny form pops up from behind the drum kit.

He thinks it over. He could go track down Terzo but potentially get turned away for the man to have a nap, or join his kin for the night. “Hunting sounds good.”

Pebble’s fanged grin is infectious. “Awesome! You missed out on Mist taking down a deer twice her size! It was so cool.” The two ghouls walk from the studio out into the courtyard where the other three Ghouls are stripping their clothes to hand to one of the sisters tasked with laundry.

“No more blood stains on these, please. It was impossible after yesterday’s hunt,” Sister Anais held out the basket already filled with Alpha and Zephyr’s uniforms. Mist is taking her time undoing her boots.

Omega easily undoes the buttons of his cassock.

“Now, you boys are going to be careful out there tonight, yes? The game Warden said there’s an excess of about thirty deer this season,” She says, nodding as all of them finish placing their clothes in her basket.

“Including the ones from yesterday?” Zephyr’s gray eyes brighten.

“No. New total based on the herds movement today. I’ll tell Papa all of you are leaving.”

Omega and his pack scamper through the courtyard (always careful of Primo’s topiaries) and out the gates to the hill that holds the forest on one side and the meadow that leads to the riverbank on the other. Once out of view from any Siblings, all of them let their Earthly glamours slip away.

Omega’s muscles have been crying out for him to move for a few days now. Even his hot tryst with Terzo in the cove wasn’t enough to fully drain all of his infernal adrenaline. He senses how the forest is filled with potential dinner, a group of deer only a mile away.

He drops to all fours and bounds away, leaving his mates to hopelessly beat him to the first kill.

Not many things were better than this.

-

It’s near midnight when the five Ghouls waddle back to the Abbey with bellies full of rabbit, fox, and deer. Thankfully they were able to stop before they hit the target overpopulated numbers. There’d be another night of hunting in a week or so.

Omega drops his body onto the Ghoul common room couch. He could sleep for a month, but then he’d miss Samhain and Terzo’s birthday.

Mist plops into the armchair by his head. “Those rabbits were so tender…” She purrs happily.

“My fox was delicious. I probably absorbed his wit and cunning.” Pebble maneuvers her so he can curl up with her.

There’s a collective eye roll from the pack.

“We’ll see if you stick a fork in the toaster again!” Alpha calls, snickering.

Omega closes his eyes as the pack continues to roast each other. He’s on the edge of falling asleep when footsteps come from the stairs down into the crypt that holds the Ghoul den. He cracks an eye open, seeing the common room is empty of his pack. He must have dozed for a bit longer than he thought.

The Quintessence Ghoul smells the air and relaxes as the scent of Maison Margiela’s Jazz Club fills his senses. “Terzo,” He says to the newcomer.

Terzo is dressed in a loose black t-shirt and baggy gray sweatpants. His face is empty of skull paint. “I was wondering if you were going to leave your poor Papa all alone in bed tonight,” He says innocently. His bare feet are barely audible as he steps up to the couch, tracing a finger down Omega’s strong nose.

“Sorry, we got back maybe an hour ago and I dozed off.”

“ Va abbastanza bene , Omega. At least, it would be alright… if I got some special attention.”

Omega pulls the man’s hips until he’s straddling the Ghoul on the couch.

Terzo tsks, “Not here.”

“Then where?” Omega asks.

“My rooms, please.”

Omega exhales and lifts the man back to his feet. “You should’ve just called me to come upstairs.”

“I did. You didn’t pick up.” Terzo pulls out his iPhone. Sure enough, Omega missed three calls and three texts from him.

Shit. Time to turn on the romantic gestures. Omega picks up Terzo easily in his arms, one wrapped securely under his knees and behind his back. He regales Terzo with how the hunt went as they ascend the stairs and make it to the man’s papal suite.

Terzo locks the door and turns to Omega with a coy smirk. “Now, before we start anything, I did get you a surprise.”

Omega puts his slippers by the end of the bed. “Hmm, what for?” He asks, suspicious.

“Well you still believe I don’t look good in pink–”

“Terzo, are you seriously still thinking about that?” Omega gives him a pleading look. “I’m sorry I said that.”

Terzo nods, “Yes, yes; I forgive you for all that shit. Anyways…I thought I would show you that I do in fact look good in pink.” His hands take their time moving to the hem of the shirt he stole from Omega, then pull the garment up and over his head to toss carelessly on the floor.

Hidden by the bagginess of the shirt is a baby pink, sheer lace bralette embroidered with cherries and soft ruffles. Terzo doesn’t have a lot of area to be placed in a bralette, but the sheerness makes the illusion that he’s filling it out just a bit.

Terzo’s smirk grows as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Omega’s eyes are glued to the slow reveal of skin and matching pink lace hemline that appears as the sweatpants pool at the human’s ankles.

The front panel of the panties are the same pattern as the bralette cups. It leaves nothing to imagination as the leaky tip of Terzo’s cock just sticks out over the panty hemline. The soft looking ruffles continue over the high cut expanse of Terzo’s thighs to disappear to probably cup his ass perfectly.

“So what do you think?” Terzo turns in a circle, and Omega feels his blood drain to his cock.

He was correct about the ruffles. Omega is dumb with memorizing the sinful sight in front of him. “Oh..”

Terzo gently lifts his head by the chin, tearing Omega’s lavender eyes from roving over his body. He uses his leverage to move Omega backwards until the Ghoul’s knees hit the bed. Omega drops back to the bed, stuck in Terzo’s laser-focused gaze.

“Now, il mio gatto cattivo , no claws are allowed to rip this delicate outfit,” Terzo coos, easily lifting himself to straddle the Ghoul’s wide chest. “Premium Italian lace…Rip even a single stitch and you’ll be forced to watch your brethren have their way with me.”

Omega snorts, cockiness rearing up at the demand even if he’s clearly losing the battle. “That’s still pretty hot.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that you would be strapped to that lovely St. Andrew’s Cross?”

Omega gulps and his claws shift to human fingers.

“That’s what I thought. Now touch me,” Terzo says sweetly, taking the Ghoul’s hands to rest on the cups of the bralette. “A few more spoonfuls of Nutella and I’ll fill these, probably. Copia’s been making too much carbonara recently.”

“I would still love you either way,” Omega’s hand cups the back of his neck and pulls the man down to seal their lips together.

Terzo’s voice is pitched with arousal and fondness. “Sap.”

Omega’s left hand slides over the pink lace of his sides and down to grab a handful of Terzo’s ass. According to his fingertips, it’s a thin thong in the back, the crotch band barely holding a glass plug inside him. Omega’s finger stretches the fabric and he snaps the thin waistband against the smooth side of the plug’s base.

Terzo yelps, “Watch it, asshole! That could’ve come apart!”

Omega shrugs and does it again. “Seems fine to me.” He presses a finger against the plug and forces it as deep as it can go without getting completely swallowed.

Terzo’s hole resists, turning it into a game that leaves him flushing as pink as his lingerie.

“Didn’t stretch all the way for this, huh?” Omega coos to the human.

“I like it when it burns at first,” Terzo says, even if both of them already know it.

Omega grasps the end of the plug and pulls it out in one smooth motion. He lets it roll from his hand to somewhere on the duvet of Terzo’s bed. They’ll deal with it after Terzo’s cock-dumb and knotted.

Terzo is pressing a tube of lube into the hand wrapped around his ass.

“When did you grab that?” Omega pops open the cap easily and spreads a good amount inside the human with invading fingers.

“I had it in the left cup,” He moans when Omega presses against his prostate.

Of course, the bralette cup Omega didn’t feel up. “Sneaky bastard ,” The Ghoul growls. He tosses the lube in the same direction as the glass butt plug. He lifts his hips and slides down the boxers he put on after getting back from the hunt. His cock springs to attention from its confines, the tapered tip slapping against the beginning swell of Terzo’s ass. It doesn’t take much maneuvering for Omega’s head to find Terzo’s hole and push in.

Terzo’s answering moan vibrates through Omega’s chest where the man’s immaculate fingernails dig into his pecs. The Ghoul didn’t notice the coating of nude pink on Terzo’s nails. That wasn’t there earlier…was it?

Nothing else matters as Omega pushes himself inside all the way to the hilt. He feels Terzo’s ass resist him near the end but a carefully placed kiss to the human’s neck makes him relax easier.

“I bought this…so we could fuck and keep it on…” Terzo pants into Omega’s hair.

“So thoughtful,” Omega sighs happily. His hands shift to cup an asscheek in each, forcing Terzo’s center of gravity over his face and leaning on his hands on either side of Omega’s ears. It puts the cherry-embroidered bralette cups right in his face. He cranes his neck and sucks at a nipple through the lace.

Terzo squirms at the first few slow thrusts, trying to frustrate Omega enough that he’ll speed up without any begging.

“You’re so beautiful in this,” Omega fucks up into him deeper. He’s so slick and warm and perfectly fluttering against the ribbed sides of his engorged cock. Every steadily increasing speedy thrust makes Terzo moan like a whore.

As wonderful a feeling as all of this is, Terzo is far from his twink past where he could bounce on a cock for hours at a time. His knees are older and are already starting to ache. “‘Mega…”

The Ghoul presses a kiss to his cheek to show there’s no hard feelings, and lets the human sit upright. Terzo carefully eases himself off Omega and makes himself comfortable against the pillows, blow-dried bangs fanning out around his unpainted face.

Omega turns onto his stomach to cage the human in between his arms. Terzo kisses him as he lines his cock back up to his entrance, swallowing their shared moans. Omega does his best to stay attached at the lips, but he’s craving to watch Terzo’s lace-covered body writhe under him.

The lace is a more saturated pink than the stupid shirt. It complements the dusty rose of his nipples and the neat, salt-and-pepper hair that is smattered around the human’s sternum. It also fits well against the darkening red of his cock. The head strains against the thin silk waistband of the thong, the lace sticky and glistening as each thrust forces out another small spurt of pre-cum.

Omega wraps a hand around the lace covered cock and shifts the fabric over it. It moves the human’s foreskin and jolts Terzo into awareness at what he’s doing. “So much for talking about me ruining the lace…”

Terzo whines as Omega times the tight strokes with each rolling thrust. There isn’t much movement he can do with the panties, but it’s enough to send Terzo over the edge. His cock gets caught under the hem and his cum shoots from behind one of the cherry motifs, sticking the front gusset to his cock. He shivers in pleasure.

Omega doesn’t slow down. He knows his human isn’t satisfied with just one. He continues the steady pace, changing angle gradually to now rub a nodule on his cock against his prostate with every movement. Terzo shudders in overstimulation, his ass clenching against the invading cock. His nails dig into the short white hairs at the nape of Omega’s neck.

It all burns so good.

“I love…our little games,” Terzo breathes into the space between their lips. His mismatched eyes are lidded heavily, “You get so defensive…yet are always so ready to defend my honor. Fuck, right there, please…”

Omega places a flat hand on Terzo’s solar plexus and sits up straighter to thrust straight inside him.

Instantly, Terzo’s moans morph into punched-out whimpers. Omega’s fingers grasp the bralette to stretch it down to below his nipples. It acts as a leash to move Terzo in time with each roll of his hips.

“‘Mega…” Terzo whines, “Please, please…”

“Please, what? Gotta use your words, sweetheart.” The Quintessence Ghoul can feel the beginning swell of his knot. It’s starting to keep him from sliding all the way inside Terzo. He uses his momentum to pop in the swell and it makes Terzo explode with an orgasm again. This time, the cum reaches the edge of the bralette and Omega’s hand.

“O-oh, fuck!” The human cranes his neck to look down as he feels the knot forming.

Omega sweet talks him as he pushes the knot inside with each thrust until it’s formed enough that it would tear the human to push back out.

Nothing compares to this moment; Terzo’s musical whines in his ears, the mottled red blush of his chest underneath the cherries and pink lace, the gloopy pools of his cum from his two orgasms collecting in the thong and bralette waistbands.

“You want it, Terzo?” He can’t resist teasing him as he writhes. He can’t hold himself back, but it enhances the experience to hear the words from the man.

“Y-Yes! Please, ‘Mega!” The human yelps, helpless as a third orgasm overtakes him at the same time as he’s pushed full of Ghoul knot and a river of cum. A small indent forms as Omega floods him with enough release to knock up any Ghoul, female presenting or not.

It’s probably a good thing that Terzo’s the one taking knots and not Mist.

Terzo’s slumps against the fluffy pillows with a fluttering heartbeat. He lets silence fill the spaces between their panting breaths. “You ruin me for everyone else,” Terzo says quietly once they’re locked together and calmed for a moment. “At the tailor’s I agreed with you; that shirt was ugly. It didn’t match my undertone. Gold was a much better choice.”

Omega buries his head in the human’s hair so he can laugh, hiking up his hips so the angle of penetration doesn’t hurt his hips. They’ll be stuck together for a while. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you love both my personality and asshole, il mio adorabile demone .”

[miracleonice87]

something in the way she moves

with Jack Hughes

for the summer fic exchange 2k23

a/n: I’ve been in my Taylor Swift and Jack Hughes era all summer, so what better way to write my exchange fic for @wyattjohnston than to combine those two subjects into one project for her? this one was originally inspired by “Question…?” and ended up tying together several Taylor songs all at once – check out the companion playlist for all of those and more songs that inspired the fic! also, shoutout to Brady and Emma’s wedding for providing the perfect backdrop for this story after I stalled out with ideas for the perfect present-day setting. lots of special guests appear in this one! finally, some people might hate the flashback format with all the jumping around, but I’ve been watching a lot of “The Summer I Turned Pretty” so you can thank the show for that! hope everyone enjoys… but especially @wyattjohnston. this one’s for you, my friend! endless thanks to you for putting on this wonderful exchange for us all, and for inviting me to be part of it. (and thanks to the lovely @laurenairay for the assist!)

tropes: whirlwind romance, exes to lovers, fluff, angst

warnings: swearing, alcohol, mention of breakup, arguing / conflict, sexual references but nothing graphic or detailed, quinn and luke and brady and matthew being pests, miles wood being a drunken hooligan lolol 

word count: ~8,500+ (hey who knew I still knew how to write long fic)

_____

July 21, 2023 – present day – Brady and Emma Tkachuk’s wedding  –  Peapack-Gladstone, New Jersey…

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Jack tucked his chin to his chest, busying himself with studying the pattern of the brick patio beneath his smart white sneakers. Whatever question Francesca had in mind, he was absolutely sure he was unprepared for it. But he nodded anyway.

Fran stared at his profile as he shuffled his feet beneath him, but as he lifted his head to look at her, she looked away, unable to meet his eyes as she forged ahead. Her gaze settled across the horizon instead, the moonlight casting a glow across the rolling green hills of Natirar. 

She sighed, then bit the bullet. “Does it feel like everything’s just like… second best now?” she inquired listlessly. 

Jack chuckled sadly, fiddling nervously with the neck of his amber beer bottle. Anybody who knew Jack knew he was never nervous. Except for where Fran was involved. She was the only person who had ever been able to do anything remotely resembling rattling him. 

“What, after that meteor strike?” he asked sarcastically. 

That’s what it felt like, at least – that night two years ago, when his team was out celebrating the end of their abysmal season before separating for the summer, the very same night her roommates had dragged her kicking and screaming from Fordham’s campus, across the Hudson, to see some indie band for one last hurrah before they went their own respective ways until fall semester, and Jack and Fran found themselves in the same crowded Hoboken bar. It felt like a meteor had crashed directly in his path that May night and blown up his entire life as he had known it. 

He nodded wearily before answering his now ex-girlfriend’s, as well as his own rhetorical, question. 

“Yeah, Fran. Yeah… it definitely does.”

Because second best was all that anything could have ever been, following the sensational rise and the staggering fall of Jack Hughes and Francesca DeLuca. 

He’d never forget the very moment he first laid eyes on her…

___

May 1, 2021 – two years earlier…

From Jack’s perch at the bar next to Nico, nursing a Moscow mule, the girl in the pale yellow halter dress was impossible to miss. 

He’d never believed in love at first sight, but as he surveyed the way that dress hugged her curves as she danced with her girlfriends, belting out the lyrics to “Peaches” to Justin Bieber, he thought for the first time that he might be completely wrong about that notion. He watched her hips sway enticingly, her olive-toned skin glowing beneath the bright multicolored lights, dark curls bouncing along with her every step. 

Before he knew it, his feet were taking steps of their own, ditching Nico mid-sentence as the young captain stood dumbfounded, arms flung out to his sides in annoyance as Jack sauntered away. As he watched Jack approach a circle of dancing young women, he zeroed in on the one in the yellow dress right away, knowing immediately that she was the reason for the abrupt end to his conversation with his teammate. As he saw Jack approach her, Nico could only smile and roll his eyes as he wandered off to find the rest of the Devils crew, assuming they’d lost #86 to the girl in the yellow dress for the rest of the evening. 

Meanwhile, for once, Jack didn’t have a plan, no course of action – didn’t have a pick-up line prepared, didn’t have anything clever in mind to say when he reached the girl in the yellow dress. When he finally did, she had her back to him, and it was only thanks to her perceptive friend, who pressed her lips into a straight line and tapped the woman on the shoulder, pointing to where he stood, that she even turned around and noticed Jack over her shoulder. 

And when she finally did lay eyes on him… well, she was as sunk as he was. 

Nothing was said between the two for a few moments, only bashful smiles exchanged. The girl took a few steps toward him, and he eventually found the wherewithal to open his mouth, praying that whatever was about to tumble from his lips wouldn’t make him look like a complete idiot. 

“Hi… I like your dress.”

Okay, could’ve been better, could’ve been worse. 

The girl’s lips spread into a grin, one that made Jack’s stomach flip over itself. 

“Thanks,” she said, glancing down to what she was wearing as if she herself had forgotten. Then her eyes scanned his outfit. “I, uh, I like yours, too.” 

A giggle escaped Jack before he could stop it, and instead of making things awkward, it seemed to endear the girl to him further. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. And then no other words came to mind. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself. Say something else, you jackass.

Thankfully, the girl saved them both from complete and total disaster and rescued Jack from himself. 

“I’m Francesca,” she said, raising her voice above the thumping music which seemed to get louder with every passing moment. “But everyone calls me Fran.”

Jack extended a hand for a gentlemanly shake, making Fran smile as she grasped it in hers. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Fran,” he said, ducking his head close to her ear so that he, too, could be heard above the music… and maybe because it provided the perfect opportunity to be closer to her. “I’m Jack. And everyone calls me Jack.” 

That earned a full-on chuckle from Fran which warmed Jack from the inside out. He watched her, grinning from ear to ear, amused by her amusement and encouraged by the fact that him introducing himself hadn’t seemed to spark any instances of the often inescapable “don’t I know you from somewhere?” or “you look so familiar” or, worse, “you play hockey, right?” He could be jinxing it, or she could just have a really impressive poker face, but it seemed that Fran truly had no earthly idea what he did for a living… and that delighted him to no end. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Jack,” she replied, still allowing her hand to be enveloped by his. “Are you from around here?” 

Jackpot. 

He fidgeted with the cocktail glass in his hand, making the melting ice cubes clink against the side. “Ah, kind of a long story,” he admitted truthfully with a smirk. 

She glanced at her wrist as if checking her watch, though there was no timepiece to be seen. 

“Well, I’ve got time,” she retorted playfully. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

Jack shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not, but I’ll buy you one and tell you all about it,” he said, nodding in the direction of the bar. “After you.” 

Fran eagerly took the lead, heading straight for the bar as he followed close behind. Once they reached the counter, she rested her elbows on its edge and waited patiently for the bartender to take the orders of the other patrons who had been waiting far longer than the two of them. 

But as Jack sidled up to her, resting one arm dangerously, though comfortably, close to hers against the cool aluminum bartop, his chest pressed just close enough to her back to be noteworthy but not overbearing, she noticed that the bartender’s eyes flickered toward him immediately, an immediate smile crossing the woman’s face. Francesca was even more confused, and admittedly disheartened, when the bartender ditched the entire far side of the bar in favor of beelining it toward Jack.

“What can I get you, sweet cheeks?” the bartender said in a syrupy cadence, leaning over the counter as if to make sure Jack noticed her sizable chest on display in her black sports bra. 

Blegh, Fran thought. Maybe this guy isn’t such a good idea… 

Unfazed, he asked, “Hey, can I please get another vodka cran and then…” Jack motioned to Fran. 

“Uh, Bud Light, please?” she ordered, repeating the same go-to drink she’d already had half a dozen of. 

Jack pursed his lips to attempt to avoid a full-blown grin. He couldn’t help but love a girl who loved her beer. 

The bartender nodded, knocking on the counter and turning toward the taps. 

Fran tried to put the awkward encounter with the bartender to the back of her mind for the moment and turned 90 degrees so that she could face Jack more easily. 

“So, you are or you aren’t from around here?” she asked, returning to the question that had led the two of them here originally.

Jack smiled, weighing his options. This question was always a complicated one to answer… but something about explaining it to Fran put him oddly at ease.

“So we, uh, we moved around a bit because my dad was a hockey player before he had kids, and then a coach for years while I was growing up,” he began. 

“Oh, nice! I don’t know much about hockey,” she told him, shaking her head. “Big on playing sports but never big on watching them.”

Oh, my god, he thought to himself as he nodded, trying to seem casual. It’s like this girl was built in a lab just for me. 

However, he didn’t know whether this next part would seem better or worse to a girl who wasn’t a sports fan. But it was his reality, so he decided to lay it bare.

“Gotcha, um… so, I… also play hockey.”

Francesca’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Wow… really?” 

Jack nodded again, then cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, uh, that’s actually why I’m here tonight,” he explained. “All my teammates are here. Our season just ended and everybody’s about to separate for the summer, so we came out for one last night together for a while.” 

It was Fran’s turn to nod as the bartender approached, and Jack thanked her and pushed a large bill across the counter. Fran busied herself with running her finger along the rim of her glass, pretending like she didn’t notice the generous denomination. Jack leaned an elbow against the counter to face her, in hopes of continuing the conversation.

“So… wait, you play for, what, the Rangers? Islanders?” she asked, pulling the names of the teams she vaguely recalled from the cobwebbed recesses of her brain. 

Jack smacked a hand to his chest dramatically as if he’d just been shot. 

“God, Fran,” he hissed, “you really know how to wound me.” 

“What?!” she asked, sputtering with laughter. “I dunno! Are those the wrong team names?!” 

Jack shook his head, entertained. “No, no,” he assured. “You were right – those are NHL teams, but I play for the Devils. They play just over in Newark.”

“Oh… right,” Fran said softly, biting her lip and tucking her chin to her chest, praying she somehow didn’t look as stupid as she felt. 

Jack lowered his head to try and meet her eyes, squeezing her elbow gently. The simple touch alone sent a bolt of electricity through her being.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed,” he said with an easy chuckle. “Trust me, it’s way better having to explain all this to you than having you come up and recite it all to me like some creepy walking encyclopedia.” 

Francesca forced a tight smile, but still stared at her shoes. In a gutsy move, he reached his thumb and forefinger to grasp her chin and gently tilt her head upward. 

“C’mon, lemme see that pretty face,” he said in a gravelly tone, one that made her spine shiver. 

Just as she found herself leaning into his touch, she saw a tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man approaching Jack from behind, unsteady on his feet. She assumed that this was one of his teammates, as the taller man went to sling a noodly arm around Jack’s shoulders.

“Uh, look out-” Fran warned… but it was too late. 

The man’s hand flung Jack’s glass clean out of his grip, sending its red liquid contents splashing all over Fran’s chest and stomach before hitting the floor, thankfully hitting a sopping wet rug beneath the bar, which was the only thing that kept it from shattering into a million pieces.

They both gasped in the process, and Jack instinctively grabbed her by the forearm. 

“Oh, my god! Omigod, fuck, Fran, I-I’m so sorry,” he lamented. “Woody! Fuck!” he yelled to the drunken man who apologized apathetically, then disappeared into the crowd.

Fran blinked quickly, her mouth in a tight “o” as she set aside her beer. As a wincing Jack stupidly patted her torso with the flimsy cocktail napkin that had been handed to him with his drink, he took in her expression and felt sick to his stomach. 

Well, there you have it, he thought to himself. No way she’s ever gonna see me again after this…

What he hadn’t accounted for, though, was that after the initial shock of wearing the cold drink faded, Fran would throw her head back in uproarious laughter, eyes screwed up tight in hilarity. 

Jack let one nervous snicker escape him, and then another, and then another… and by the time thirty seconds had passed, the two of them were breathless in fits of giggles, Jack keeping a firm hand on the crook of Fran’s arm. 

“Are you okay?” he managed to utter as they finally began to settle down. 

She nodded, wiping tears of hysteria away with her wrist. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she promised, splaying a hand on her chest as she glanced down at the maroon stain on her yellow dress. “I’m just dying because this is my roommate’s dress and she made me swear not to spill anything on it,” she admitted, erupting with laughter all over again. “So much for that.”

Jack’s eyes glittered as he watched her chuckle. “Well, the blame lies squarely on me, so I’ll apologize to her for that one,” he told her, beaming. He cleared his throat before venturing forward. “Hey, my place isn’t far and I think I’ve got some club soda in the fridge… whad’ya say we-”

Before he could finish his thought, Fran picked up where Jack had left off before the drink had been spilled, pressing a hand assertively to his cheek and leaning forward to plant a firm kiss to his lips. Neither of them knew how much time had passed before she eventually pulled away, biting her bottom lip coyly.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, smoothing the back of his finger across her cheekbone. He watched a Cheshire grin spread across her now-swollen lips, and she offered an enthusiastic nod.

He trailed his fingertips down her bare arm, sending chills across her skin despite the heat and humidity of the bar, before he reached for her hand. 

“Then let’s go.”

After a short cab ride brimming with stolen glances and squeezes of hands, the two were practically sprinting through his front door, Jack not bothering to even turn on the lights in favor of keeping his hands securely on Fran’s lower back, holding her desperately close as his lips danced across hers with simultaneous ease and desire.

Eventually, he carefully backed her into his kitchen and hoisted her onto the counter, feeling her quiver when the cool marble hit the backs of her thighs. 

He smiled against her lips and said roughly, “I gotta get you that club soda.”

She shook her head without breaking away from his kiss. 

“It can wait,” she whispered insistently. “Just get me outta this dress.”

Jack smirked, his fingers immediately following orders as they searched for the zipper in the middle of her back. 

“Whatever you want, baby,” he retorted, finally pulling the zipper down, allowing him to tug the dress over her head. He offered it to her, one last chance to take care of the task they came here under the guise of doing – removing the maroon stain from the gauzy garment. Instead, she tossed it aside, watching as it floated to the tile floor before grasping Jack’s shoulders purposefully, leaning in to speak against the delicate skin of his ear.

“I want you,” she admitted, nipping at his earlobe. 

And after he carried her to his bedroom, she had him, had her fill of him – just the way they both wanted, their union the perfect balance between urgent and reverent, as if they both already knew that whatever this was between the two of them was something meant to be cherished.

More than an hour later, after making the mutual decision that it was time for a snack and a little something else to drink in order to replenish their strength, Jack left her alone with her thoughts in the quiet of his bedroom as he made his way back to the kitchen, donning only a pair of sweats, smiling when he picked up the now-rumpled yellow dress and placed it in his spacious farmhouse-style sink. He secured the drain stopper and retrieved the club soda from the refrigerator, still smirking to himself as he poured the stain-fighting liquid over the fabric to ensure it was completely immersed.

As he turned back to the fridge on the hunt for a satisfactory snack, Jack saw Fran emerge from his bedroom wearing nothing but one of his white dress shirts and a clean pair of his boxers.

She grimaced, and he sensed her unease even from a few yards away.

“I’m sorry, I just kinda put on the first things I found in your closet,” she said, one eye squeezed shut as if it pained her to make the admission. “I hope that’s okay. I swear I don’t make it a habit to put on a guy’s clothes like I own the place, but I, uh… didn’t exactly have a dress to put back on,” she pointed out.

Still distracted by the sight of her in his clothes, he shook his head rapidly.

“No, no, of course… I’m taking care of that as we speak,” he assured, nodding his head in the direction of the sink. “And you can wear whatever you want of mine – I should’ve laid something out for you, but… this is perfect.” He took a few slow steps toward her, his hands coming to rest on her hips. “You look amazing,” he said, his voice deep once again.

Francesca bloomed under his praise, preened beneath his touch as he reached out to stroke her cheek, his thumb coming to rest on her plush lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, pursing her lips to kiss the pad of his thumb. 

It took every ounce of gentlemanly will in Jack not to throw her over his shoulder and haul her back into the bedroom again. Instead, he forced himself to take a step back and motion toward the adjacent living room. 

“Go on and make yourself comfortable,” he urged as she glanced toward the expansive space. “I’ll grab us a couple things and be right over.”

Fran nodded and obliged, entering the inviting area and finding herself immediately drawn to the vintage Victrola on a shelf on the far side of the room.

Meanwhile, after coming up empty in the liquor cabinet and noticing that the refrigerator was fresh out of beer, Jack opened a crummy bottle of wine he was certain Ty had bought once for a date but had never been touched. He poured two glasses and set them on a sturdy wooden tray, then scrounged through the cupboards to find some crackers that weren’t stale to go along with the Gouda and sopressata he’d found in the fridge. Pleased that he accomplished his mission, he arranged all of the items on the tray and carried it into the living room. As he set it on the coffee table, he found Fran admiring the shelves displaying his substantial collection of vinyls. Upon hearing him approach, a glass of wine for her in hand, Fran turned his way. 

“You have quite the record collection there, Mr. Tough Guy Hockey Jock,” she teased, brows raised as she gratefully accepted the glass. “And not just the trendy new stuff, the good stuff – Sinatra, the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Bowie, Pink Floyd. I’m impressed.”

Jack smirked. “Thanks – to be fair, I inherited a bunch of them from my parents and grandparents. They’d move and they’d always threaten to sell these on eBay but I wouldn’t let ‘em,” he explained. “Go ahead, put one on – anything.”

His request was easier said than done, and as he turned away to close the blinds throughout the room, chomping on cheese and crackers, she faced the impossible task of choosing one, eventually settling on James Taylor’s “Something in the Way She Moves.” 

He smiled when he heard the first strains, and her eyes met his when she turned away from the record player after setting the needle. 

“Great choice,” he praised, the two of them crossing the room toward one another as if at the mercy of some magnetic force. 

“One of my mom’s favorites,” she explained, fingers toying with the hem of the dress shirt as the folksy melody swirled throughout the room. 

There's something in the way she moves Or looks my way, or calls my name That seems to leave this troubled world behind…

When they were no more than a foot apart, Jack opened his palm and held it out toward her. 

“Dance with me,” he less invited, more demanded, not that Fran minded. She instantly slipped her fingers into his and took a step nearer so that their chests were pressed impossibly close.

She in his shirt and boxers, he in a pair of sweats, neither of them in shoes, they twirled around his living room as if attending a royal ball, until an unmistakable scratch signaled the end of the record… but by then, Jack and Fran were already locked in each others’ embrace again, the only sounds in the room the panting breaths escaping their lips between fiery kisses.

They never did make it back to the bedroom that night, didn’t even ever find sleep where they stayed curled up together in the living room, talking and laughing through the wee hours. Instead, when the sun rose, their only hint that morning had already come, they were sitting on the hardwood floor, laughing with her feet in his lap like he was her closest friend and not some random boy she’d met at a bar mere hours before. 

“How’d we end up on the floor anyway?” Jack said, rubbing at a kink in his neck as one hand stayed fixed on her ankles.

Fran lifted the empty bottle of wine next to where she lay, and his eyes reluctantly traveled away from her face and toward her hands. 

“Your roommate’s cheap-ass screw-top rose, that’s how,” she retorted, reminding him of the bottle they’d shared after all the drinks they’d already indulged in at the bar.

“Mmm…” he hummed with lifted brows, both of them chuckling at the culprit as she set it back down on the hardwood. “So… coffee?” he inquired, desperate for this night – or, well, now morning – not to end. Desperate for Fran to stay here, with him, and never leave.

To his delight, she cocked her head against the throw pillow and offered him the warmest smile he’d ever seen.

“I’d love some,” she answered simply, realizing she’d be content to never see the outside world, anything beyond the walls of this Hoboken house, again.

They saw each other every day for the next year and a half after that, and starting with that very first one, Jack had painted all Fran’s nights a color she had searched for since. 

And still, to this day, she couldn’t remember who she was before him. 

___

July 21, 2023 – present day…

“This day,” that is, being Brady and Emma Tkachuk’s wedding day. Which after the breakup, Fran had never anticipated being present for. 

But then came the phone call in the dead of winter, just weeks after she’d ended it with Jack. She was still reeling, trying to push through the pain while focusing on excelling in her last semester of undergrad, but anyone who knew her could see that she was struggling, including mutual friends of hers and Jack’s. Which soon made its way back to Emma via Brady.

And when Fran saw Emma’s name on her screen that day as she studied for an exam, she smiled. She hadn’t talked to Emma since before the split, and despite knowing it was more than likely going to be a covert check-up call, Fran was happy to hear from the girl she’d become so close to in the last two years.

___

February 18, 2023 – five months ago…

Fran tapped the “answer” button and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hi, Em,” she said warmly. 

“Hi! I miss you! Brady’s here, too,” Emma explained. 

“Franny D!” he called over the speakerphone. 

“Hey, B! I miss you guys, too,” she said sadly. “How are you guys?”

“We’re good!” Emma answered. “Neck-deep in wedding planning. I know it’s gonna be fun but it’s honestly kinda brutal.” 

“Brutal, Franny,” Brady echoed dramatically. “It’s torture.”

Fran chuckled. “What, B, not enjoying picking out linen colors? Did you go with eggshell or warm white?” 

“Couldn’t tell ya, Franny,” he replied. “If I had it my way, none of the tables would be covered and everybody’d just be playing beer pong on ‘em.”

Fran swore she could hear Emma’s eye roll. “You’re such a dude,” Fran complained. 

“He’s not kidding about making that suggestion, either,” Emma said, feigning (or maybe not) weariness. “But, um, that’s not why we’re calling. First of all, we, uh… we just wanted to see how you were.” 

Fran swallowed, staring out the window of her apartment, watching the snow swirl among the towering skyscrapers and across bustling streets. She’d been having trouble answering that question at all, let alone honestly. She reached to rub her palm up and down the length of her shin, suddenly feeling cold. 

“I’m, um… I mean, I’ve been better, that’s for sure,” she told them. “I just… I really never thought this would happen, to be totally honest.” Her voice was quieter now, the familiar lump in her throat quivering. 

Emma made a sound of understanding. 

“Us either, Franny,” Brady gently concurred. “And I know you don’t wanna hear this right now, but I know Jacky didn’t think so either.” 

Fran sighed, dropping her chin to her chest as her eyes fell to the azure crewneck with the maize Michigan logo emblazoned on the front, which Jack had left behind once after a trip to visit Luke. She had never returned it, and he eventually noticed it in the background of a FaceTime call while he was on a road trip and told her to keep it because he was certain it looked better on her anyway. And now it hurt to look at it, and it hurt to wear it, and it hurt to not wear it, so she went with wearing it, because even though she’d been the only one to don it for a year, she swore it still smelled like him. Unconsciously, she closed her eyes and breathed deep. 

“I know,” she said softly. 

“We didn’t wanna make you sad, Fran, but the other reason we were calling is just to say that we’d really like to invite you to the wedding in July-”

Brady interrupted his fiancee. “No, we are inviting you to the wedding, no question,” he said firmly. “But we just want you to know that it’s completely up to you whether you wanna come.”

“Yes,” Emma jumped in again. “We would absolutely love to have you there, because you mean so much to both of us, but we totally get it if it’s too much. Quinn’s in the wedding and we’re inviting their whole family, so… obviously Jack will be there.” 

Her eyes fluttered open and she cleared her throat. “Y-yeah, of course, as he should be,” Fran managed. “I really appreciate the invitation, you guys. Seriously, it means so much to me. I’ll check the dates on my calendar, but I’d really love to come-”

Before she could even finish her thought, she heard a loud clap and a “FUCK YEAH!” from Brady, and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You’re the best, Franny D,” he said. “And I’ll promise Quinny’ll keep Jacky on his best behavior.” 

“Plus Ellen’ll be there, so you know he’s not getting away with shit,” Emma offered. 

“You guys are too much,” Fran said affectionately. “It’s your day – I don’t need you worrying about me and J.” She felt a stab in her heart at her own use of the retired pet name, one that was once used so frequently and so fondly but was now avoided like a plague. She swallowed that lump in her throat again. “We’ll be fine.” 

“We know you will,” Brady said softly. “Well, listen, we’ll let you go but, uh… thanks, Franny. I really hope you can make it.” 

“Yes, we really do!” Emma reiterated. “We love you, Fran. Talk soon.”

“I love you guys, too,” she told them. “Thanks for calling.”

And Brady must not have been able to keep the news to himself, because within a few hours of agreeing to attend the Tkachuk wedding, her phone had buzzed four more times with text messages from four members of the Hughes clan: 

Lukey: yooo B just told me you’re coming to the wedding!!! hell yes, sista 👊 see you soon

Quinny: Franny D, super happy to hear you’re coming to B’s wedding. we love ya, no matter what. can’t wait to see ya

Ellen: Hi, my sweet girl 💖 Chantal just told me that you’re planning to come to Brady and Emma’s wedding. I’m so happy to hear it! I’m counting down the days until I see you. Love always 💋

Jim: Hey Franny! Can’t wait to see you at the Tkachuk wedding this summer. Really glad you’re planning to go. ❤️

The only member of the family that her phone didn’t sound with a message from that night?

Jack. 

The one that it hurt the most not to hear from. 

She set her phone aside that night and swallowed, hard, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her forehead on her knees. Preparing to see Jack in person for the first time in months was going to be impossible enough, but seeing his entire family… that just might be enough to break her.

Because she’d never fallen out of love with them, either. 

___

July 21, 2023 – present day…

And today, after a heartbreakingly long hug with Ellen before the ceremony, and affectionate but melancholy greetings from Jim and Luke, here Fran stood in the midst of Brady’s reception, in front of the middle Hughes son who never did text her leading up to this moment. When he’d seen her approach his family’s seats a few minutes before today’s ceremony, he had only just stood up from his chair at the far end of their row to try and make his way toward her when the processional music started, leaving both of them frozen in place, staring helplessly at one another. She’d mouthed sorry, and he’d nodded and mouthed we’ll talk, as his family sat still between them, awkwardly trying to avoid making eye contact with the estranged couple lest they make the moment even more painful for them than it already was. 

When Fran turned to find the nearest single seat, she could feel the tingling heat creeping up her neck, and it wasn’t from the summer sun. She’d spent months agonizing over what she would say to Jack when she finally saw him again, and she still couldn’t believe that the first thing she’d spoken aloud after they’d found each other on the deck for a quiet moment alone was “can I ask you a question?” But how else was she supposed to begin the conversation, anyway? 

And at least he’d agreed – conceded that nothing had yet felt as good as the two of them had. For the past six months, she’d been terrified that nothing ever would, and she had to admit, it felt good to know that he seemed to share that same belief. 

It felt good and it felt awful all at the same time. 

Fran sighed, lifting her gaze to the shimmering stars far above their heads. 

“Why are we doing this?” she whispered, half to herself and half to him.

Jack gave her a quizzical look; she was all over the place right now… not that he didn’t feel completely undone and frazzled himself. 

“What? Talking? I dunno, Fran, I can go back inside, but I wasn’t just gonna sit in there all night and ignore y-”

Fran stopped him, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what I mean,” she said, a noticeable exhaustion in her tone, one that Jack recognized in his own voice often these days. “I just mean… this hurts so bad, J. And it doesn’t have to – didn’t have to. We were so good together… why did-”

“Because you said it was too much, Fran,” Jack accused, sharply though accurately, remembering how the pressure of being in a serious relationship with one of North America’s most heralded professional athletes at such a young age had often left her curled up in a ball in the corner, something that at 20 and then 21 years old, he had found himself completely unprepared to handle. 

“And I made the wrong choice!” Fran admitted, her voice rising an octave by the end of the sentence as her emotions took over. “At least I can admit it. Can you? I mean, you’re the one who left my house in the middle of the night, without even trying to put up a fight. Can you admit that you were in the wrong, too?” 

Yeah, I can, he immediately thought to himself, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.

Instead his mind flashed to the very moment in time where he knew he had indeed made the wrong choice. 

___

April 3, 2023 – three months earlier…

Jack was trying his hardest to pay attention to his date. He truly was. 

In a well-meaning but doomed-from-the-start attempt to help him get over Fran, one of the team WAGs had set him up with her college roommate who had recently moved to the city. So here he was at dinner following a Broadway show he’d never even heard of before, which he had bought tickets to specifically because he knew he wouldn’t have to speak to the girl for at least a couple of hours but would still come away looking like the hero for dropping money on expensive tickets for date number one. 

What he hadn’t accounted for, when she had unsurprisingly suggested that they grab a bite to eat after the show at Sugarfish on 56th and Broadway, was that he’d spot, through the front window, Francesca walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand with some guy, laughing with him as he told what were no doubt painfully lame attempts at jokes to try and impress her. 

Jack’s blood ran cold, his jaw muscles flexing as he clenched his teeth together, his date still rambling on about her so-called career as a “business owner.” (See also: owner of an Instagram account where she posted regular thirst traps and tagged the brands she wore, unprompted. See also: a quasi-influencer. See also: a Kardashian wanna-be.) Which provided him the perfect opportunity to get lost in his own spiraling thoughts. 

Granted, this restaurant wasn't that far from Fran’s apartment on 52nd, a fact which Jack was painfully aware of throughout the entirety of the show and the meal. But goddamn it… this city was filled with eight million people besides her and that dickhead guy, but they just happened to be the two who caught his gaze.

Which maybe wouldn’t have bothered Jack so much if it didn’t look like Fran was actually enjoying the guy’s company. 

He slouched in his chair and spoke as few words as possible for the rest of the meal, and when it had finally, mercifully, ended, he called her an Uber, waited until she had gotten picked up, sulked to his car, and deleted her number. 

___

July 21, 2023 – present day…

“Well? Can you?” Fran repeated, losing patience as she wondered where his mind had just wandered off to. 

“Yeah, I can,” Jack said simply, deciding to lay all his cards on the table at the recall of the recent memory. 

Fran’s head snapped toward him. Being that he was by far the most stubborn person she had ever known, she hadn’t expected him to fess up to that. Her mouth opened as she thought of what to say next, then closed it when nothing came to mind quickly enough. 

“I can tell you exactly when I realized it, too,” Jack said with a smile devoid of humor, licking his lips – the very same lips she used to call home. “I saw you with some guy walking down 56th a few months ago. And it felt… fuck, it just felt like I was out of time.”

Francesca blinked repeatedly, confusion etched on her features. Though she knew who she would have been with that night, she didn’t even remember the exact instance he was referring to, so it obviously hadn’t left all that much of an impression upon her. But that’s not the information she wanted to inquire about. 

“W-what do you mean, ‘out of time’?” she asked, her volume much lower now. 

Jack met her with sad eyes, pursing his lips. He shrugged a shoulder. 

“I dunno, I guess… I guess I was holding out hope that somehow, we’d work it out,” he replied, his voice suddenly sounding hoarse. “I just always thought it would be us in the end. But seeing you with someone new, I… I just lost that hope.” 

Tears pricked at the backs of Fran’s eyelids and she looked away, swiping at her eyes with the side of her hand. 

“There’s never been anyone else… I mean, not… not really,” she was suddenly saying, caught off guard that she was opening up so much. “That was the closest I got, but it was only for a few weeks, and he ended it because he said I was being distant. And he was right. I just, I wasn’t in it. Not at all.”

Jack watched her the entire time she spoke, then nodded slowly. He understood that feeling all too well. 

“I get it,” he said softly. “Trust me.” 

As the two of them let their respective admissions hang between them in the thick summer air, falling into a contemplative silence, unbeknownst to them, a tipsy Luke had made his way back to the open bar at the edge of the dancefloor, which was situated just inside the tall French doors leading to the venue’s back patio where his brother and Fran stood alone as the party raged on. Luke’s eyes never left the acrimonious pair as he ordered himself not one, but two more gin and tonics, then darted, drinks in hand, across the room to where his parents and Quinn sat at a table chatting. 

“Luke Warren Hughes, you’d better slow down on the double fisting,” Ellen warned in her best mom voice. 

Luke waved her off. “Yeah, whatever – guys, listen to me, this is important,” he urged, out of breath. “Jacky and Franny are outside by themselves talking.”

“What?!” Quinn exclaimed, jumping up from his chair so quickly and so forcefully that it would have tipped over if not for Jim’s quick reflexes, as he shook his head in disapproval. As he watched his eldest son jog to the same door Luke had just been standing near to peer through the panels for himself, Jim scoffed. 

“You guys need to give them their privacy – they’ve been through enough,” he stated firmly.

“Yes, and you wouldn’t like it if your brothers were spying on you and a girl,” Ellen pointed out. 

Luke swallowed a gulp of his cocktail and beamed. 

“Yeah, but… it’s not just some girl. It’s Jack and Fran,” he declared, shaking his head in excited disbelief before following after his brother. 

Having lost both their sons to espionage, Ellen and Jim’s eyes met, and they shared a knowing, hopeful smirk. 

“It is Jack and Fran,” Jim repeated in a voice near a whisper, tipping the rim of his beer bottle toward his wife, who clinked it with her champagne glass. 

“Cheers to that… no matter what happens,” she said softly. 

Back outside, ignorant to the fact that they were being carefully watched, Jack was surprised when Fran breathed a laugh through her nose, finally breaking the silence. Her cheeks warmed at the memory replaying in her mind.

“Remember that first night we spent together, at your place in Hoboken? What we did after Miles made you spill that drink on me?” she asked, unaware that he had played those sacred scenes over in his mind hundreds if not thousands of times in the past two years just as she had, particularly when they were each alone in their beds in the dead of night. 

“Of course I do,” he replied quietly. “It’s kinda… all I ever do. Well, that night and… a-and lots of other nights after that.” He caught her stare and somberly confessed, “I feel you no matter what.” 

Fran took a few daring steps closer, her hand brushing his. She leaned in so close that her lips nearly grazed the shell of his ear. 

“Do you wish you could still touch me, Jack?” she whispered, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on its end. 

He slowly exhaled through pursed lips, trying and failing to steady his now-racing pulse. 

“Every fuckin’ day, Fran,” he said with little hesitation, turning his head so that their noses were mere centimeters from each other. 

“Is it too late to do something about it?” she asked, her eyes locked with his. 

“With us?” he let out a singular chuckle. “It’s never too late with us, Fran.”

She smiled so wide it made her cheeks ache, and she ran a hand down the lapel of his jacket. 

“Good, because you look really fuckin’ handsome, and I’ve been wanting to tell you that all night,” she said, her voice low and sultry. 

He hummed appreciatively and nuzzled his nose against her temple. 

“Funny you say that, because I’ve been wanting to tell you all night that I, uh… I like your dress,” he whispered, recycling the very first compliment he ever bestowed upon her before pressing a kiss to the skin just in front of her ear as she giggled, but the laughter died on her lips as Jack kissed a line from her ear, across her cheekbone, to the tip of her nose, to the corner of her mouth, and finally, to her eager lips, which matched the fervor and neediness of his own. It was as though the pain of the past six months melted away as they each attempted to demonstrate how deeply and passionately they had missed the other, hands in hair, chests flush, soft moans being captured by the other’s mouth…

But it wouldn’t be an important moment in Jack and Fran’s story if there weren’t loved ones meddling nearby.

Now it wasn’t only Luke and Quinn at the doors watching the marvelous scene unfold, but it was Matthew, and Ellie, and Taryn, and Robbie, and all the Fitzgerald kids, and Brady, and Emma. Someone pushed open one of the doors, flooding the patio with a cacophony of cheers and jeers from those closest to them. 

“Get a room!” “Finally!” “Jack, this is a family wedding!” “Hand check!” “Oww owwww!”

God… embarrassing.

Reluctantly pulling away from the kiss, Jack growled, resting his forehead against Fran’s as she giggled nervously, before whipping his head toward their audience. 

“Don’t you all have a wedding to get back to?” His head swiveled to Brady and Emma. “Especially you two?” 

Brady shrugged. “Hey, we already had our kiss, man. You go ‘head,” he encouraged.

Emma giggled, one hand wrapped around her groom’s bicep as she swatted nonchalantly toward Jack and Fran with the other. 

“Yeah, carry on. Don’t mind us!” she sang. 

Jack rolled his eyes, but all inhibition and worry faded away as Fran grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to meet her lips once more, feeling his frown literally turn upside down into a smirk as he sunk into her, hand finding a familiar home low on her back, dangerously close to the curve of her ass. 

And at that, the crowd they’d drawn erupted into a fit of laughter and applause, Quinn and Luke in the middle of it all, pumping their fists simultaneously before clapping their palms together and leaning in for a hug. 

They got their sister back.

“What are you kids doin’ over here?” came a booming voice from the back of the group. Jack and Fran watched as the seas parted and Keith Tkachuk made his way to the door, following his younger son’s pointed index finger to find the reunited couple embracing on the patio. His eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. 

“Well, can’t say I didn’t see this one coming!” he bellowed, a jolly twinkle in his eye. “Now, you boneheads have had your fun,” he addressed the group. “Leave these two to have their own.” With a wink, he turned away, and their crowd of clamoring cheerleaders dispersed, whispering animatedly among themselves. 

Jack exhaled swiftly and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Shoutout Big Walt,” he declared, clearing his throat. 

Fran nodded, snickering, and pulled him in by the waist. 

“Gotta love ‘em, though, hmm?” she mused, nuzzling her nose against his. 

“Mmm, yeah, whatever,” Jack dismissed, a tenacious hand on her cheek as he leaned down to press his lips to hers once again. “Now, where were we?” he teased in a whisper as she smiled against his mouth, her hands traveling beneath his suit jacket, across the familiar expanse of his sculpted back. His hands found their original target and slipped down the small of her back, finally reaching the arc of her rear.

“Mmmm… hello, old friend,” Jack murmured in her ear, earning him a playful smack to the hip. 

“Shut up,” she sassed him, but she didn’t mean it, and they both knew it. He fixed his lips to hers over and over again, and though the party roared on inside, mere yards away, it was as if Jack and Fran were the only two people on the face of the earth, their bodies fusing together as if they had always been intended to be one. 

It was always like that for the two of them.

Nothing could have pulled them from that moment… except the first strains of “Something in the Way She Moves” by James Taylor echoing from the speakers inside.

The pair froze. She pulled away to hold him at arm’s length, in utter disbelief.

Jack ogled at Fran, the pure longing in his eyes mirrored in hers. His siblings and friends were meddlers, sure… but had they been so thoughtful as to remember that this was their song — had been since that very first night? Or was it simply fate?

Either way, Jack could do nothing but extend his upturned palm toward her. 

“Dance with me?” he asked softly. 

Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed a hand through her curls, then swiped at the damp corners of her eyes. 

“God, Jack, I’m a mess,” she said with a halfhearted chuckle. “I don’t think I can go back in there right now.”

Jack shrugged. “So what?” he asked, taking hold of her hand and pulling her in, his other arm winding around her. “We’ll dance right here.”

She rested her free hand on his chest, melting at the sweet sentiment. Then, she relaxed into him, tucking her head into his neck where it fit perfectly — always had. 

He pressed a kiss to her temple, then rested his cheek atop her head as the song carried on... 

There's something in the way she moves Or looks my way, or calls my name That seems to leave this troubled world behind If I'm feeling down and blue Or troubled by some foolish game She always seems to make me change my mind And I feel fine anytime she's around me now She's around me now Almost all the time And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now She's been with me now quite a long, long time And I feel fine…

Jack’s heart soared, his joy permanently etched on his face, as he swayed side to side with Francesca in his arms. In his wildest dreams, he could have never hoped to have her here with him again like this. 

He glanced down at the girl he’d loved since the first time he’d laid eyes on her, saw her eyes fluttered closed in blissful contentment, and brushed his lips across her brow as he whispered, “Fran, you know for me, it’s always you, right?”

He watched the corners of her mouth pull upward even further, and she tipped her face up to meet his. 

“I hoped so,” she admitted roguishly. “Because for me, it’s always you, too.”

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Should've Been Born Later, Nix - Chapter 1: The Fall

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

Synopsis: What will happen when some of Easy Company's finest soldiers fall through a foxhole and into another time?

Words: 1,314

Find the fic's navigation page here !!

Author's Note: HERE WE GO LADS!! The first chapter of my self-serving BoB time travel fic!! If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know !!

Luz was the last one to arrive on the ground, immediately crashing into Malarkey with a resounding thud… Well, resounding for someone as small as Luz. He was the last to drop onto the pile of Easy Company men - a giant pile of limbs, helmets, and olive drab was groaning in pain, bewildered eyes darting in every direction. One minute they were dropping into a foxhole in Bastogne. The next?

Winters was the first to jump to his feet, helping his men find their footing. Up came Nixon, Liebgott, Roe, Guarnere, and Bull Randleman. Speirs and Toye had gotten themselves up and situated, looking to make sure they had all their gear. Luz was still on the ground, trying to get his bearings, while poor Malarkey was doubled over underneath him. “FUCK, LUZ!” Cried Malarkey, his hands shooting to his ribs as his body folded in pain. “I think you broke something!” Malarkey’s feet rammed themselves into Luz’s back, flinging the soldier off of Malarkey and onto his stomach with an “oof!”

“You say that like I did it on purpose!” Luz cried, wincing from the boots in his back. By the time George finally got his feet beneath him, Roe was already looking at Malarkey’s side, inspecting his injury.

The Cajun grimaced and shook his head. “It might be broke, Malark. We should get you to the aid station,” Roe spoke thoughtfully. "Which way sho-" Before the medic could finish his thought, all the boys realized something. They had no idea where they were.

The boys all looked around and took in their surroundings. “Where the fuck are we?” each soldier thought to himself, attempting to find a single scrap of familiarity in the landscape around them. The higher they looked, the taller the walls on either side of the group grew - not tall enough to be skyscrapers, but tall enough to tell the ten men that they were not in Bastogne anymore. What was once a frigid warzone, one step away from death, now became… warm? Sunny? Well, it seemed sunny at the ends of the alleyway.

“...are we in an alley?” Bull mused to no one in particular. He absentmindedly chewed on his Emotional Support Cigar, using this to contain his anxious thoughts and energy.

"It appears so Bull…" Winters replied. He had intended for the sentence to be more assuring, but the men's leader was just as confused as the rest of them. The captain exchanged a glance with Nixon beside him, the only man he was comfortable sharing his worry with. The two looked at each other, their eyes conveying confusion mixed with anxiety - how could this happen? What exactly happened?

"Captain Nixon, you're an intelligence officer right? Do you know where we are sir?" Guarnere asked as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, still taking in the alley around them. The brick buildings on either side of the men provided shade from the sun shining down on the pavement. The alley appeared to be barren, save for a Hershey bar wrapper beside Luz's feet. Bending down to get a closer look, the radioman saw a piece of text on the wrapper that morphed his confusion into panic - "expires January 2023." Before Nixon could answer Guarnere, Luz's shaky voice spoke up.

"Um, Captain Winters? You might wanna see this sir," Luz said as he handed the wrapper to his CO, his mind going a mile a minute. Dick took the wrapper from George and saw the text, scrunching his face as he read the expiration date.

"Nix, how long does it take chocolate to expire?" Winters asked, looking up at his captain.

"Why the hell do you think I'd know that?" Nixon replied, one eyebrow halfway up his forehead. Only after Lewis posed his question did he see the infamous date on the wrapper. Nixon paused for a second before he spoke up, "well surely it would expire way before 2023…"

Upon hearing the year, every man's eyes became the size of dinner plates. "Excuse me, sir? I think I heard you wrong, sounded like you said 2023," Liebgott questioned, a nervous chuckle following his words. He couldn't have heard Nixon right…right? Winters simply handed the wrapper over to Liebgott, the poor man's stomach dropping down below his feet.

"That's not possible, this isn't possible…" Toye muttered under his breath, trying to shake the idea from his head. While all the men were trying to process what Nixon said, Speirs had already made his way to the end of the alley.

"Captain Winters!" He called out, twisting his body to call out behind where he was standing. Winters nodded to Nixon, a silent request to keep an eye on his men, before making his way down to Speirs. The warm sun at the end of the alley was a welcomed surprise to Dick - it felt like forever since he felt mild, comfortable weather. Bastogne was the literal manifestation of hell frozen over, and the sun kissing Dick's skin was its absolute anathema. "Sir, I don't think this is Bastogne," Speirs' comment shook Winters from his mind, reminding the captain of the problem at hand. The two took in the scene around them. Winters thought he was seeing cars - they had four wheels, and they were driving on the street, but they were far beyond any car anyone in the company has ever seen before. The soldiers seem to have landed in a city of some kind. All the street signs were in English, giving Winters a small amount of relief - wherever they were, they spoke the language. Something different stood out to Speirs, though… the noise. It was not bombs exploding and trees breaking like in Bastogne. It was just as loud, but more…lively? The sounds, whatever they were, seemed to celebrate life rather than take it - honking horns, vehicles driving by, music Speirs had never heard before blaring from their windows - he would never admit to it, but Speirs felt a pang of relief knowing he was not in a war zone.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Ron," Dick replied before hearing their medic call out.

"Sir! We need to get Malarkey to the ai- uh… I guess a hospital," Eugene called out as he made his way towards Winters and Speirs, supporting Easy's other redhead on his shoulder. Malarkey's face twisted in pain as he held his side with the arm that was not slung over Roe's shoulders. Dick nodded in understanding at his medic and stepped a foot out of the alley, getting a better look at the buildings around him. To his right, Winters spotted the red cross universally associated with medicine displayed prominently on a tall, light-colored building riddled with mirrored windows. Beneath the cross were the words "Emergency Room."

"You think they can help Malarkey?" Speirs asked, hopeful but confused at the words. Seeing Roe holding up Malarkey, the officer quickly made his way to Malarkey's other side, taking his arm over his shoulder to help the soldier.

"It's worth a shot, wait here," Winters replied, heading back to the rest of the men to tell them the plan. "Alright men, there's a place that looks like a hospital a short walk from here. Keep your guard up. Just because it doesn't look like Bastogne, doesn't mean we're in friendly territory," he instructed the six men before him, "Keep Speirs, Malarkey, and Roe in the center, I'll lead the way to the hospital." A chorus of "yes sirs" was heard from Luz, Liebgott, Guarnere, Toye, and Bull, while Nixon nodded in understanding and walked up beside Winters.

"Are you sure about this?" Nixon asked under his breath, ensuring only Winters heard his question.

"Got any better ideas?" Dick replied, cautiously emerging onto the sidewalk. The men left the safe haven of their alley and began the trek to save their friend.

~~~~~

Chapter Two

Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you think and be on the lookout for Chapter 2: the Hospital!!

Taglist: @love--persevering , @panzershrike-pretz , @executethyself35 , @stolen94 , @dontirrigateme

[blackoutspoetry]

Cigarettes shared in the darkness 🚬

My take on what happened after the total failure to protect the airport from Makarov in the Flashpoint mission, featuring Ghost and Soap having a first bonding moment. This is a snippet for my fic "the anatomy of starved dogs", this is for chapter 4 and you can find the first chapters on ao3.

Ghost held out the half empty pack of Marlboro cigarettes in Soap’s direction, an olive branch. Soap isn’t sure he’ll take it. 

“I don’t smoke. It's a filthy habit.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes, sighing around his own cigarette as he plucked one from the pack, lit it and offered it again, now with a thin curl of silver smoke distending from its orange glow. It highlights the edges of the skeleton motif on his gloves and somehow, Soap knows he’ll carry a part of this day with him for days onwards, because the smell of that cigarette will burn into the fabric of his gloves. 

“I don’t smoke,” Soap insists again with a frown, but all Ghost does is take his hand –not roughly, but not gently either– and puts the thin cigarette between his fingers. 

“After a day like today, everybody smokes, Soap.” 

Soap hesitates with it for a moment, watching the glow eat away at the unburnt part of the cigarette and inching closer away from the ashen end before he gives in and raises it to his mouth for a long, much needed draw. 

He wishes he could wipe the smug look he just knows Ghost has under that mask off his face as he watches the action, knowing how easy it is to fall back into dormant muscle memory. 

“You don’t smoke, huh?” 

Soap pouts, not sure how much he wants to let the strange man in on his past, but he settles for something basic. “I don’t smoke anymore.” 

Ghost nods, whether it was meant to be mocking or genuine is something Soap’s ego can’t discern. “Right.” 

They stand there for a moment in the pseudo-silence, filled with the ambience of night sounds and distant sirens echoing through the ether and surrounding the two of them in a lamentous hum. 

Ahead, somewhere from out of the darkness, the glow of the burning airport stood out, a beacon of hellish light that made Soap’s skin crawl. They’re far away and the attack was hours ago, but it lingers on his skin like an itch he can’t run away from. 

He leans on the cigarette for comfort, and just a little, the presence of the taller man beside him helps to ease the loneliness of feeling like one tremendous failure. 

“Don’t think too hard about it Soap, it’ll make your hair fall out and we certainly can’t have that with that illustrious haircut of yours.” 

Soap jerked his head around so fast, he could’ve almost sworn Ghost startled just a little. 

“Oh you’re one to talk about appearances with that halloween costume shite you’ve got going on.” 

It takes two seconds for Soap to realise he’d chosen the wrong option. He’d overstepped one of the rules Price had very clearly set out for him. No questions about his appearance. 

To his surprise, Ghost just gives him a bit of a laugh, albeit a bit of a snide one. “To each their own, but I’m serious, don’t beat yourself up about what happened today, there’s no use in dwelling on it.”

Soap frowns. “How am I not supposed to dwell on it? If we hadn’t responded to the attack on the stadium, if you and Shepherd hadn’t followed after us, we would have died there too,” he gestures vaguely out at the glow of the still smouldering heap of rubble. 

“That’s just the way of the world, Soap. No one gets into this job thinking you’ll walk away with a bruise or a cut you can just slap a plaster over. People die, that’s how it works. We just happen to see more of it because of what we do. We are not entitled to living longer or dying later or easier because we’re supposed to be heroes. We could have died today, but what does it actually matter in the grand scheme of things.” 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, Lt,” Soap says dryly, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again. In the corner of his eye, he can see Ghost do the same. 

“Maybe I’ve just been screwed over by the system that’s supposed to keep me alive more than I’ve been saved by it.” 

Soap shrugged, but it didn’t sit right with him, the idea that death was just an inevitable fact of life. He’s too stubborn to believe it. For someone who’d spent more than half his waking life trying to change the hand he’d been dealt when he was born to broke college student parents and the expectation to be utterly average, he didn’t take kindly to the notion of just accepting things he can’t change, even if it drives him up the wall. 

There’s a lot of other, more personal questions he wants to ask the man instead, but he settles for something safer. 

“How do you deal with it? Stuff like today?” 

“I’m not the person you should be asking for advice, Soap,” Ghost says with a hint of surprise. “That’s more Price’s thing.” 

Soap turned to face him, trying to analyse what little he could see of his face where the mask was pulled up just high enough for him to smoke. He can just about see the curve of his lip around the cigarette and the edge of what seemed to be a jagged scar extending from the corner of his mouth. 

Just as quickly as Soap had seen it, he lowered the cigarette, holding the smoke for a moment before he released it in a slow exhale. 

“I’m not asking for advice, I’m asking how you cope.” 

“I keep going. Sometimes the only way to cope is to endure.” 

The silence that followed thereafter was more comfortable, more settled. Soap could begin to see why Price had told him Ghost was an acquired taste. For all his cold facade, he was really just a man with a grumpy disposition. Maybe even one with a personality outside of work, but Soap struggles to comprehend what that might be. 

Reminded of work and everything they’d discussed in the wake of the attack, Soap frowned as he took another drag from the cigarette, now on its last breath.

“What do you think ended up happening to Price’s informant?” 

Ghost scoffed, stubbing out his own cigarette against the rail and crushing the rest under his boot for good measure. “Fuck if I know.” 

Soap shook his head, feeling himself getting riled up just at the thought of it. “Bet you the arse is sitting somewhere comfortable, getting piss drunk, laughing at the news.” 

Ghost shrugs. “Reckon you may be right about that one, sergeant.” 

“Wherever he is, I hope karma comes back to get him good.”

[silens-oro]

Vicious

Daemon Targaryen x Targ!OFC Vaenya (Platonic)

All of my fics are 18+

Synopsis: Daemon has met his match in his niece Vaenya the Vicious -firstborn of the Targaryen/Hightower children. Vaenya has carved out a path of her own with a sword and her might, making a name for herself throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Fierce and not to be trifled with, Vaenya does not extend an olive branch when she could burn the entire tree down. Daemon comes to learn this very quickly.

**No incest**

Word Count: ~900

Warning: Talks of sexual situations, murder, gore. There also aren't any physical descriptors, but I made Vaenya an OC because she is a Targaryen.

AN: I haven't actually written anything in so long. This has been sitting in my drafts since January of LAST YEAR and I decided to go back and see what could be salvaged and reworked. This was fun to bring back to life. House of the Dragon requests are OPEN

Red Keep Day of the Final Supper

“Vaenya the Vicious,” Daemon stated as she entered the study, the door shutting softly behind her. “My how you’ve grown since we last met,” His eyes trailed up and down as she advanced towards him. There wasn’t much he could look at due to her trousers and jerkin over a long sleeved blouse. Vaenya knew he did this merely to rile her up.

“Keep your flattery for someone who gives a shit,” Vaenya stated gruffly with an eye roll. “I have no need for it.”

“You wound me,”

“I’d do worse if you weren’t a guest within this keep,” She warned with a glare. Daemon held his hands up in a mock showing of surrender. “Say what it is you wish to say, Uncle. If I were to waste my time, it surely would not be with you.”

“I’ve been graced with your sharp tongue and searing glare, Vaenya. What you see as a waste, I see as an opportunity.”

“Of course you do,” Vaenya rolled her eyes as she poured herself a chalice of wine. 

“I merely wish to reconnect,” Vaenya shot the whole glass back in one gulp before she locked him with a look that stated ‘state your business’. 

“Do not think that I know not of your true face, Uncle. I am -luckily- none of your wives, of which you’ve had many, through a poor match made or blinded by familial love; I see you for who you are,” Vaenya’s tone held boredom. Her uncle was ever the Cat and Mouse expert, always scheming and plotting just to sew the seeds of chaos. Vaenya was unshakable.

“If you believe Rhea held love for me, then you are mistaken,” He chuckled sardonically.

“Rhea did not know what you are capable of, and she met her end because of it,” Vaenya quipped. “It seems they all meet their end when they are tied to you, do they not?”

“A tragedy,” His expression said otherwise. “My true face, dearest niece -what is it?” Daemon approached her with calculated steps. He held the eyes of a predator; precise, unrelenting, deadly. It held little effect on her. “Please enlighten me,” It was a threat, yet Vaenya paid his tone no mind and gave him a very direct answer. 

“That of a parasite, latching from host to host,” Vaenya spoke plainly. A malicious grin grew upon Daemon’s thin lips. “My father cannot shake you, regardless of how far he tucks you away within the realm, or elsewhere. Never too far out of sight, nor out of mind when it comes to you. Yet you always appeared back at his feet, attaching yourself like a leech to his flesh. He sees exactly what I do, Daemon. The only difference between he and I is that I carry no love for you.” 

“Tis a shame,” Daemon gave you a mocking pout. “It does boggle one’s brain. You speak of my wives -former and current- yet you yourself have not taken a husband. If your rigidness is anything to go off of, I’d wager you’ve never felt the pleasure of a man’s cock.” The way he spoke would rattle the other Ladies of the Keep -her Queen Mother in particular. They’d all flush and stammer at such vulgarities. These were words Vaenya was not shy to, nor was she shy with the acts associated with them. Daemon would not get a rise out of her. 

“I’ve seen how you’ve looked at me, Uncle; How you looked at me as a girl." The implication was laid out bare. "-how you still look at me with carnal hunger that you will never be able to satiate. Always so close, yet just far enough out of reach. Does it anger you that I never once looked your way?” Vaenya's boots clicked on the stone floor with each step she took towards Daemon. “That my father never gave you the opportunity you so desperately craved?” Vaenya could see irritation begin to creep into his features. “I know you tried.” She taunted. Vaenya always found his eyes on her in the training yard as she sparred with Sir Criston whenever Daemon visited the Red Keep the few times he did throughout her life with or without Rhaenyra by his side. She continued:

“I am curious though; when will you strike on Rhaenyra? Once her usefulness nears its end? Once you find another who will dote on you who has more to offer? Will she, too, be tragically ‘felled’ by her horse? Eaten by a dragon? Or, mayhaps, bludgeoned with a stone?” 

“Curiosity killed the cat, sweet niece,” Daemon all but purred.

“And satisfaction brought it back.” Vaenya responded with a smirk. She turned to leave Daemon with a heavy sense of foreboding as she calmly walked to the heavy door. Turning back as she reached for the handle, Vaenya left Daemon with parting words: 

“I dearly look forward to the day that I cleave your arrogant head from your shoulders with the might of Lazarus’ blade, dear Uncle.” Vaenya’s hand tapped the tip of Lazarus’ hilt at her hip. “Though you are not worthy of its bite. My true purpose in this life shall be concluded once your body exhales its final breath and the crows are pecking at your withered flesh left out to rot," 

Daemon’s serpent grin had fallen from his lips, the corners downturning ever so slightly. 

“The nourishment you provide to the scavengers will be the only good you’ve brought to the realm in your treacherous life. I shall personally see to it that the maesters’ history books will be where you are forever more known as Daemon the Leech, first and last of his name.” With that Vaenya smiled and turned her back to Daemon -a sign of clear disrespect. "Be sure to get rest, Uncle. Dinner is to be stimulating, I'm quite sure." With that Vaenya left, letting the door slam closed behind her with purpose.

[elisedonut]

@sarkylittlemonster Well I'm glad you asked c:

posting separately since it also just works as a rec list c:

I tried not to just repeat a bunch i've recced in the past but a few are still just main stays for me so dfjashdkf it is what it is

!.

Sexetera, Ad infinitum by nqdonne

Percy Weasley trapped in a time loop. It's not like a serious fic though he pretty much starts using the days repeating to just have fun and sleep around without fear but it was one of the early fics i read for him and I still love it alot!

2.

Happy Little Secret by Twisted_and_shout

Perciverus! A weird like Omegaverse tangent where instead its like just Doms/subs and such does this trope have a name yet? Im not sure ive seen a few for it but have no idea what its called

Point is Percy is a switch and Marcus accidently like triggers Percy's submissive tendences and decides to take responsibility for it but Oliver like also wants to take care of Percy and its fun its neat

Also it has the iconic line of

"“If you two are so eager to get in each other’s faces, then kiss and SHUT UP!”"

That permanently changed how I like to think of Perciverus

3.

Vivaldi and Hot Chocolate by Patriceavril

It's Stercy c: i will take every opportunity to rec this one.

Percy keeps taking the Knight Bus. Stan has a crush. Percy's depiction here is very cute and I really like it.

4.

The Grandfather Clock by floweringjudas

Read the tags for this one 100%

end game is Perciver but Oliver only appears near the end because this isn't really about him.

This is about a nephew(James jr.) having a crush on their uncle(Percy).

And I think it's amazing I think about it alot.

Like the way the writer has Percy handle the situation makes my brain just go !!!

Like Does he handle it perfectly? No but I love that he doesn't have all the right answers here. The entire time he is just doing what he thinks is best in this weird situation he's found himself in and I find it so intriguing

Its forbidden love that never had a chance kind of thing because it can't have a chance and I'm obsessed with it.

Sometimes crushes you have are illogical and I love the exploration of that

5.

Bra Stuffing by HPfanatic12

Lucy's developing slower then her peers like physically so tries to stuff her bra as one does. It's just really sweet I love the conversation Percy has with her over it and how well he handles his daughters. A very sweet gen fic that i keep coming back to

[numinousmysteries]

A Miracle, Perhaps

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day Five: Miracles

[on Ao3]

November 1994

Hanukkah falls early this year, beginning the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Mulder hasn’t mentioned anything about going to visit his mom so Scully isn’t surprised to see him in the office on Monday morning.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” he asks as she turns to hang her coat up.

“Fine,” she says, not wanting to elaborate.

In truth, it had been an awkward affair. She hadn’t realized how much her family’s congenial rapport depended on everyone being on their best behavior for her father. Without the captain to steer them, tensions flared. Thinking he’d be free of Bill Scully Sr.’s judgment, Charlie made his first appearance at his mother’s table in years with his long-term boyfriend Harry, only to face Bill Jr.’s wrath. This led to a very drunk Melissa “accidentally” knocking a full glass of red wine onto Bill’s shirt as she gestured wildly in her little brother’s defense. Once Charlie stormed off with Harry trailing behind him (apologizing to Maggie and thanking her for the food as quickly and quietly as he could) Bill turned his anger on Dana. He argued that by staying with the FBI even after her abduction she was only asking to get killed.

It all ended with Maggie retreating to her bedroom to cry, Melissa vomiting in the bathroom, Bill cursing into his whiskey at the table, and Dana silently washing dishes in the kitchen.

“Did you spend the holiday with your family?” she asks, coming to sit across from him at his desk.

Mulder shakes his head. “Nope. Frohike made his famous chicken wings, which is close enough to turkey for me.”

“What about Hanukkah? You celebrated with your mother last year,” she says, hesitating as she eases into new territory.

Two years into their partnership and they still do this awkward dance around each other when it comes to anything remotely personal. She’s more than partly to blame herself since she doesn’t willingly share much about her own life.

“‘Celebrate’ is a generous word,” Mulder says. “We didn’t exactly light the menorah and spin a dreidel around. My mom started taking her sleeping pills earlier and earlier each day until she was basically conking out after lunch. I don’t think she really likes having me around.”

“That can’t be true.”

Mulder shrugs. “I think I just remind her of Samantha. Or rather Samantha’s absence.”

“What about your father?” Scully says, trying to change the subject.

“It’s funny,” he says. “My dad’s family was Jewish and my mother only converted before they got married, but as long as I can remember he never wanted anything to do with religion. Besides, Hanukkah isn’t even a very significant holiday. It just happens to fall around Christmas so it’s gotten swept up in that all-American, gift-giving, capitalist fervor.”

“What’s the story again?” She’s familiar with the basics of the holiday but she knows Mulder likes weaving a tale for her, and she likes to listen as he does.

“Well, it all started with the rise of the Greek king Antiochus the fourth in the second century BCE. The Greeks had a mostly live-and-let-live attitude toward the Jews until then, but Antiochus wasn’t a big fan. He forbade Jews from practicing their religion and demanded they worship Greek gods instead. This all came to a head when Antiochus invaded Jerusalem, killing thousands of Jews and turning the Holy Temple into a shrine to Zeus. He also forced Jewish people to eat pork, which was strictly forbidden by the Torah, but now that I mention it, oddly puts me in the mood for bacon.”

Scully smiles but shakes her head at him.

“Anyway, a small group of Jews known as the Maccabees formed an army and managed to overpower the much larger Greek forces. They retook the temple and got rid of all the Greek idols but ran into a little problem when they went to rededicate it by lighting the menorah with pure olive oil. Because the Maccabees were soldiers returning from the battlefield, they themselves couldn’t produce pure oil until waiting seven days after having handled dead bodies. All the oil in the temple had been defiled by the Greeks except for one jug that supposedly only had enough to last for one night. But of course, as the legend goes, it ended up keeping the menorah lit for eight days, just in time for the Maccabees to start churning out their own oil. Since this all went down after the Torah was written, the only biblical allusion to the Hanukkah is actually in the New Testament when Jesus visits Jerusalem to observe the holiday—”

“—in the book of John,” Scully finishes his sentence.

“Someone paid attention in Sunday school,” he says, and she fights the feeling of a blush rising to her cheeks.

“Are you surprised?” she asks with a smile.

“Not at all,” he says, returning her grin. “Of course, some scholars consider the Maccabees to be religious fundamentalists who even killed fellow Jews they didn’t consider to be hardcore enough. And some versions of the story don’t include any reference to the so-called ‘miracle of oil,’ so who’s to say what really happened?”

“Mulder, you are willing to believe in claims of parasitic alien life forms, shape-shifting mutants, and widespread government conspiracies, but miracles don’t pass muster?” Scully asks, the corners of her lips creeping up into a smile.

He shifts in his chair, leaning forward, closer to her. “I recently witnessed one miracle that I believe in.”

“Which was?”

“Watching you go from the brink of death in that hospital bed a few months ago to sitting here and debating Talmudic wisdom with me right now. If that isn’t a miracle I don’t know what is.”

She instinctively pulls back, bracing her hands on the armrests of her chair. He doesn’t budge, keeping his eyes locked on her.

“Mulder, I can’t clarify what happened to me, why I was returned or why I recovered,” she says quietly, “but when I was unconscious in the hospital, I saw things that I believe can only be explained by the existence of a higher power.”

She hadn’t confessed this to Mulder before and she isn’t sure why. This is a man who believes in werewolves and time-traveling killers. Why is she scared to tell him about her own visions?

“What did you see?” He asks, softly, leaning in towards her.

“I saw my father. I saw my sister—and I saw you,” she says quietly. “But it wasn’t just seeing. I felt your presence.”

Mulder pauses for a beat, opening his lips to speak but not saying anything.

“Scully, I’ve heard about near-death experiences, people believing their seeing through a portal into the afterlife. But in nearly every case they can be explained by low-oxygen levels or misfiring neurons in the brain.”

“No, Mulder,” she says, looking down at her hands now. “I read my medical report. I never suffered from hypoxia or unusual neurological activity. There’s no scientific explanation for what happened.”

“So you think it was God?”

“I don’t know, Mulder,” her voice quavers. “But I can’t say for sure that it wasn’t.”

“Whatever it was, I’m glad you made it through.”

“Thank you,” she says, feeling the heat rising in her chest.

She doesn’t tell him that along with sensing his presence she felt something more—a fierce devotion bordering on love. Maybe he’s right and it was a miracle that brought her back to him. Or perhaps the miracle is whatever brought them together in the first place.

[ofallthingsnasty]

I'm so happy you enjoyed the foreigner!reader and Oliver/Kaiser thoughts!! I've said it before, but foreigner!reader is just too much fun haha - and sorry this isn’t a full-blown fic, I wracked my brain but I couldn’t do much more than a thirst - feel free to request more, request are open haha ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

tags: chubby (and insecure about it) reader, yandere, fat-shaming (in retaliation), yandere, dubcon mention, minors dni word count: 0.7k

I think he is the type to get downright nasty. The first few times you reject him (unintentionally, of course - because how in the hell would a soccer star like him truly go for someone like you?) he takes it in stride. Maybe you're just a little dense or he wasn't quite as clear as he thought he had been with his intentions - no matter, there is always another chance. But the moment you start flaunting your absolutely average and dreadfully boring dates, he gets so offended. You rejecting him and picking some loser over him could be a pivotal point in your relationship - where he was just crushing on you before, thought you were cute, he is in such disbelief at this awful display that he gets so mad that you turn into a new trophy to acquire. And my, he is such a pursuer - he’ll double-down on his efforts to get you to date him but most importantly: He’ll threaten your current partner. Not out in the open, not directly, of course - but he knows how to be subtle and yet still obvious enough that even the drooling idiot you picked over him will get it. And what could they ever do to protect themselves from him? Absolutely nothing - Kaiser has the money and influence to match his threats and he isn’t afraid to stay true to his word. Your new fling suddenly ditching you and blocking you on every social media platform will have you questioning your abilities as a romantic partner - and as hurt and confused as you probably are, this is the perfect time for Kaiser to swoop in and make it even worse.

Now, he isn’t out to punish you. While he is definitely still mad at you for denying him, he’s not going to take that anger out on you. He does, however, make little comments here and there, points out your looks, your weight, the way you carry yourself - all this to lower your self-esteem. He is going to make you keenly self-aware of your body, of the way the fat of your belly pinches when you sit, how different you look from him. How generous, how selfless, how loving of him it is, then, that he ignores all that, just wants you the way you are. He knows how to weasel himself into the deepest, darkest, ugliest little insecurities of yours - got a double chin? Catch him staring at it, sometimes pinching it with his fingers in a mock-sweet gesture while he crinkles his eyes at you. Insecure of your eating? Oh, now is just the right time to discuss his new meal and workout plans - and ask you for yours. Whatever it is, he’ll sniff it out with glee and amplify it by a million. He’ll make you feel small and undesirable after every interaction you have with him. Your confidence will get destroyed bit by bit - he wears you down with utmost patience and precision, taking his sweet time. Kaiser needs you small and meek - so small that you won’t protest when he finally makes his move, that he’s sure you won’t ever leave him because you think he is way out of your league.

Being pursued by him is a dizzying mix of constant flirting and snide remarks - every compliment comes with a caveat, every aspect of your appearance and behavior is analyzed and criticized yet there is always a hand on your thigh, on the small of your back. He’ll confuse you so thoroughly you’ll think you’re dreaming when he finally makes a move on you. But even then - he has it all figured it out, uses that to his advantage. You’ll be blindsided by a sudden kiss one night, after he has worked you open with just enough alcohol to lower your inhibitions - and drunk as you are you let yourself fall into it. You don’t know what you’re getting into, think this is just a one time thing and as desperate as you are for some attention after feeling so undesirable for so long you let him fuck you, blissfully unaware of the fact that everything is about to become ten times worse.

[sparrowsfallingfromthesky]

In case anyone else was curious, these are all* the names people have given Trent Crimm’s daughter in fanfiction**:

*unless I've missed any **on ao3 as of November 7, 2022 [updates below]

Seraphina/Sera

Emma

Evelyn/Evie

Georgie/Georgina/Georgiana

Leith

Katie

Amina

Genevieve

Sophie

Lola

Mia

Sara

Maisie

Rose/Rosie

Amanda

Olivia

Poppy

Mella

Annalise

Imogen

Samantha

Maud

Edie

Ruby

Annabelle

Willow

Lucy

Maggie [could be nickname for Margaret which will show up later]

Beatrice/Bea

Joanie

Ellie/Eleanor/Elle [later variation: Nellie]

Deliah

Freya

Cressida/Cressy/Chrissy/Cress/Chris (one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Ching-ling)

Drew

Alice

Ophelia/Ofelia/Feeli (one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Clementine)

Lizzie/Elizabeth (one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Tabitha [later addition: another fic has the middle name Jessminder])

Adelaide/Addy

Tabitha/Tabby

Charlotte

Madeleine/Maddy [later variation: Madelyn]

Mabel

Tessa

Clementine

Anna

Khadija

Kendall

Penelope/Penny [later addition: one of the fics using this name also has the middle name Rose]

Simone/Simi

Amelia/Emilia

Rowan

Pia

Lily

Addison

Emily

Octavia

Isabel/Izzy [later variation: Isobel/Issy]

Violet

Kieran

Freddie

Estelle/Estie

Miranda

Flora

Olive

Sibyl

Winifred

Camille

Megan

Jemima

Eloise

Malia

Mina

Isla

Emmeline/Emmy (middle name Nicola)

Thea

Cassie

Some fun facts: - This list is not quite in order of when the first usages of these names appeared, but it's pretty close. - Assuming I caught everything and did the math correctly, Trent's daughter has been mentioned by name in 192 fics! For reference, Trent has been tagged as a character in 395 and does not actually appear in some of those, so she's really named in over 49% of the fics he's in. - Of the approximately 77(!) names used, ~33 have been used in multiple fics (including several series), and ~21 of those have been used by multiple different authors. - Seraphina and Georgie are tied for most usages (18 each) but when it comes to usages by the most authors, Seraphina (probably unsurprisingly, given how many people have been inspired by a kind of dwell and welcome) wins in a landslide with 15.

EDIT March 14 2023 I don't feel like updating the math but here are the new names that have been used since I originally posted this:

Ivy

Rosa

Clara

Eliora Eli Asher (nonbinary in this one)

Persephone

Agatha

Sadia

Lottie [could be a nickname for Charlotte (already on the list) but not necessarily and not clarified as such]

Mira

Karime

Lydia

Billie Rose

One more day to season 3, can't wait to see if we get a confirmed name! Either way, it's been fun <3

EDIT April/May 2023 to add:

Isadora

Molly

Darla

Patricia/Trish

Amaya

Ella

Meg/Margaret

Charlie [again I'm assuming this is a nickname for Charlotte but that's not stated]

Eliza [Could be standalone name or could be nickname for Elizabeth]

Carmilla/Millie

Annie [Could be a nickname for a number of other names. EDIT: One of the two fics using this name just revealed it's a nickname for Cordelia Annabel. Not sure how to count this tbh.]

Frances

Emi

Kara

Ingrid

Astrid

Beth [again this is probably a nickname for Elizabeth]

Claire

Maya

Cindy

Harriet

EDIT after the finale aired (this info also added to a reblog):

Well, it seems we're not getting a canon name! I guess she's our daughter now. I haven't decided whether I'm going to maintain this list going forward (though for my own sanity I'm leaning towards no) but at least it's fully up to date as of 7:30 pm est today (May 31, 2023).

Some "final" statistics: The numbers aren’t perfect, because there were a few names I grouped together and probably should have counted separately, and a few names I counted separately and probably should have grouped together, and those may or may not have balanced out, but keeping that in mind, about 110 names were used! About 49 were used in multiple fics (including individual installments in several series) and about 35 of those were used by multiple authors. Trent’s daughter has been mentioned by name in about 298 fics by 149 authors. This includes works in which she’s mentioned but doesn’t show up as a character, but doesn’t account for works in which her existence is mentioned but not by name. Fun fact, about 21 new names were used just while season three was airing!

[hlficlibrary]

Hiii,

I hope you're doing well!! I love your page!🙈

By any chance do you have fic suggestions similar to: Cold Heart by seducedbycurls

I would be so so greatful. Xx

🩷🧚🏻‍♀️

Thank you!

Hi, anon! Thank you so much! So glad you like the blog! This one's a little tough because it kind of depends on what tropes you're looking for. I'm not sure there's anything out there that hits all of them in this one because there's a lot going on in this fic. But I'll try! So I'll look for omegaverse with alpha Harry and omega Louis, kid fic, falling in love, and/or past abuse. And I'll list the tropes these have with them.

confections of the heart by pleasinglouis (omegaverse, falling in love, kid fic)

Harry chuckles, smiling when Louis’ breath hitches as he reaches up to brush his thumb over Louis’ cheek. “Louis, would you like to go on a date with me?” He still worries that the date won’t go well, that Harry will get bored of him or decide it’s too complicated dating an omega with a pup, but he nods anyway, “Yes.” It feels worth it when Harry’s lips widen into a grin and the dimple that Louis finds quite charming craters into his cheek. Who knows, maybe it won’t be as awkward as you think, Louis thinks to himself and follows Harry to where Oliver is watching a chef with a loud laugh show the pup how to sculpt with chocolate. Maybe this time it’ll work out.

Or Louis is a single mom, Harry is a pastry chef, and Oliver just wants his mom to be happy. With a teaspoon of love and a sprinkle of fate, the three might just find a home in each other.

you go undercover (you cross your fingers) by forthetherapy / @forthetherapyy (omegaverse, falling in love, kid fic)

When they reach the top of the steps, Harry puts the buggy down gently. “Thank you,” Louis says. “My hero.” Harry laughs. “You don’t need rescuing,” he says. or louis didn’t think that motherhood would be easy, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for just how challenging it would be. he also wasn't prepared for a certain alpha called harry appearing each time he needs help until accepting is no longer a difficult thing to do.

Rogue by Laventriloque (omegaverse, falling in love, past abuse)

Werewolf AU 'cause there aren't enough already :)

“No, Liam! How many times do I have to… before you finally… NO WAY … a rogue in our pack?… cannot trust him … don’t care to know him … have enough members to worry about.”

He hears more indistinct shouts before he hears pretty clearly: “His own pack didn’t want him!”

Sitting here, his precious bag between his feet and everyone in the room looking at him, some with pity, some with disdain, some with curiosity, Louis feels like someone squeezed his heart in their hands and isn’t letting it go. He wills his head to stay up high and his posture to stay confident. He will not flee the room. He will not let that stupid lump in his throat get the better of him. He will stay here until Liam returns. He will take the rejection in stride and move on. Like he’s been doing all his life."

Louis is a rogue Omega who's suffered through rejection and abuse for the biggest part of his life. He stumbles onto the Styles pack, quite possibly the kindest one he's ever met.

What Are You Running From? by polasteroids (omegaverse, falling in love, past abuse)

Louis is a smart, self-sufficient omega that’s quick on his feet and running from his past, but when a new alpha finds his way into his life, he is unsure if trusting him would be yet another mistake in a long line. One thing he does know, though, is that as secrets, lies and people of the past work their way into the complicated intertwining of Louis and Harry, it is up to them to either face their fates heads held high or crumble beneath them.

[theseshipsshallsail]

Happy Friday, Peaches, new chapter of the reunion fic coming right up 🍑

Considering the state of the world right now, I'm going to give a quick heads-up for this chapter. It's nothing detailed, but at one point our boys are discussing a piece of artwork called the Angelus Novus - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angelus_Novus - an idea that's fascinated me for years, and in doing so touch on Nazi Germany and the persecution of the Jewish race. So if you might find that triggering just skip ahead a few paragraphs after 'He flashes his teeth' and jump back in at 'Neither,” Elio says, whiskey-warm.'

You won't miss anything plot-wise, and the happy ending will still be waiting for you after 😘❤️

Chapter 5

A merry whoop is the only warning he receives before Elio zips in front of him, the whipcord muscles of his calves pumping furiously as they crest the gruelling hill. Oliver deviates to the right - clenching the handlebar tightly - then straightens from the saddle to overtake him on the downhill; emerald-green oxford flapping behind him with each bump and bend of the winding lane. 

The burnished wheat fields are steeped in familiarity. As too are the sentinel sunflowers raising their befuddled blooms. They’d pedalled this route innumerable occasions their amber-coated summer: chitchatting about all and nothing as they manoeuvred side by side. Oliver knows every inch of this countryside - just as he once knew every inch of the man beside him - but it’s the overgrown track half-shielded by a rotund cedar that has him slamming on the brakes; his front tyre strewing pebbles like confetti while he just about manages to remain vertical.

“Oliver?” 

Dismounting gingerly, he kicks at the pervading weeds. “Is that…”

“My spot?” Elio walks his faithful leri backwards. “I’m impressed you remember,” he says, and Oliver laughs; the crisp, monosyllabic rasp of the supremely bewildered. 

“Of course I remember,” he replies, acid souring his throat. “I'm like you. I remember everything.”

The thunderbolt compulsion to investigate further is undeniable, so with a bit of nudging, tussling, and under-the-ribs poking they stomp a gulley through the thickset juniper attempting to conceal the sacrosanct sanctuary ahead. 

Just like the postcard, the copse itself is interspersed with wildflowers: tall, marine pines hosting a riotous clatter of starlings in their branches when they balance their bicycles against them. The turquoise cove glistens crystalline as ever, and across the bay - with a fair amount of squinting - he’s able to parse the Perlman’s rooftop and adjacent villa where Vimini was wont to appear in her floppy hat and flamboyant outfits like some astute Mexican bandit.

“He’s oblivious, our Elio,” she’d told him one morning, gaze intent on a fractious hermit crab she’d wheedled from a low-tide rock pool. “He works so hard at pretending not to like you, yet only succeeds in deceiving himself. He does, though. I know he does,” she’d continued with that innate bluntness he found so endearing. “And it’s easy to see you like him back.”

“More than he knows,” Oliver’d confided, returning the beady-eyed crustacean to its native habitat. “And definitely more than he likes me.” 

“I beg to differ,” Vimini’d muttered, jabbing at a clump of slimy seaweed. “But that’s because I’m a genius. And smarter than the pair of you combined…”

No legacy is so rich as honesty.

“The last time I came here,” Elio says, interrupting his wool-gathering. “...was the day I called you home.” Dropping to the sloped pasture, he sets about undoing his laces. “The time before that...” 

“Was with me.” It’s less a question than a statement.

“Giusto.” Elio tugs off his socks. Heaps them with his mobile. “Twenty years.” He doesn’t sound accusatory, but there's a mild sort of resignation in his lilt that slashes like a blade. Lodges in his heart like a particularly intractable chigger. “Feels like forever…” 

Oliver sighs. “Feels like yesterday,” he says, shucking his espadrilles as Elio cants back on his elbows, tipping his chin at the Alpi Orobie’s gushing tributary.

“The meaning of the river flowing is not that all things are changing so that we cannot encounter them twice, but that some things stay the same only by changing.” He flashes his teeth. “Have you ever heard of the Angelus Novus?”

Vaguely, Oliver thinks, having touched on the subject for a sophomore midterm. “From Walter Benjamin’s thesis?”

“A Philosophy of History,” Elio confirms, crossing his legs at the ankles. “The original is a 1920s oil-transfer produced by Paul Klee. Benjamin acquired the monoprint, but committed suicide whilst fleeing the Nazis, so bequeathed it to his friend, Gershom Scholem: an eminent academic.”

“Currently part of a collection in the Israeli Museum,” Oliver recalls, intensely curious. “What of it?” 

Elio beheads a violet aster. “Well,” he begins, twirling it lazily. “According to Scholem, Benjamin felt an almost mystical identification with the image; describing it as the Angel of History. He believed it was caught in a storm,” he continues, removing the petals one-by-one. “That before it lies the past; a shambolic mass of births and deaths. Wars, won and lost. Entire generations wiped out at a despot’s whim.” A pause. “Things we humans pretend can be straightened into tidy little spreadsheets of cause and effect.” Elio discards the mangled flower. Selects a seeded dandelion instead. “In any event, the angel sees the wreckage for what it is. Wants to put things right, even. Awaken the dead. Restore what’s been smashed. But it’s stuck, tu vois? Buffeted by that almighty wind. Anxiously stumbling backwards into a future it can’t see. Unable to alter the past it can’t reach.” 

“And this wind?” Oliver asks, the pull of Eros all-encompassing. “Is it fate, then? Within Scholem’s metaphor? Or the will of God, perhaps?”

“Neither,” Elio says, whiskey-warm. “It’s what one might call progress.” He smiles - sharper, brighter - then leaps up with boyish vigour; yanking the striped material of his polo-shirt over his head. “Enough of this,” he says, adding it to the pile. “No more speeches, d’accord?” And if the hypnotising glint of his Star of David wasn't liable to make Oliver’s breath stutter, the titanium bars adorning his dusky nipples damn near knock him to his knees. “Catch me if you can, Americano!” Elio yells, already wading into the shallows, so Oliver rids himself of his shirt, wallet, and watch, and prepares to give chase. 

His cargo shorts should dry soon enough - better that, than chance sporting an erection in thin cotton underwear - howbeit plunging into the frigid lake he lets out an involuntary yelp, immediately deciding that’s a moot concern anyway. The current is more robust in the centre - of which his quarry conducts a beeline - and Oliver prays for his extremities as he twists into a nimble corkscrew; the tantalising peek of Elio’s pale limbs ratcheting his pulse until he surfaces from the abstract depths.

Monet’s berm comes rushing in - 

The high-pitched trill of a house-martin in the stunted palms.

The shrinking roar of a vespa as it climbs the remote mountain pass. 

The soporific churn of the Mediterranean below.

- and digging his toes into the shingly sediment Oliver rakes the bedraggled fringe from his bleary vision, only to end up spluttering when a barrelling wave hits him full pelt. 

Elio’s giggles are like music to his ears - water-logged though they might be - yet Oliver’s not above playing dirty himself, and lunging for his wily opponent he tackles him from behind; lifting him up to spin him off-balance in retribution.

“Stronzo!” Elio cries when he almost dunks them under, but he’s beaming nonetheless as Oliver tailors them curve-to-curve, nuzzling his forehead to the velvet expanse of skin dividing his shoulders.

“You started it.” 

“One of us had to,” Elio says, snaking a hand to Oliver’s waist as he wriggles about to face him, and after nine long weeks of intellectual foreplay, all other bets are suddenly off. “I’m going to kiss you, mon amour.”

“Is that so?” Oliver asks, nosing the scallop-shell dip of his clavicle. 

“Assolutamente...” Livewire lips meet the tendons of his neck: a magnetic spark both seductive and searing. “Unless you tell me no, that is.”   

A broken-glass cough claws at Oliver’s oesophagus. “Whyever would I tell you no?” he asks, sweeping the pad of his thumb through Elio’s soggy ringlets. “I’d give you the world if you let me.”

“If I’ll let you?”

“If that’s what you want?” Elio’s bravado turns bashful as twin specks of colour gild the apples of his  cheeks. “I want you, Oliver. Us,” he says hoarsely, then banishes the gap between them; ten centimetres and two decades eradicated in a soft, powdered-sugar kiss that dissolves too-swiftly upon his tongue, leaving him inordinately famished for more.

[jaypentaghast]

from my very very hazy recollection the blood tears is because they have no bodily fluids except for the blood? like they’re dead and their bodies fully go through this process that is very close to dying (and I would say IS dying which is why is such a violent process for the receiver) which means they no longer have or experience regular bodily functions. so like in the books (again my recollection is hazy so maybe someone will correct) vampires can’t have sex like they could as humans because the blood isn’t “running through” their veins, there’s no beating heart, etc (at some point in the series this maybe changes?? I can’t remember if I’m remembering a fic or canon lmfao) and lestat gets into explaining this and part of his explanation is like “but i can definitely eat pussy while the persons on their period eheheheh 👹🥵” (again I could totally be misremembering who does this and some specifics)

hiii hi hello!! i was wondering if the tear effects were practical or cgi in my tags (I never found the answer!) but this is way more important to me

Right! When then transform they have to let those fluids GO. Book Lestat tells Louis to go into the forest to get that done.

They don't need to use the loo. There's no real use for their kidneys if they don't pee, either. I think Lestat says they do need to breathe but I'm unsure if this is true or simply something he believes. What I don't recall is whether they sweat or not (I think they are seen sweating in the show, but I can't say whether that's intentional or because the actors are, you know, human beings lol Same goes for the snot, mucus and tears that keep their eyeballs nice and moist, which by their colour we can tell are different from the blood tears when they cry. Again, human actors. maybe try casting some real vampires next time /s)

I'm not an expert in the human body but that leaves very little in terms of excretion. Which I keep thinking about because they have to keep replenishing to survive but do their cells use everything in the blood they consume for energy? How does that work? There's not a creature alive that doesn't get rid of waste in some way.

I mean we can ask all this questions from a scientific pov but ultimately there's a supernatural element to their physiology that likely ties a lot of their functions to the spiritual/mystical.

Blood seems to be a biological need, we know it because without drinking it they die. However, it also appears there's a supernatural element to their feeding as well. For instance, they can die if they drink the blood of the dead, but as far as I'm aware nothing changes in our blood composition immediately after we die. Therefore it's not only about the blood, it's about life essence or something like that. <- this is mentioned in the books, right?

Moreover, with Fareed's experiments Lestat can produce semen. That means with help they can still produce the fluids that a living human can, at least in the books. (Could be in the TV show as well I suppose, maybe the blood never travels down there either and the sex is just for intimacy reasons idk. We never see them get off but I think we're meant to understand that they can.)

I have to take into account that God is an actual character that exist in this universe, though, so trying to explain everything through a scientific lense is going to be impossible. BUT I'M GOING TO TRY. I just need to do more research.

“but i can definitely eat pussy while the persons on their period eheheheh 👹🥵” Oliver Quick you are nothing to Lestat de Lioncourt, he did it FIRST and he didn't even get off on it. /j It's not a kink for me but I definitely want to get to that part to see what the hell that's about! Also I read a devil's minion fic with that premise and it was cool, so never say never ig