#prime shadow is jealous

[lhislucas]

B! Sh: "What are you staring at? Jealous now, are we, little Faker?" (1/2)

P!Sh : "Tch." (2/2)

[blueenthusiastfury]

B! Sh: "What are you staring at? Jealous now, are we, little Faker?" (1/2)…(Read More)

[sparklingjay]

Shadow, when Sonic is looking at Amy:

Shadow, when Sonic is looking at him:

It's so funny how his anger is gone as soon as Sonic is giving him attention.

He just wants Sonic to be focused on him at all times:

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

[Post Canon, everyone lives, Sonic Prime AU]

Sonic: *Hanging out alone with Shadow*

Shadow, internally: Hmph. I bet he's thinking about Nine.😒

Sonic: *Hanging out alone with Nine*

Nine, internally: Ugh. I bet he's thinking about Shadow.😒

Sonic, internally, in both situations: Mmmm chilli dogs🥰

ㅤ

Sonic: *Hanging out alone on the beach with Tails*

Tails, internally: Haha. I bet he's thinking about chilli dogs again😊

Sonic, internally: Wow, my best buddy is so cool and cute and smart I love him so much😳🥰

[snowseasonmademe]

Further, Faster, Harder.

word count: 7,747

warning ‼️: a LOT of smut (multiple positions), biiiigggggg age gap (20 years)

paring: boyfriend lewis x black female reader

summary: Lewis wanted to make you feel extra special on your (shared) special day.

note: this is a long one yall, but lewis and i are the same zodiac so i wrote a little 🎶birthday sex🎶 fic. he just so happens to be almost exactly 20 years older than me and apparently i like old men so i couldn’t pass this up! i hope you all enjoy, and ofc tell me what you think ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The low, throaty purr of an all-black Ferrari SF90 Stradale echoed through the crisp January evening as you glanced out the passenger window. The car felt alive beneath you, its engine a symphony of power that hummed through the leather seats. The London skyline shimmered ahead, a sea of lights that seemed to stretch endlessly, while the glow of the dashboard bathed the sleek interior in an ambient red hue. Despite the chill in the air outside, warmth bubbled in your chest. It was your birthday—your mutual birthday—a twist of fate that had felt oddly serendipitous from the moment you and Lewis first discovered it.

He shifted gears with practiced ease, his hand briefly brushing the edge of your thigh. “So” he began, his voice smooth and teasing, “did you really think I’d let us spend our day any other way?”

You snorted, pulling the caramel-hued coat tighter around you, not for warmth but because his presence always seemed to steal the air. “Oh, absolutely not. I fully expected flashy cars, a private dinner, and you trying—very unsuccessfully, might I add—to outshine my birthday with yours.”

Lewis let out a low, rich laugh that filled the car, his dimple appearing in the dim light as he stole a quick glance at you. “Please. Let’s not pretend it’s a competition. Everyone knows the better Capricorn here its obvious.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “Obvious? That’s a bold claim for someone who just hit 40. You’re practically ancient now.”

He shot you a mock-offended look, his British accent sharpening with playfulness. “Ancient? Forty’s the peak of my prime. Haven’t you heard? I’m like fine wine.”

“Yeah, fine wine that’s been aged a bit too long” you teased, your laughter dancing through the space between you.

“Chill” he warned, a wicked smile tugging at his lips as he smoothly turned a corner, the Ferrari responding like a predator stalking the night. “This ancient man just might leave you walking home.”

“Walking home? In this coat?” You gestured dramatically at your outfit. “You’d be doing London a favor. People need to see me.”

“True” he admitted, his grin widening. “You do look stunning. But I think we both know you’d rather freeze than miss this ride.”

You leaned back in the plush seat, letting your fingers trail over the soft leather armrest. “I don’t know. Your little Ferrari phase might’ve won me over. For now.”

He let out a sharp laugh. “Little Ferrari phase? Tell that to the team—they’d love that description.”

The playful banter carried you through the streets until the car finally pulled to a stop in front of a riverside restaurant that practically screamed elegance.

Inside, the restaurant felt like stepping into another world. The glow of candlelight flickered against the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows that danced on the polished hardwood floors. The Thames flowed serenely outside, its reflection catching the city’s twinkling lights.

The maître d’ greeted you both with warmth, though his polite smile lingered on Lewis just a little too long for your liking. You shot him a knowing glance, which Lewis met with a raised brow and an amused smirk, as if to say, You’re jealous.

“Only the best for the birthday queen” Lewis declared as he pulled out your chair, his voice dipped in that velvety British lilt that always made your stomach flutter.

You tilted your head at him, feigning disappointment. “And here I was thinking you’d forgotten the tiara.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Not forgotten. Just saving the best for later.”

The dinner unfolded like a dream. Each dish was a masterpiece, from the perfectly seared scallops to the rich, velvety dessert that melted on your tongue. The wine was as smooth as the conversation, which flowed effortlessly between the two of you, laced with wit and the kind of intimacy that could only come from two people who knew each other down to the smallest detail.

“Seriously, though” you said, swirling the last of your wine in the glass. “How does it feel being forty? Do you get senior discounts now?”

Lewis set down his fork, leaning back in his chair with an amused glint in his eye. “I’ll have you know I’m still younger at heart than you. But if senior discounts include free wine, I might consider it.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Free wine or not, you’re officially in ‘bee keeper’ territory now.”

“And yet here you are” he shot back, his tone sly as he rested his chin on his hand, “celebrating your big 2-0 with me. What does that say about your taste, love?”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh. “That I have a thing for men with ridiculous levels of confidence.”

“Ridiculous confidence is just another way of saying I’ve got good reason.”

Somewhere between dessert and the end of the second bottle of wine, Lewis leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, I’ve never spent a birthday like this before.”

You raised a brow. “What, you mean being roasted by someone half your age?”

“No” he said with a soft laugh, his gaze locking with yours. “I mean, spending it with someone who makes it unforgettable.”

Heat crept up your neck as the words settled over you. For once, you were grateful for the low lighting, knowing he’d catch the blush on your face if the room were any brighter. “You’ve got good lines, Hamilton. I’ll give you that.”

He smirked, his dimple reappearing. “And here you thought I was ancient.”

The drive back to his place was quieter now, the low hum of the Ferrari’s engine filling the silence as the city lights smeared into a kaleidoscope of golds and whites against the window. You watched the world rush by, your cheek pressed lightly against the cool glass, your mind swirling with the events of the evening. Lewis’s hand rested on the gear shift, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knee, a small but grounding gesture that sent tiny sparks up your spine.

Lewis had a way of making silence feel intimate, like you were sharing a secret only the two of you could understand. He’d crack the occasional joke, his British accent wrapping around his words in that smooth, teasing way of his, but he also seemed content to just be with you, letting the moment stretch without feeling the need to fill it.

“I’m just saying” you broke the silence, a playful lilt in your voice, “you’ve got way too much energy for someone turning 40. Should I be worried you’re one of those guys who lies about his age?”

He glanced at you, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Love, if I were lying, don’t you think I’d say I’m younger? What kind of idiot would round up to 40?”

You bit back a laugh. “Fair point. Still, you’ve got that youthful glow. Should I be looking for a fountain of youth around here?”

“Funny. I was going to say the same about you,” he quipped, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before returning to the road. “Though I think the real secret is being around me. I have that effect, you know.”

“Ah, yes” you teased, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Sir Lewis Hamilton, F1 driver, philanthropist, anti-aging elixir. Truly a man of many talents.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and effortless. “Don’t forget humble. That’s the most important one.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at your lips. The kind of banter you shared felt as natural as breathing, a testament to how far you’d come in the past year. Last year, you’d been strangers, exchanging polite birthday messages in a group chat. Now, almost a year into your relationship, celebrating this day together felt nothing short of surreal.

When the car finally pulled into his building’s private garage, you followed him up to his penthouse. As soon as you stepped inside, the soft scent of amber and cedarwood and cinnamon greeted you, enveloping you like a warm hug. The space was immaculate but still inviting, every detail reflecting Lewis’s refined yet cozy taste. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering London skyline, but your attention was drawn to the setup near the fireplace: a nest of plush blankets and pillows, their edges catching the soft glow of the flames, and a small black box wrapped neatly with a satin ribbon sitting in the center.

“Planning to smother me with luxury tonight?” you teased, slipping off your coat and draping it over a nearby chair.

He shot you a sidelong glance, his lips curling into that signature dimpled smile. “Only if you let me.”

Crossing the room, he picked up the box and handed it to you with both hands, his tone softening. “Happy birthday.”

You sank down onto the blankets, crossing your legs as you carefully untied the ribbon. The room seemed to hold its breath as you lifted the lid, revealing a delicate gold necklace nestled inside. The pendant was sleek and minimalist, the numbers 2040 shimmering in the firelight—your ages this year, intertwined in a way that felt both simple and profound.

You ran your fingers over the numbers, the cool metal warming under your touch. “Lewis…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you looked up at him, emotions you couldn’t quite name rising in your chest.

He knelt in front of you, his hands steady as he unclasped the necklace. “I wanted you to have something to remember this year by” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Our first birthday together. The first of many, hopefully.”

The necklace was cool against your skin as he fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing against the nape of your neck in a way that sent a shiver through you.

“Cheesy” you managed to say, though your voice wavered slightly. “Really cheesy.”

He leaned back, a slow, confident smile spreading across his face. “You love it.”

“Maybe” you admitted, your lips curving into a soft smile. “You’re still ridiculous, though. You know that, right?”

He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Only for you, love. Only for you.”

And in that moment, as the firelight danced across his features and the weight of the necklace settled warmly against your chest, you knew this was a birthday you’d never forget.

The crackle of the fire filled the space as silence stretched between you, comfortable and unspoken. He reached out, his fingers brushing along your cheek with a tenderness that made your breath catch. The air between you felt charged, thick with something unnameable yet impossible to ignore. He didn’t speak, but his gaze said everything. It was the kind of look that promised a night you’d carry with you long after the embers of the fire died out.

Wordlessly, he offered you his hand, pulling you to your feet. Your bodies moved in sync, a slow dance as he guided you away from the cozy setup near the fireplace. The city lights spilled across the polished floors of the penthouse, casting soft, flickering reflections. The world outside felt miles away, as if time had bent itself around the two of you, creating a space that existed only for this moment.

When you reached the edge of the couch, he paused, his hand slipping from yours to settle lightly on your waist. The tension between you buzzed like a live wire, your breaths shallow and synchronized as you stood inches apart. He reached up, his thumb brushing against the gold pendant resting at your collarbone.

“This suits you” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, deep and velvety.

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes. “You’re biased” you teased softly, though the words came out shakier than you’d intended.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Damn right I am” he said, his fingers trailing from the necklace to the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

And then, finally, he kissed you

The first kiss was thoughtful, like he was savoring every second of you. His lips were warm, soft, yet firm in their intent, coaxing a response that set your nerves alight. The faint taste of wine lingered on his tongue as he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck while the other settled firmly on your waist.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, your lips tingled from the contact. The smirk that spread across your face was full of mischief, your eyes glittering in the dim light. “You know” you began, your voice sultry but teasing, “I’ve never had birthday sex with an old man before.”

Lewis stilled for half a second, then let out a deep, throaty chuckle, his dimple flashing in a way that made your pulse skip. “Old man?” he repeated, his voice dripping with mock indignation. “You’re really leaning into this, aren’t you?”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I mean, forty’s practically dinosaur age. Should I grab your reading glasses before we get started?”

The laugh that followed was low and dangerous, his grip on your waist tightening as he tugged you flush against him. “Keep that up y/n” he murmured, his tone dropping to a husky rasp that sent a shiver down your spine, “this so-called old man is about to ruin you.”

Your grin widened, your fingers trailing along the line of his jaw. “Bold words for someone who’s practically collecting a pension.”

He responded without hesitation, his lips brushing against your ear as his voice dipped even lower. “You’re about to love this ‘old man dick’ sweetheart.”

You laughed a bit then your breath hitched in your throat, your teasing façade faltering for a split second. Before you could come up with a retort, he claimed your mouth again, the kiss harder this time, more insistent. His hands explored your body with a practiced precision that made your skin hum in anticipation.

When he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. “Pretty strong for a grandpa” you teased breathlessly, but your voice cracked with laughter as he spun you around, his mouth pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the curve of your neck.

“You talk a big game” he shot back, his words muffled against your skin, “but let’s see if you can handle me”

By the time he carried you into the bedroom, the world beyond those walls didn’t exist. The room was bathed in soft streaks of silver light from the city below, the faint hum of life outside muffled by the thick glass of the windows. But the only thing you were aware of was him—the heat radiating from his body, the controlled strength in his movements, the way his touch left trails of fire wherever his hands and lips explored.

The bed was impossibly soft beneath you, though you barely noticed as he leaned over you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath. His hands moved with a tantalizing slowness, fingers skimming along the hem of your dress before sliding it up, inch by inch, until you felt the cool air against your skin.

“You look stunning” he murmured, his voice reverent but laced with heat as his eyes roamed over you. “Better than I deserve, really.”

You arched a brow, your lips curving into a smirk. “Glad you’re finally admitting it.”

He let out another low chuckle, the sound vibrating through you as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Smart mouth” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing. “Let’s see how long you can keep that up.”

And just like that, words became irrelevant. The moments following were a blur of heat and sensation, a symphony of whispered confessions and breathless laughter that gave way to moans and the sound of tangled sheets. You both lay on the bed bare and craving each other beyond measure. His fingers traced a feather-light path down your collarbone, causing you to shiver despite the lingering warmth between you. He followed that trail with his lips, kissing each spot softly before moving lower. You arched into him, your nails raking gently across his back as his mouth found the sensitive curve of your breast.

His touch was both commanding and tender, guiding you with a confidence that left no doubt he knew exactly how to unravel you. His tongue swirled around your nipple, the teasing flick a jolt of electricity straight to your core. A gasp escaped you, your fingers tangling in his braided hair as he lavished the tender bud with attention. His hand mirrored the action on your other breast, kneading with just the right amount of pressure.

As he continued his sensual care on your breasts, his other hand wandered lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. His fingers parted your folds, stroking through your slick heat with agonizing slowness. You moan in relief as you finally felt the touch in the place you’ve been wanting all night.

"Shit y/n you’re so wet for me already” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. His fingers continued their teasing rhythm, circling your clit but never quite touching it directly. The taunting motion had your hips lifting helplessly, searching for more contact. “Gotta give my best for my birthday boy” you say with a teasing smile on your face

"Mmm, seems like someone's eager tonight" he teased breathlessly, your fingers tightening their grip in his hair. Arching again, you pressed harder against his teasing fingertips, desperate for relief. "Well stop teasing and fuck me already" you demanded, your voice thick with desire.

A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest as he broke away from your breasts, his eyes meeting yours with an intense, knowing gaze. "How dare you talk to the birthday boy like that?” he chuckled mocking you, finally pressing directly against your clit, making you gasp. "I have plans for you though. I can’t let you get away with making fun of all night baby.”

"And what plans would those be?" you managed to ask between panting breaths, your body winding tighter with each skilled movement of his fingers. He didn't answer with words, instead capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as his fingers continued their expert dance.

His tongue slid against yours in a mimicking what his fingers were doing below, making you moan into his mouth. Then, suddenly, he slid two of his thick, tattooed fingers deep inside you, his thumb still circling your clit.

The dual sensations had your back arching off the bed, breaking the kiss as you let out a loud moan. The feeling making you almost salivate "Oh god” you gasped, your body clenching around his fingers, desperate for more. "More…” you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need more..."

He complied with a wicked grin, pumping his fingers faster and harder, the wet sounds of your pussy filling the air as he drove you closer to the edge. "Like this baby?" he growled, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Yes” you exhaled, your body trembling as he hit that perfect spot inside you. The wet sounds of your arousal turing you on more, —if that was even possible — your body craved even more of him. "Uuh but It's not enough” you wailed, writhing beneath him. "I need you, not your fingers” you say grabbing his shoulder. He chuckled darkly, slowly pulling his fingers out.

He didn’t make you wait another second, his movements efficient as he stripped away the last barriers between your bodies. Each piece of clothing fell to the floor in a whisper, leaving him bare before you—a vision of strength and heat. His hands returned to your thighs, firm but tender as he guided them around his waist, his touch igniting sparks across your skin.

The anticipation was almost unbearable, the space between you charged with unspoken hunger. His body hovered over yours, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. He softly brushed his hands along your thighs, lined himself up with you, his thick length brushing against your dripping entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

When he finally thrusts forward, the world seemed to shift. One powerful motion had him burying himself inside you, stretching you in a way that stole your breath. Your back arched instinctively, your body surrendering to the sensation of being completely filled. The exquisite pressure was both overwhelming and perfect, a mix of fullness and connection that sent shockwaves rippling through you.

“This better?” he rasped, his voice thick and gravelly, the sound vibrating through your chest. His hands gripped your hips, grounding you as he pulled back just enough to make you ache for more, only to stroke back in with a slow pace that left you trembling.

A choked moan escaped your lips, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself against the onslaught of sensation. “Oh yes” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, but the desperate edge in it said everything.

Lewis tilted his head, a smug grin curling at the corners of his lips as he watched your reaction. “You feel so good baby” he murmured, his hips setting a steady rhythm. Each thrust was felt like a piece of heaven, his movements slow enough to let you feel every inch of him, but powerful enough to leave you breathless.

The way he fucked you was relentless, the friction and heat building with every thrust. His body was pressed tightly to yours, his heavy, hot body brushing against your chest with each motion, his breath hot against your neck. The room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you, wrapped in a haze of heat, desire, and the raw, primal connection that tethered you together.

As he drove deeper, his grip on your hips tightened, his thumbs pressing into your soft skin as if anchoring himself in the moment. “Look at me” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you”

Your gaze locked with his, the intensity in his dark eyes making your pulse quicken. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through you, the rhythm building as he took you higher, each movement precise, unrelenting, and filled with purpose.

“Does that feel good?” he asked again, his voice rough and laced with amusement as he pushed deeper still, watching the way your body arched to meet his.

“Perfect” you managed to gasp, your nails raking down his back as he buried himself fully inside you once more.

Your voice broke into a raw, unrestrained scream, your nails carving crescents into the taut muscles of his back. Each thrust sent a wave of sensation through your body, igniting every nerve like a live wire. Lewis gripped you with unrelenting force, his fingers digging into your flesh as though he never wanted to let go. His pace was punishing and purposeful, each stroke a calculated attempt to claim every inch of you.

The slickness of your arousal coated his dick, allowing him to move in and out with sinful ease, his deep, guttural groans echoing your breathless cries. His chest brushed against yours, the heat of his skin matching the fire coursing through your veins. “Feel that?” he rasped into your ear, guiding your hand to you lower abdomen. “You feel where I am inside you y/n?” You could feel him beating at your insides underneath your hands, leaving you dizzy.

You gasped, your body tightening around him at his words. But then, a bold thought slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “I wanna ride you.”

His movements stilled for a heartbeat, and then a wicked smile curved his lips. “I love it when you take control” he murmured, his voice filled with equal parts admiration and desire. Without hesitation, he grabbed your waist and flipped you onto him with fluid ease, his strength sending a thrill down your spine.

Before you could catch your breath, you were astride him, your thighs pressed against his hips as his dick filled you completely. The angle was new, deeper, more intense, and it stole the air from your lungs. His hands found your breasts, warm palms cupping the sensitive curves. His thumbs teased your nipples, the gentle pinch sending shocks of pleasure down your spine.

“Go on” he said, his eyes dark with need. “Show me what you’ve got.”

His words spurred you on, your hands bracing against his chest as you began to move. The muscles beneath your fingers flexed with each thrust as he met your rhythm, his body rising to match every roll of yours. The friction sent waves of heat cascading through you, and the soft, slick sounds of your bodies moving together only added to the intoxicating haze of the moment. You couldn’t believe how wet you are, soaking both of the lower extremities with each thrust out.

His hands slid from your breasts to your waist, guiding your movements but leaving you firmly in control. “There you baby” he groaned, his voice ragged. “Take your dick. It’s all yours.”

Your head tipped back as you found your pace, the pleasure building higher with each roll of your hips. Your long hair cascaded down your back, brushing against his hands as they roamed over your curves. His eyes roamed your body, drinking in the sight of you like a man starved.

“Damn” he muttered, his grip tightening on your waist. “You’re so fucking sexy like this.”

You smirked, leaning forward just enough for your lips to hover near his ear. “I know” you teased and winked, your voice breathy but still laced with confidence.

Lewis chuckled, his hands sliding lower to grip your hips again, the movement sending sparks racing through you. “Cocky tonight, huh?” he challenged, him grinding sharply to meet you, making you cry out, shutting you up.

You threw your head back once more, your long hair tumbling in waves down your back, glinting in the dim light as it swayed with your every movement. You rolled your body with an urgency born of desire, rising and falling as you took him deeper than ever before. Each motion sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, a delicious mixture of control and submission as you rode him with abandon.

Lewis’s hands were strong on your waist, his grip possessive as he guided your movements. He met your grinding with powerful thrusts of his own, his body rising from the bed to drive deeper into you, each stroke aimed with precision that left you trembling. The thickness of his dick stretched you in all the right ways, hitting that sweet, devastating spot inside you that made your vision blur.

A whimper escaped your lips, followed by a breathless moan, your sounds blending with the wet, rhythmic noises of your bodies colliding. The heady scent of sweat and sex filled the air, mingling with the sound of his raspy breaths and your own needy cries.

“Faster” you panted, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

“Faster?” he repeated, his tone laced with mischief as one large hand left your waist and came down on your ass with a sharp smack. The sting rippled through you, blending seamlessly with the pleasure pulsing in your core, making your lower body jerk forward involuntarily. “Yeah baby” he teased breathlessly, his other hand sliding up your spine, grounding you. “Show me how bad you want it.”

Your body responded instinctively, moving with even greater speed. Your breasts bounced wildly with every rise and fall, catching his dark, hungry eyes as he watched you lose yourself above him.

“Ahh yes” he groaned, his dick throbbing inside you, pulsing in perfect time with the frantic rhythm of your bodies. His forehead glistened with sweat, his curls damp and clinging to his temples as he strained to meet every furious motion of your hips. The connection between you was electric, every nerve alight with pleasure and the sheer power of his presence beneath you.

Another sharp slap landed on your ass, making you gasp and cry out. “Fuck, you feel so good like this” he muttered, his hand immediately sliding to your lower back, pressing you forward as his other tangled in your hair. With a firm tug, he pulled you down to meet his lips in a bruising kiss.

The moment your mouths collided, the intensity between you flared brighter. His tongue slid against yours, his kiss just as commanding and relentless as the way he filled you. You could taste the taste of your lips on his lips, feel the tension in his jaw as his teeth grazed against your bottom lip, nipping just enough to make you gasp.

The heat of his chest against yours, the strength of his hands controlling your movements, and the way his body seemed to melt perfectly with yours—all of it was too much and not enough at the same time. The world narrowed to the two of you, the bed creaking beneath your combined weight as you pushed each other further, faster, harder.

“Uh- Fuck- Ah-“ he groaned against your lips, his voice raw and raspy.

“Look at you, riding your dick” he rasped, his voice low and raw as he pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every labored breath. “Shit” curse fell from his lips like a confession, a whisper, the heat in his gaze burning into you.

He continued to fuck you, mirroring your movements to create the ultimate pleasure, thrust for thrust, the relentless rhythm sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. His fingers dug into your hips with such force you could feel the delicious pressure biting into your insides, a possessive mark you knew would linger long after this moment. “Harder” he growled, his voice thick with need and dominance.

The command sent a spark through you, your body responding instinctively. Letting out a desperate whimper, you adjusted your angle, planting your knees more firmly against the mattress for leverage. You began to slam down on him with every ounce of strength you could muster, taking him deeper with each thrust, the sensation of his dick filling you, driving you wild.

The room filled with the sharp, rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, a symphony of raw passion that echoed in the air around you. Your cries mixed with his groans, creating a harmony of pleasure that left no space for anything else. His thick length hit all the right spots inside you, the perfect angle making stars burst behind your tightly closed eyelids.

“Yeeaahh there you go” he groaned, his voice a mixture of awe and desperation as his hands tightened their grip on your ass, guiding your movements. “That’s it baby, just like that.

But then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he shifted. With a sudden, fluid movement, he flipped you onto your stomach, his strength effortlessly handling your body like it was meant to be molded beneath his touch. The cool sheets met your flushed skin, contrasting with the fiery heat coursing through your veins.

Pulling your hips up, he positioned you on your knees, presenting your ass to him. A dark, appreciative growl rumbled in his chest as he took in the sight before him. “Such a perfect view” he murmured, his hands roaming over the curve of your ass, spreading you wide as he admired the way your glistening entrance twitched with anticipation.

The moment of teasing felt like an eternity. His dick, still slick and throbbing, brushed against your folds, the tip barely pressing into you before pulling back. Each pass sent a shiver down your spine, the anticipation coiling tightly in your core.

“Lewis” you breathed sound a plea that you couldn’t hold back. Your voice trembling with need, and murmured as your face a pressed into the mattress.

He chuckled darkly, his hands gripping your back firmly as he finally aligned himself with you. “I know baby. I’ve got you.”

“You feel so fucking good” he groaned, his voice thick with need as he pulled back slowly, only to slam back into you with even more force.

His strong hands grounding you as he pulled you closer, guiding the rhythm of your bodies. The new angle shifted something deep inside you, igniting a fire that spread through every nerve. Each powerful thrust sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body, leaving you breathless and trembling.

The mattress beneath you dipped with every movement, your breasts brushing against the soft fabric as if it, too, responded to the intensity between you. Your fingers fisted the sheets in desperation, the cool texture a stark contrast to the heat building between your entwined bodies. The air was thick with the sounds of your connection. You reached your hand behind you to touch him, and feel even more connected as he filled you completely, over and over again.

Your cries of pleasure filled the room, bouncing off the walls and blending with the raw rhythm of your bodies. Each powerful thrust sent a jolt of electricity through you, the intensity building with every movement. The warmth of his body against yours, the sound of his ragged breathing, and the unrelenting pace all combined to set your senses alight.

“Yes, just like that” you gasped, your voice trembling with urgency as your body tightened around him, instinctively pulling him deeper. The delicious pressure and friction threatened to make you cum then and there, a tantalizing ache pooling in your core as you teetered on the edge of release. The sheer intimacy of the moment wrapped around you, pushing you closer to the brink with every heartbeat.

His hand slid around to find your most sensitive clit, his fingers skillfully matching the rhythm of his relentless movements. The instant he touched you, a surge of pleasure shot through your body, your breath catching as the tension within you coiled tighter. The precise pressure and timing were too much to bear, every nerve alive and burning with sensation.

The world seemed to fall away as you tipped over the edge, a wave of pure ecstasy crashing over you. Your body shaking uncontrollably, your inner walls clenching and pulsing around him in perfect harmony with the pleasure consuming you. He didn’t falter, fucking you fiercely, extending your orgasm, his movements guiding you through every second of the overwhelming climax.

His release finally hit, a deep groan tearing from his chest as he buried himself to the hilt, flooding your insides with his warmth. The sensation of him pulsing inside you sent a shiver down your spine, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your own climax. Slowly, he collapsed on top of you, his weight settling over you like a comforting blanket, grounding you in the moment.

His breaths were hot and heavy against your neck, his lips brushing your skin with every exhale. He nuzzled closer, his arms curling around you protectively as though he couldn’t bear to let go. “That’s my favorite position you know” he murmured, his voice low and husky, tinged with the remnants of his pleasure.

You chuckled softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair. “I figured. You get a pretty nice view from back there.”

He grinned against your skin, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. But then he paused, his hands beginning to roam over your curves with a possessive, thoughtful touch. His fingers traced the dip of your waist, and the swell of your hips.

“I think” he started, his voice trailing off as he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. His gaze was soft but smoldering, a wicked gleam dancing in his dark eyes. “I think we need to try something new.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh? You’ve already got me questioning my ability to walk tomorrow, and now you want to add something else to the mix?”

His laugh was low and rich as he sat up, pulling you along with him. The ease with which he maneuvered your body made your heart race, and before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, your arms looping instinctively around his neck. His large hands settled on your waist, pulling you flush against him so that your bare skin pressed together.

“Have you ever done reverse cowgirl?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual, though the intensity in his gaze gave away his excitement.

You hesitated, the memory of past attempts flickering in your mind. “Yes” you admitted, your voice softer now, “but I didn’t like it before.” You avoided his eyes momentarily, not wanting to disappoint him.

His thumb brushed soothing circles over your side, his touch gentle as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “But you haven’t tried it with me” he said, his voice warm and confident, laced with a promise you couldn’t ignore. “Trust me, it’ll feel good. After I’m inside you, lean forward and grab my ankles, okay?”

His reassuring tone made you relax, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small, trusting smile. “That sounds kind of funny,” you teased lightly, “but I trust you, so I guess we can try it.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you deeply, the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt. As his lips moved against yours, his hands slid down to grip your body, the promise of something exciting lingering in the air between you.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he shifted your body effortlessly, turning you until you were straddling him in reverse cowgirl. Your knees sank into the soft mattress as you leaned forward, just as he instructed, your fingers brushing his ankles for balance. The new position stretched your muscles in an unfamiliar but exhilarating way, your body arching beautifully as you adjusted.

“Good baby” he purred, his voice molten as his hands slid up your thighs, his fingers sprawled out. His grip was firm yet gentle, guiding your movements with unspoken confidence. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly as you began to move, rocking your hips experimentally. The sensation of his dick filling you from this angle was different—intense, consuming, and deeply satisfying. You could feel every vein, ridge and curve. Slowly at first, you rose and sank onto him, each downward thrust drawing a low, guttural sound from his throat.

From behind, he had the perfect view, and he was mesmerized. His eyes rolled over the curve of your spine, the way your hair spilled down your back like a silken waterfall, and the hypnotic motion of your pussy taking him in, again and again. “Goddamn” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and lust, “just look at you.”

He couldn’t help himself, his hands roaming over your waist and back before sliding back to cup the roundness of your ass. He spread your cheeks apart slightly, his thumbs grazing your skin as he watched himself disappear inside you, the sight driving him wild. “Fuck” he groaned, his grip tightening. “Your ass looks incredible like this.”

The raw appreciation in his tone made you move more, confidence growing with every word of praise. You rolled your hips, adjusting the angle to take him even deeper, and the effect was immediate. His sharp inhale and the low curse he muttered sent a thrill through you, spurring you on.

“You feel so damn good” he rasped, his voice rough with desire. His warm hands traveled up to your waist, wrapping around you firmly as he began to meet your movements with upward thrusts, burying himself even harder and deeper. The slick sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, accompanied by his low groans and your breathy moans.

“Fuck fuck fuck “ he growled, his voice breaking with raw need. “I can’t get enough of this pussy.” His hands returned to your ass, spreading you wider to take him fully, the sight of your stretched entrance swallowing his girthy length repeatedly making his restraint fray. “This feels so fucking good oh my go-“ you moan out, gripping his ankles.

The angle, the intensity, the way his hands guided you—it all combined into a dizzying blend of pleasure that left you utterly undone, completely lost in the rhythm you shared. His words were a heady mix of filth and reverence, fueling the fire building deep within you.

He moved with an intensity, his pace quickening as he drove into you hard, each powerful thrust echoing through your body. The rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting filled the room once again, a heady mix of his labored breathing, deep groans of pleasure, and the unmistakable slickness of your shared desire. His grip on your hips tightened possessively, his fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum so deep inside you” he growled, his voice rough and low, thick with need. The promise sent a shiver through you, igniting something primal as you moved together, his hips rising to meet each of your movements in perfect synchronization. “Keep going like that, yes” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Your body obeyed instinctively, the rhythm growing more urgent as the tension between you built. The impact of your bodies meeting sent so much pleasure through you, your chest heaving as your breasts moved with every motion. The heat between you burned hotter, his body taut beneath yours as his control began to stray. You could feel him getting closer with every deep, purposeful thrust, his need pushing you both toward the inevitable.

“Take it all baby. Fuck, I wish you could see how good you look right now” he growled, his voice rough with a mix of desire and command. His eyes locked into you as he watched your body move against him, the sight of you bouncing on his dick driving him to the brink of madness. The way your tight walls clenched around him was almost too much, pulling him deeper into a haze of pure, unrelenting need.

He felt your release building, the way your body trembled and tightened betraying just how close you were. “Not yet” he murmured, his voice strained, though it was as much for himself as it was for you. He was holding on by a thread, the fire in his core threatening to erupt. Truthfully, he’d been on the edge since he got you into this position, but he refused to give in just yet. He wanted to savor every second, knowing there were still so many rounds to come.

He leaned forward slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he rasped, “Keep going Y/n. Don’t stop. I know you can”

The raw command in his tone sent a shiver through you, spurring you on.

His hands moved over your body eagerly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your sides as if anchoring you to him. He explored every inch of you with reverence and hunger—tracing the curve of your thighs, squeezing your waist, sliding his hands up to press against your stomach as if trying to pull you closer, impossibly close, onto his throbbing dick. His breathing turned ragged, his words dissolving into guttural grunts as he fought to hold back, desperate to let this moment stretch out just a little longer.

Finally, with a raw, loud, groan of pleasure, he gave in to his climax, his body shuddering as his release overtook him. His dick pulsed deep inside you, each wave of ecstasy pouring into your trembling pussy. His arms locked around you with a possessive intensity, holding you firmly in place as he emptied himself into your eagerly waiting depths, refusing to let even an inch of space separate you.

For a moment, time stilled. His chest heaved against your back, his ragged breaths hot against your skin as he stayed buried inside you, savoring the aftershocks of pleasure that rippled through both of you. His grip on your waist softened slightly, shifting into something more tender, his hands brushing over your skin as though grounding himself in the intimacy of the moment.

He pressed his face into your hair, the scent of you pulling a low, satisfied hum from deep in his chest. “Damn” he murmured softly, his lips grazing the back of your neck as he nuzzled closer. “I fucking love you, Y/N,” he confessed, his voice laced with both affection and raw desire.

His arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as the heat between you lingered, neither of you willing to break the connection just yet.

Time washed away, each moment blending into the next until you collapsed against his chest, your skin slick with the lingering heat of passion. His arm wrapped around you, his fingers lazily tracing soft circles along your back as you rested your head against him. His heart beat steadily beneath your cheek, a soothing rhythm that grounded you in the aftermath of the whirlwind you’d just shared.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and gentle. “Best birthday yet?” you asked, your voice low and slightly drowsy but still tinged with that familiar mischievous edge.

He let out a satisfied hum, nuzzling against him. “Definitely. Though I’ve decided—next year, I’m getting my gift first.”

Your soft laugh rumbled through his chest, and you felt the vibration as much as you heard it. “We’ll see about that, love. You might have to pop a few viagra next year.”

You couldn’t help but grin, your eyelids growing heavy as the warmth of his body and the sound of his voice lulled you to the edge of sleep. “Viagra or not , now you’re stuck with this old man.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you murmured, your voice a soft promise as he held you close, the city lights casting a gentle glow over the two of you.

[peggyao3]

Here comes the Sun [2/2]

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha is the center of attention for an entire planet, but it counts for nothing because his favorite concubine isn't paying attention during the fight. How dare she ruin his birthday?

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, mixed POVs, mutual pining, gore, cannibalism ❗ (just a lil), Baron being a homie, Feyd has that bratty vibe, God Complex Feyd, jealousy ❗, other concubines begone, arguments, insults, hate love relationship, enemies and lovers, porn with plot, marriage proposal, vaginal sex, knife kink, pain kink ❗, smut in chapter 2, semi-public sex ❗, angst with happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

A/N: Girly wears a revenge dress, talks shit with the Baron and gets abducted from the banquet prematurely by a boiled egg.

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter

Vladimir Harkonnen was wrong. His nephew’s mood is anything but entertaining tonight.

It amazes him how a man in his twenties, who has defeated Paul Artreides, the false messiah of Arrakis, can still act like a boy just hitting puberty when a woman isn’t groveling at his feet. Feyd-Rautha refuses to deliver the annual speech he is supposed to give on the grand balcony, so the undulating mass of merrymakers on the hundred meter wide avenue is left waiting. Thankfully, with spice being dealt shamelessly among the hundreds of thousands, the celebration will soon turn into orgy and bloodbath alike, and the absence of Giedi Prime’s beloved na-Baron will be swiftly forgotten.

Albeit now dressed in a traditional, sharp-cut suit made of thick, synthetic fibers, Feyd-Rautha's face is the same as in the arena, now battling a foe whose main attack is absence.

It is two hours into the banquet when she finally enters and immediately becomes the brightest star in the obsidian colored banquet hall. And it is not due to her radiant personality, though that too is not to be underestimated. It’s because of the golden fabric that flows off her hips and chest like the molten gold and orange that a fiery alien sun might disgorge in a coronal mass ejection.

While even the esteemed guests from other Houses have chosen to match their attire somewhat to House Harkonnen by choosing rich, dark colors like mulberry and midnight blue, she has gone for the most provocative opposite, shimmering like  glossy amber. Instead of a preserved mosquito however, her amber cocoon seals a jealous animal that scowls at Feyd-Rautha as soon as his frenetic eyes target her from across the hall.

Life seems to return to Vladimir’s sulking nephew and his icy rage turns into kindling enthusiasm. Finally he can make his move. Nothing is worse than being ignored.

Strings start playing, each sound a low vibration in their ear drums and under the soles of their feet. The na-Baron and his partner of choice are expected to do the first steps on the shiny parquet. Expectantly, he raises his chin and she would like nothing more than to wrap her arms around his striking figure, cup his jaws that, despite casting a distinct shadow down his neck, have a roundness to their shape that she wants to kiss over and over.

Feyd had wanted her to dance with him. Here she is. Perfectly punctual. All he needs to do is walk over and ask her, but in his eyes, having left him waiting is her first move. So asking another concubine to dance is his.

He thinks he's being clever and proudly watches her jaws clench and shoulders stiffen. The anger in her eyes tastes better than any meal he's had today - until she looks away. She isn't supposed to look away.

As long as the strings play the first piece, Feyd dances with a total of three of his concubines. During and after each dance, his piercing gaze latches onto her like spearguns fired from seething tar, but he only meets the back of her head, and after a while not even that. A supermassive black hole obscures his view.

Baron Harkonnen floats to the woman in yellow and activates a barely used switch on his control panel. His massive frame carefully lowers itself, so he is almost on the ground and she may converse with his face without putting a strain on her neck.

“You missed the main course,” the Baron informs her and she is quite aware. For the main course, she would have been expected to occupy the seat on the na-Baron’s left while his uncle as the head of House Harkonnen sits on Feyd’s right.

“What a shame. I suppose I did catch a migraine in the end.”

“Lady Metulli sat at Feyd’S side instead. I was under the impression she couldn’t quite stomach his appetite.”

The woman in the bright dress nods. She is well aware of Feyd’s table manners. Being his uncle’s nephew, he categorically rejects cutlery and prefers to dig into raw meats with his hands and suckle blood and grease off his fingers - or make her do it. Luckily, she wasn’t there to see Lady Metulli purse her lips around Feyd’s fingers.

With rumbling laughter, the Baron adds: “She didn’t want the pill I offered either.”

“What sort of pill was it?”

“Anti nausea, of course.”

“And where is Lady Metulli now?” She must have thought Baron Harkonnen was trying to slip her a poison pill.

“Throwing up in the bathroom.”

At that, her mouth twitches and then she begins to cackle. The Baron’s gravelly breath sends plumes of vapor from his hookah into the air and she nearly chokes on it, but the coughing somehow only amplifies her laughter. Bystanders keep a wary distance to the strange duo. 

Baron Harkonnen snaps his fingers and a servant scurries to the remaining buffet which was moved to a long, sleek table along the side of the hall. They return with a black metal bowl and one red apple. The woman happily accepts the apple and imagines it's Feyd-Rautha's balls when she violently bites a piece out of it.

In her radiant dress, she occupies the center of the banquet hall like a luminary and Baron Harkonnen is her colossal floating satellite who drags a train of black matter after himself in the shape of his overlong robes.

Currently, Feyd-Rautha is a pale, icy asteroid who bristles in the periphery of these two peculiar celestial bodies, orbiting them at a safe distance. His dance partners have been discarded and the designated parquet is swarmed by guests who are supposed to be celebrating his birthday. But as the day draws to a close, praise and attention slip through his fingers like slippery blade handles. Defenseless, he stands at the edge of the dance floor and feels very alone.

Feyd doesn't know what they're talking about, but he has never wanted to gut his uncle more than right now.

“You should try one of the livers.” Vladimir offers her from his bowl.

“You know I don’t eat human livers.” The nonchalance with which she speaks to Baron Harkonnen makes a nearby representative from House Ginaz snap the stem of their glass.

The Baron hums. If with approval or disapproval, she can’t tell, but he plunges his own hand back into the slippery bowl and fishes a liver out. 

Good for her, that she refused. Feyd's jaw flexes under bone-white skin, imagining all the ways he would break her fingers and his uncle's. Feyd would rather draw a much closer orbit around his favorite concubine, but he will not allow her to let him flare up and burn down with humiliation so publicly.

“It looks like my dear nephew is still waiting for a birthday gift from you.” The Baron glances over to his chosen heir and feels almost sorry for him.

“And he can wait until the twelfth of never,” she spits.

A small, inky smile takes shape amid the Baron’s doughy face. She is a Harkonnen if he has ever seen one. If Harkonnen had hair and an aversion to human flesh. Furiously, she sinks her teeth into the red apple and juice dribbles down her chin, making her a sightlier twin of the Baron whose many chins sport a trail of grease.

She would make a good niece in law.

Night rolls in and the smoggy sky over Giedi Prime is black like ink. No starlight makes it through the thick atmosphere. The buffets have been swept empty by Harkonnen gluttony and the hall waits for one last thing, the finale of Feyd-Rautha's holy birthday.

A gasp sweeps through the guests when the walls slide up into the ceiling and a gust of warm wind seizes them, making skirts rustle and hair waft. Avidly, they spill past the sleek concrete pillars and out on the extended balcony. The putrid stench of Giedi Prime’s industrial landscape rolls into the air-conditioned banquet hall.

It is exactly one hour before midnight when the first firework whistles into the sky, pulling a tail of silvery particles, and explodes with a low bang that eerily echoes off pyramids and power plants.

She too, slowly advances towards the balcony, her attention snared by the extraterrestrial spectacle. The fireworks come in dozens, then in hundreds, blossoming colorlessly in the sky like parasitic cells under a microscope. They're beautiful.

A gasp escapes her mouth, unheard over the booming fireworks, when two wiry arms capture her from behind and pull her against a solid chest. What took him so long? Her belly flips with butterflies as Feyd-Rautha abducts her unnoticed from the celebration, pulling her back back back until the grand view over Giedi Prime vanishes from their view and the festive banquet hall is replaced by corridors like black tunnels. Only the occasional flash of a firework lights up the path before them and the visage of the pale demon who drags her along.

This is not the concubine's corridor.

Hands against her ribs shove her into Feyd-Rautha’s private chambers. Before her eyes can adjust to the darkness, his fingers are in her hair, tearing without care so the hairdo comes apart. “You've ruined my birthday and you enjoyed it!”

“I didn’t enjoy a single fucking second of this day!” Acting nonchalant only works when he’s not on her and all over her with violent hands and seething eyes, when the air doesn’t smell like his perfume oil. Her chest heaves and she will not cry.

“Then I must have imagined you having the time of your life with my uncle.” 

She tries to jerk her head out of Feyd’s grip, but he holds tight and she winces, her scalp stinging. “At least he was nice to me.”

“Perhaps you should be with him then.” Feyd’s jaw quivers.

“Your jealousy is ridiculous.”

“My jealousy?!”

“Well I’m jealous of the other women you fuck. You’re jealous of me talking to your uncle!” The fireworks are nothing compared to their voices, booming like the occasional earthquakes that rattle Giedi Prime’s volcanic crust.

Feyd threateningly lifts a finger, dark eyes simmering. “I asked you to dance with me.”

“Yes, after insulting our relationship.” 

He walks her deeper into his bed chamber, shaking his head as if to deny the allegations but he can’t, not really. It isn’t fair of her, he thinks. The na-Baron of Giedi Prime has many concubines. It’s his birthright and politically profitable. That he has been bedding only one of them for almost a year concerns no one but him.

Her walk backwards is only halted when her thighs bump into the edge of his bed where they lay only two nights ago and she had felt special in his arms, on top of him, under the weight of his body. Now she only feels like a toy and she’s not only sick of it, she also mentally can’t keep going.

“You are the center of the world, but who is the center of yours?” Her fingers curl into his thick suit jacket and he feels the little tremors in her muscles.

A lingering thought infests him, that her first assertion is a heretic belief, not a truth. The people in the avenues celebrate for the sake of it, the guests in the hall would dance and feast for any politically appropriate occasion. Perhaps his position at world's pivot is only one for show, where he is strung up as a puppet. His importance is the figure he represents, not the man he is. 

Feyd would so love to be the center of someone’s world.

His concubine’s face is angled upwards and the far echo of a firework sends a flash of silver over her features. “Making me jealous will only push me away, you dumb creature.” 

Oh.

He does love her fury, and when she insults him, his heart thrums a little needier. But what he doesn’t love is the note of tears that throttles her lovely voice. His jaws clench, fingers twitching against her scalp. He could throw her on the bed and punish her for the ruined day or kiss her and forgive her, but there’s an ache in his stomach that makes him do neither of the two. “I just… Don’t twist the facts!”

“Maybe you don’t have a heart, but I do. I didn’t want you to have it, but you—” She swallows as her voice cracks. “And now you’re chewing it apart with your heartless mouth.” The following shocks her, but it bursts like a weight off her chest. “Be with someone else! I don’t want to be your concubine anymore.”

Feyd’s heart (yes, he has one), drops into a void and he feels sick to his stomach, falling into the hole that gapes where the ground has been pulled from under his feet.

She tears away from him, hair slipping free, but Feyd catches her elbow. And as she turns back around, he viscerally drops on one knee.

“Then be my wife.”

The last firework explodes in the sky and they are left with a silence so quiet, one might just hear the universe’s heartbeat pulsing against the dome of the skies. A breeze wafts in and brushes her golden skirts against Feyd’s bent knee and he waits, trembling. She can’t say no. He would rather die a humiliating death in front of a million worshipers.

“Your answer?”

She knows, being a wife means nothing. Wives are why concubines exist. Wife is the ultimate empty title that has nothing to do with love, at least not among the Great Houses. Does it mean anything to him? Her mind swims with years and years of manipulation and forced assimilation and finally, the held-back tears spill over her cheeks.

“My conditions,” she boldly speaks and takes a deep breath, not allowing herself to fall into mindless euphoria despite how madly her heart beats and her stomach flips with butterflies. With controlled leisureness, she sits down on the edge of Feyd’s bed and nudges the tip of her shoe against the kneeling na-Baron’s sternum. “No concubines. No pets. I will be your only one. I don’t care which rotten cravings decay in your mind, I will be the one to fulfill them.”

Feyd's lips part and he draws in a quick breath. “Yes,” he breathes and his heart lifts itself from the pit that had swallowed it and Feyd inches closer, head craned back. The free hand slides under her skirts, needily catching her ankle.

“There is no need for anyone else. Tell me what you want me to do for you, I’ll do it.”

“I want you to watch the next time I fight.” Feyd’s nose and cheek twitch as the memory of today sends a sliver of rage through his nerves. Within a heart’s beat, her hand curls around his jaws, thumb rubbing over the twitching muscle. “And I want you to accept my proposal,” he growls much more needily. Blood has rushed to his cock, making it strain against the suit trousers.

“First… Hand me your blade.”

A small, gravelly moan rolls over plush lips and he releases her elbow to unsheathe the kukri from its holster. She takes it with deft fingers and presses it against his willing throat, watching with satisfaction as his pointy Adam’s Apple jumps against the blade. “What are you doing, woman?” Feyd drawls, hips weakly rutting into the empty space between them, not angled right to hump her leg, though he'd like to.

“Swear that I’ll be your only.”

“I swear it.” Feyd drawls without hesitation, pupils blown wide. Agitated breath fans her arm. He can barely wait to consummate their betrothal, squirming like a fish ashore, held at arm’s length by her will.

The clock ticks and Feyd-Rautha's birthday is nearly over. Pleadingly, he cranes his neck, shuffling on his knee. He is so eager to be devoted and brought to heel, when will she say yes?!  “Will you be my wife? Please.”

A heavy breath and scrutiny in tearful eyes, then finally, she breaks into a watery smile. “Yes, I will be your wife.” Happily, she sobs into the palm of her hand and the blade at his throat trembles. Feyd gives her no time to cry in peace and hauls her to the floor by the skirts.

The pair goes down on shiny tiles that reflect the golden material of her dress, barely gold anymore in the ambience of his dark chambers. Fragmented speckles of light dance across the floor as Feyd sifts through the layers until he has them bunched around her hips. Her thighs part willingly, latching around his narrow waist. She pulls close what belongs to her, making the na-Baron come flush with her pelvis.

Feyd claims her as frantically as she does him, calloused hands sliding along her waist to finally unwrap the birthday present she’s denied him all day, the only thing that mattered.

“I hate this dress,” he purrs. “You look like the wrong sun.” 

“Cut it off me then.” She offers him his own blade, chest arching off the floor. “Would you rather have me wear black at our wedding?” Excitedly, her breath hitches.

“No.” In fact, he’d be offended if she did. “I’d rather have you wear nothing and paint you black from the inside.” A flash of gold pervades the night when it reflects on the raised blade. A precise slash across her chest makes the bodice come undone between her breasts. The bite of metal misses her skin by a hair’s width. “Handing me back my blade… Did I teach you nothing?” Feyd purrs, sliding the blunt side over her breasts.

“I have my own.” Her breath hitches when her nipples pebble against the knife. Swiftly, she unsheathes her own blade from the strap around her hips under the skirts. The curved tip catches the button of Feyd’s trousers and slices straight through it, cutting a new fly into the thick material. His freed cock bobs against the flat side of her blade, the tip grazing his taut balls in a fatal kiss.

Feyd-Rautha moans, falling over her body to palm at her breasts and slide his mouth against her throat. She doesn’t have enough time to withdraw the blade from between his thighs and the way he whimpers tells her she has caught the delicate flesh. “Feyd, you idiot. Do you wish for me to dismember you before our wedding night?”

She pulls the blade away and seconds later, Feyd’s cock grinds against her center, slicking himself up with her essence. The velvety head rests heavily on her belly as he grinds his balls against cunt, relishing the sting of the wound. Blood drips over her folds, tinting the slick of her arousal black.

Forgotten, her kukri clatters to the floor and one hand reaches for his cock, the other for the back of his thigh, urging him closer as she lines him up with her entrance, wet but unprepared. It’ll be an adequate sting to match that of her betrothed’s incised testicles. Obediently, he follows, piercing her open with his cock head. A long wail escapes her as her cunt yields under pressure, then a startled gasp when Feyd’s knife is wedged inside the tight space between her two front teeth, so she cannot close her mouth.

Her cunt clenches fearfully around the thick length as he makes himself at home with languid thrusts. If the blade slips, he might just split her gums and lip. She doesn’t dare shake her head no and her tongue retreats far back into the cavity of her mouth, whimpering as he fucks her slowly, taking fascination in the way peril makes her slicker and her walls grip him in a fluttering embrace.

“Every rotten craving,” he cites her slyly. “Fuck.” A rapt look overtakes his eyes when she slides her tongue against the bottom of the blade, featherlight. She’s learned it from him, his favored way of testing the edge of a blade.

“You stole my show today,” he rasps, allowing her to wrap her fingers around his wrist to maneuver the kukri away. She pries it from his hand, then hurls it forcefully across the room. 

“You let me.  Maybe you like it when I bereave you, na-Baron.” The blade lands with a clatter.

“You bereft me of my other concubines.” 

The memory of them strengthens her fingers and she rips the jacket of Feyd’s festive suit open, digging her nails into taut, pale pectorals. “The Great Houses will be displeased.”

“Yes, they will be,” Feyd purrs, plush lips twitching into an excited smirk. “Maybe it’ll start a war.” He accentuates the word with a sharp thrust. The madness of his mirth over the idea is only slightly diluted by the arousal that swims in tar-black eyes. If her selfish claim sparks a war, she will have no regrets over it, because Feyd-Rautha is hers, tied by the heart, not by politics.

Her husband to be fucks her with frantic rythm until slick drips down her cheeks and turns the tiles below wet and sticky. They're both still waiting for the final nudge to come undone, so the night of their betrothal may go on forever. Her hands slide around the back or Feyd's neck, demanding kisses from plush lips and black teeth that glint in the dark.

“You looked so beautiful on your knees,” she moans into his mouth. “You should do it again.” Her gaze sweeps over to the balcony door and Feyd's follows. “You didn't deliver your speech, I heard, because you were, aahh, p-pouting.”

“Don't tease me, woman.” Feyd stands and pulls her up with him, arms hooked around her legs. His thick cock still twitches in her cunt as she wraps her legs around his waist. “Take off your dress.”

She obeys without question, heels of her feet digging into his lower back as she pulls the half-slashed golden fabric that's still gathered around her hips over her head. Feyd hums appreciatively, eyes gliding down her breasts and belly to the point where they're conjoined by the pelvis.

“Now my jacket,” he instructs and with a bit of awkward pulling, she manages to free the fabric from the clutch of her legs around his waist, then slides it off his arms one by one. Somehow, even with only one arm he manages to hold her firmly against his chest, slowly rocking his hips upwards, so her mind never stops reeling.

Last of all, Feyd kicks off his shoes and marches her over to the wall, grinning. “Feyd, what are you-? Wait.” A breeze brushes over her bare back as Feyd kicks the balcony door further open with and carries her out into the open, smiling wide with black maws.

A gust of turbulent, putrid wind catches her hair and turmoil swells from two hundred meters below, guttural chanting that could be celebration or it could be war, impossible to tell how many of them will look up to the palace pyramid and see the na-Baron's concubine seated on the banister and the na-Baron between her thighs.

Gasping, she clings to Feyd's shoulders, stripped of color entirely. The reflected moonlight barely makes it past the clouds, so they are swathed in somberness. It is a truly alien world, one that could really use a new sun.

Feyd-Rautha cants his hips, languidly thrusting into her cunt, pale arms circling her. A thread of slick comes off and drips into the abyss below, past the base of his thick cock. “Not the biggest fan of speeches. I prefer demonstrations.”

He fucks her on his balcony that overlooks Barony, the capital of Giedi Prime, cock drilling into her over the perilous chasm.

“You made me swear it, but you never promised me that I will be your only.” Feyd's plush lips curl into a snarl.

“Hmmm…” She pretends to ponder, a flash of amusement on her lips.

Feyd-Rautha however doesn’t take kindly to the playful hesitation and dips her dangerously backwards, smirking. Her life hangs in the arms of a psychopath and below her is nothing but gaping emptiness for two hundred meters. “I’d rather throw us both down there than share you!”

Her heart thrums like a shield, almost pierced by a slow blade. “I’d rather live another day in your arms, my na-Baron.”

Zestfully, he hoists her back up and resumes fucking her, possessive and rough, one hand tugging on her asscheek, the other clutching her waist. Her mind and nerves swim with pleasure. The euphoria of being claimed as his so brutally makes her want to laugh and cry, white teeth bared at the na-Baron.

He too stares at her, waiting, muscles twitching under pale skin.

“You think I can? When under me is death and a thousand Harkonnens watching?”

“You will.” Feyd leers, lips twitching. His cock drives into her center. Whimpering, she slides her hand between their bodies to rub her clit. “No.”

“No?!”

“You will cum from your husband's cock.”

The confidence that drips thick and velvety from his voice makes her head roll back, moaning. Her cunt flutters weakly, climax digging its tendrils into her core, eager to burst into full bloom. She angles her pelvis, squirming in Feyd's grasp, and props up one foot on the railing, trusting him to hold her.

And he does, laughing. Insanity lights up his eyes as he fucks into her, slap slap slap, pubic mound grinding against her clit. She arches her back and his cock nudges her just right, toes curling, lids fluttering.

“There, that's a good girl.”

She comes undone with a long moan, voice carried away by the putrid wind. Feyd-Rautha's lips and jaws twitch and he covers her open mouth with his. His eyes are open when he climaxes and fills her with his seed, their consummation on display for the whole of Giedi Prime.

Trembling fingers claw at Feyd's shoulders, dampened with a sheen of sweat. His chest heaves with raspy breaths and he raises a finger, trailing it over her throat and clavicle.

“My birthday gift.”

“The sex?” A gust of wind catches her face.

“No.” Feyd smirks. “You. My wife.”

FEYD TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

HCTS TAG LIST:

@ughdontbeboring

[throneofsapphics]

murder in her eyes

Nyx x f!Reader

Summary: Determined to claw your way out of your home camp, you decide it’s time to learn to wield the Illyrian bow, and your best friend won't let you learn alone. 

Word Count: 6501

Warnings: canon typical themes, sexism, violence, injury 

A/N: this is pretty much all inspired by one line from acofs that I think about too much.

“I’m jealous of you sometimes,” she admitted to Nyx. They were gathered on the outskirts of the village where he’d been sent to train. She kicked her feet out in front of her. The bark of the log she sat on cut through her thin summer pants, pressing into her skin. Instead of being painful or itching, it felt comforting and reminded her she’s still alive. 

“Why?” He cut a glance to her from where he was sharpening one of his knives. 

“You get to leave.” The absolute truth. She was stuck in this damn village likely for the rest of her life, unless she somehow managed to escape or marry into another. “And I’m just -,” you waved a hand, hoping that would get the rest of your point across. It did. 

“You’re allowed to leave at any time.” He recited, but she could tell he didn’t really believe it. There’s no official laws forbidding her from leaving. In fact, there’s one against it - written on paper by his father, but actually writing a law and enacting it are two very different things. At least she can’t be officially punished for trying to leave.  

“You know it’s not that easy.” Her last attempt hadn’t worked. Despite her friendship with Nyx, probably in spite of it, they dragged her ass back here. No matter how fast she flew, they were faster. They caught her, dragged her back and told her if she tried again they’d break her wings and make it look like an accident. One day, when she was fast and strong enough she’d get the hell out of here. But until then …

“I thought you liked it here.” Gods, she loved it. Illyria was beautiful despite its cruelty and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, but it became suffocating and all consuming especially as she grew older. Besides, it was all that she’d known, there was nowhere for her to compare it to. Unfortunately, with each year, the expectations to marry became stronger. Even though they let her train, they ridiculed her at every turn. Her father said it would make it almost impossible to marry her off, and frequently encouraged her to quit. Little did he know, saying it would make her undesirable for marriage was prime fuel for her to keep going. She refused to quit and accept her natural place, to let her ‘natural place’ be below, subservient, predestined. She’d seen and even spoken to Emerie, she knew who she could become if she truly pushed herself. Long ago she’d decided she’d work and work until she was never weak again. 

“I’m thinking about taking up the bow.” She switched topics quickly. If she tells him, and they find out … she knows they’ll make good on their promise. 

-

Rhys overheard a single sentence of conversation between his son and his friend. He’d been curious about the friendship at first, and maybe a bit wary but she hadn’t done anything outrageous, in fact she’s one of the few females who continued to train despite all of the leers and ridicule she faced. 

“I’m thinking about taking up the bow.” 

Many males couldn’t muster up the strength to take up the bow. Still, the line triggered something in his memory, something he told himself over a decade ago, during a visit to Windhaven. ‘If one of the girls decided to take up the Illyrian bow, I’d oversee her lessons myself,’ and stepped out of the shadows as if compelled. 

“I’ll oversee your lessons myself,” he pressed his back against a branch and tucked his hands into his pockets. The female jumped, her eyes wide. Nyx glared at him, pissed off that he was eavesdropping, or probably more upset with himself that he didn’t catch him. He didn’t particularly care too much, and his mouth quirked up at the corners. “Nyx can accompany you for lessons once a week, in Velaris.” 

The words came naturally, and he wondered if this was a plan written out by the mother decades or centuries before the two in front of them were born. Perhaps, and as much as his son’s potential love life intrigued him he had more urgent court business to attend to. Anyway, Nyx definitely wouldn’t appreciate his hovering or interfering, so he did his best to take a step back. His best wasn’t great, but it was something. 

“T-thank you, High Lord” she stumbled out and he frowned at the honorific, holding up a hand. 

“Just Rhys,” he gently corrected. She didn’t look completely convinced, but Nyx elbowed her, his eyes glazing over, saying something directly to her. He didn’t pry. Besides, his son had taught her how to keep iron shields locked up around her mind. It’s possible there was something else going on there. Not that Nyx would tell him … maybe he could convince Cassian to get it out of him, he’d always been more willing to speak to him about those kinds of things. He’d said he was ‘not great,’ after all. Rhys shoved the thought to the back of his mind for now, making a mental note to address it later. “Are you going to learn with her?” He asked Nyx. A taunt and a challenge. He’d wondered why it took Nyx so long to ‘agree’ - like he hadn’t just volunteered him - to learn the bow, but perhaps it was a who. 

“Of course.” Nyx glared at him. He could’ve sworn a blush covered his cheeks when he glanced back at her. He’d definitely be asking Cassian. 

-

She bit on her bottom lip, watching Nyx glare at his father. Learning the bow and a chance to leave Windhaven once a week sounded like heaven. Maybe it’s good fortune his father happened to overhear the conversation, even if it’s embarrassing. 

‘Not embarrassing’ she chided herself. There’s nothing embarrassing about wanting to train, wanting to learn to fight. Besides, if she learns to wield the bow - something several Illyrian males never learn to do, maybe that would finally prove her skill and worthiness.

Eyes a bit dreamy, she hid in the shadows, letting the cool embrace her as she watched a male return the Illyrian bow to its hold. Silver, well made, and nearly as tall as her. Heavy, too, based on what she remembered from the time she tried to steal one. That was a mistake. All she’d achieved was getting it stuck in the mud. To cover her scent, she’d spread more mud over it, and just caused rampant confusion in the morning. The males actually training with the bows had hell to pay for her mistake, but they’d always jeered at her for wanting to train so she didn’t find she cared too much. 

-

“Why haven’t you invited her to train with the Valkyries?” Nesta asked Nyx later that week, after his Father  - embarrassingly - announced he’d been learning to wield the bow, with a ‘female friend’ of his, causing a few intrigued looks. 

“It’s not like that,” he’d insisted, aware you'd have his head if you found out he gave any other kind of impression. Still, relaxed as he was around his family he maintained the perfect control taught to him from a young age. 

His uncle Cassian’s eyes lit up in mischief, but he caught Amren, who hated being called Aunt for some reason, sending a glare his way - backed up by Mor. At least the females were on his side. 

“I never thought of it.” His mother raised one eyebrow at him, calling out his bullshit, but didn’t comment. He’d thought of it, but he’s not certain she would want to train away from the village. That part was also bullshit, she’d do anything to get away from there, but if she was training with the Valkyries he’d never see her. Never see his closest friend. Just a friend. Cassian had grilled him about her, fishing for answers - if he liked her in that way. Even though he did, he wouldn’t act on it. She had enough males panting after her and didn’t want her to feel pressured in any way. If her family caught wind of his or her interest they’d either push her to pursue it to the ends of the world or do their best to drive her away from him. The last thing she needed was more pressure on her. 

Their conversation from the other day still lingered in his mind. ‘You know it’s not that easy.’ Had she tried to leave? If so, why wouldn’t she tell him about it? She knows he would help her. 

-

The string dug painfully into her cheek as she pulled it back, her wrist quivering slightly. She shouldn’t be glad Nyx was struggling next to her, but it reassured her. 

“Good.” She heard his father behind them, and they both lowered it. The lesson consisted of how to hold it, and practicing pulling the string back, time and time again. They’d done it for hours, but she wouldn’t complain. Not one word of complaint would leave her lips. She caught a glimpse of Velaris as they landed on a balcony. Nyx had called it the House of Wind. One level below, at a different training courtyard, females were practicing with swords, sparring with each other. Priestesses, most of them, with the blue robes but some others wearing Illyrian leathers. The Valkyries. She caught a glimpse of Emerie. She wondered if the female knew how idolized she was by a select few females. 

She’d heard of them in passing, mostly with sneers and snarky remarks but she thought it was admirable. A female from her village, Emerie, had helped found them, and was one of the original three Valkyries, a year or two before she was born. She wondered if she had to be a priestess to become a Valkyrie. Holy vows might be a bit beyond her. She refocused on the lesson, thankfully and sadly at an end. Nyx winnowed her back to Windhaven but had to leave quickly for some high-lord-in-training duties, and promised he’d be back the next day. 

Nyx had become the only reason she was staying sane over the last few years, and she thanked the Mother every day for that friendship, and that he’d never pushed or shown any interest beyond that. Of course, there was a tiny bit of attraction on her side but she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their friendship. Not a damn thing, and made sure her friends and family knew it was completely platonic. 

-

They were sitting in their usual spot, tucked out of sight from the village but not too far into the mountains, when he asked her a question she’d been dreading. “Have you tried to leave before?” 

She couldn’t lie to him, he always knew when. “Once,” she admitted and pointedly ignored the gaze branding into her side. 

“And you came back?” 

Not willingly, but she did. “Obviously,” her heart beat faster, her palms sweating slightly, and she prayed he wouldn’t ask if she did willingly. She didn’t want to lie to him, and didn’t want to answer. 

“Look at me.” His voice was deceptively soft and mild, but she looked at him and saw anger dancing in his eyes. He’d read right through her. “Who?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she shook her head, fixing her gaze firmly on the sunset lowering over the mountains, the sun perfectly aligned between two peaks. 

“It does.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him reach out towards her, but seemed to think better of it and withdrew his hand. She wished he wouldn’t have and cursed herself for wishing that. “I’ll find out.” He added when she didn’t reply. 

That caught her attention, and she snapped her head to him. “Don’t go digging into it.” Her voice was desperate, her nails digging into her thighs. “Please.” 

Nyx swallowed harshly, and frowned at her. “If someone hurt you, I want to know.” 

“It’ll make things worse.” 

His mouth parted slightly, ready to protest, but closed again. The way he looked at her made her feel like he had access to her innermost thoughts, could read right through her and see every little thing she was thinking. But - he wasn’t in her mind, he’d taught her to protect it and she would know if he was. The pause before his reply was only seconds, but it seemed to stretch on for eternity. 

“Alright.” A muscle in his jaw flecked. Her eyes darted to where his fists clenched. He wasn’t happy about it, but he could deal with it. She didn’t need a male savior anyway, she just needed her best friend. 

-

She hadn’t denied that someone hurt her, and he promised he wouldn’t go digging into it. But - he didn’t say anything about others. There’s several people he could ask to look into what happened after she tried to leave, but that felt like a betrayal of her trust. Still, a protective instinct in him flared, wanting to eliminate any threat to his … his friend. Nyx felt lost. He’d always known what to do next, where to find a solution, or how to help but she said it would ‘make things worse.’ If he told his parents, Cassian, or Azriel they’d probably go combing through the village to figure out what happened and she would suffer the consequences from that, whatever they might be. There’s one person he could ask … someone who had been in a similar situation. 

“Can you keep it from my parents and everyone else?” He asked cautiously. Mor raised a brow, but nodded. 

“Is it about your … friend?” Her red-stained lips curved into a smirk. Everyone knows about her, by now. The entire lot of them are complete busy bodies. 

“Yes.” He sighed, and her eyes lit up, “but not what you’re thinking.” 

She motioned for him to continue, and everything he knew about the situation - not much at all - spilled out. He saw anger flare in her eyes once, but for the most part she remained calm, listening carefully to each word. “What do I do?” He finally asked. 

Mor paused for a few moments, tilting her head. “Follow her wishes.” Gods that’s the last thing he wanted to hear. Apparently she could tell because she snorted. “Offer to help her, when she’s ready. Make sure she knows you will.” 

He could do that, he could wait until she’s ready to leave. The Mother only knew he’d wait a ridiculous amount of time for her, do ridiculous things to ensure her safety and happiness, just like she’d do the same for him. 

-

The lessons, in Velaris, started becoming her favorite part of each week. Every Friday, around dawn, she’d wait anxiously at the edge of camp for Nyx to come. Velaris was too far to fly in a day, reasonably, so she had to rely on him to make it on time. The one and only time he’d been late, they both paid the price for it and as soon as they got back to Windhaven, she berated him and told him if he did it again she’d cut his favorite part off. That seemed to get through to him because he was never late again. 

In the spare time she could find, she would practice. They couldn’t refuse her using one of the many bows set aside for training, not since they were trying to stay on the High Lord’s good side. In all honesty, both her and Nyx were absolutely terrible in the beginning, but slowly improved over the weeks. Painfully slowly. His father had reassured them it took years for him to master it. A few times, other members of the inner circle had appeared and mostly grilled her with questions as Nyx glowered at them. How her training is going in Illyria, her family, what she thinks of Windhaven, her favorite food, they were endless. She answered all of them very carefully, dodging around anything negative that could get back to them.  

She desperately wanted to see the rest of Velaris, and when she thought nobody was looking she’d take the time to peer out over the city. A river cut through it, and the entire place seemed vibrant with life - even though she couldn’t see any details very well. She never went beyond the House of Wind. Maybe when she finally left she could come live in Velaris. There had been brief whispers of the city, but several still believed it to be a myth. Residency there was by application or invitation only, and she didn’t know of a single Illyrian living permanently in the city. Perhaps she could be the first. 

She heard footsteps approaching her - heavy for Fae, and recognized the scent. Her father. Her entire body tensed as he appeared, stopping a few feet in front of her and looking at her with distaste. She’s used to that by now, the looks didn’t bother her, but the fact that he’s here now does. She hadn’t told him exactly where she goes, and he hadn’t bothered to ask. Still, he probably heard through rumors what she’s been doing. 

“What do you want,” She bit back a sigh, trying not to sound too disrespectful, adding “sir?” to the end for good measure. 

“You need to stop.” 

“Stop what?” Her voice grew sharper, attention now caught. 

“Going wherever you do, practicing with a bow.” 

She forced her breathing to stay steady, and tamped down some of the rage. “You can’t make me.” She didn’t bother asking why, the answer would be as useless as it was obvious. Female. 

“Accidents happen.” 

“Accidents are noticed.” She said through gritted teeth. 

“You can’t practice with a broken wing.” 

Her eyes shuddered closed. He would really do it, and she knew that. What could she do to stop him if he actually put his mind to it? Running away hadn’t worked, but this is one thing she finally had for herself, and was very reluctant to give it up. 

“It’s not my fault you were never good enough to master the Illyrian bow,” that was not what she intended to leave her mouth, especially not at full attitude. Not at all. Fuck.

His nostrils flared, eyes widened, and a crack as the back of his hand slammed across her face, her lip catching on her canine, tearing. She showed no reaction. She knew better. More blows rained, her wing twisted, she bit her lip to hide a scream. 

Maybe she was already stronger than him, but she wouldn’t know that strength as the child inside of her rose to the front, the old habits of learning to be small, to make herself palatable, to minimize the damage, reared.

By the time she broke free of the child-like mold paralyzing her, it was too late to fight back, she’d already been tossed out into the snow, door slamming behind her. 

It was Friday. She would be late. He chose his dates well. Her body was in horrible shape, she knew that, but the fear of disappointing her instructors kept her going. One foot in front of the other, wings lopsided with her left one barely hovering above the ground, body swaying back and forth with each step, vision blurring in and out of focus. 

Specks of blood sprinkled her footsteps, leaking down to decorate her clothing as well. Maybe they’d be late too, and she’d have time to make herself palatable. 

“She’s never late -” She heard Nyx - he was speaking loudly. 

“Oh you’ll have fun today,” Mor was picking them up this time. 

She knew when Nyx sensed her presence, felt the shift in the world as she passed between the two trees into the clearing, her companions a few hundred feet away. 

The sight of Nyx, of her best friend, made her feel like she could be whole again. 

“Sssorry,” the word slurred over her puffy lip, “I’m late.” 

They winnowed to her side and caught her just before she collapsed. 

-

“See what they did to her,” Nyx screamed to the room, Cassian’s arms still wrapped around his chest. 

His father’s rough hands brushed against his cheeks. 

“I see,” his voice was deadly and calm. Nyx didn’t care for calm right now. Not with her in the next room, looking so broken. He was ready to fly into a rage beyond anything reason could fathom. 

Catching the curt nod from his father, the panicked look in his eyes, Cassian’s arms released him and his father barely stepped in in time to grab him before he winnowed himself. 

A distant mountain range. Far from where he could hurt a soul. 

That was the problem, he needed to cause pain. Someone needed to pay. 

“If you kill them now, what will it solve?” His father asked. 

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. 

“Who’s revenge is it?” His fathers voice had dropped, but the intensity grew. “Would you take that from her?” Nobody knew her like Nyx did. Death, pain in equal or greater suffering, not just for herself but to save the next female. “For each male like that to die, another takes his place.” 

Why was he still. Fucking. Speaking. 

“And you haven’t managed to solve that,” Nyx said flatly, knowing the words would hit - would find their mark. He sensed the wince. He couldn’t bring himself to feel guilt now, that was for later. “What would you do if it was my mother lying in the other room?” Was he giving away too much? He’d kept the secret for so long it didn’t matter to him now. It seemed stupid, in hindsight, waiting for you to realize. “What would you do if it was your mate bleeding and broken?” 

“Hope someone would keep me from doing something she’d be pissed at,” he responded, a touch of shock to his voice. For some reason, that pissed Nyx off more than before. 

“Yes, I have a mate,” he enunciated each word so clearly it felt like he was spitting them. “And this place,” he waved a hand at the mountain ranges beyond in the vague direction of her home, “is killing her, day by day and i’m fucking helpless.” His knees hit the icy earth, pushing through the snow. The ground rumbled beneath him. “I can’t help my mate,” he whispered. A mountain top cracked somewhere in the distance. Birds flew. Wind howled. 

He repeated the words, screamed them with none but his father and the blossoming warmth in his chest as a witness. 

-

“By the mother, wake up,” Nyx half pleaded, half ordered. 

“I’m awake,” she countered. Again. How many different versions of this one conversation did they need to have? 

“I want my best friend back.” Yes, you’d been a little moody but its not like you disappeared to the ether lands. You were just … contemplative. There was a lot to think about. 

“She’s right fucking here,” she tried to add a bit of a sing-song lilt to her voice, but instead it cracked. Like a young male’s would. 

Pursing her lips together, she finally glanced at him, the laugh threatening to burst out of her chest. 

The amusement and tip of an insult in his eyes brought it out. 

Several minutes later, and slow breaths later, she’d calmed and her ribs slowed from a sharp pain to a dull ache. She didn’t dare express any kind of pain or discomfort to her mother hen, gods only know he’s enough of one now. 

“I should go back soon,” she said, without a whole lot of intention. 

“You’re not going back,” Nyx hissed. Oh. He caught her attention, and not in a good way. The sheepish expression on his face meant he knew it too. “Sorry,” he murmured, “instincts.” 

Instincts? Nyx had never used that excuse with her before. Well, perhaps it was a reason rather than an excuse. If he was in this bed … she didn’t want to think of the rage and damage she’d induce on his behalf. Of how much destruction she’d leave in the wake of her pain. If anyone dared hurt Nyx. Well, there were others that might get to the culprits first but she wasn’t too proud to beg for scraps. 

A gentle poke to her shoulder drew her from her swirling thoughts. “Hm?” 

“Where’d you go?” Nyx played with a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Her cheeks heated but he had the good grace to ignore that. There’s a lot they’d been ignoring recently.

Still, his question. There was no point in lying to Nyx, he’d always find out. “I was thinking of what I would do if I was in your place.” 

A too long pause before he replied, “and what would that be?” 

“I’d want to kill half of the world from spite,” she said with a grin, but meant each word. 

“Are you disappointed I didn’t?” He sounded oddly insecure. 

She snorted, “absolutely not. You know I can … can handle myself.” 

That last part felt like a lie. 

“I know you can,” he ran his thumb over the back of her hand, the movement so gentle yet connected. “I’m here to talk about it when you’re ready.” 

Not a command, not an order, just a pure statement of fact. She wished, in that moment and many others, that there was a chance of something for Nyx and her. It would make so much fucking sense, but it never quite worked out, and he’d shown zero sign wishing to pursue of feelings for her beyond friendly, even if they might exist.

It was enough to be his best friend, and she’d stick by that for the rest of her days if she had to. 

“You keep drifting off,” she heard the frown in his voice. 

“I am recovering,” she drawled. 

“And you keep trying to get out of bed.”

“Only because I shall go insane if I'm in this room much longer.” 

‘It’s been three days.” 

She missed the easy banter between the two of them. It meant everything to her to regain this small bit of normalcy. Nyx’s friendship meant everything to her, she refused to compromise it. It would take the cauldron itself, the Mother herself, and more to get her to so much as risk that. 

“I don’t understand how you’re so calm about this,” Nyx murmured, dragging his chair closer to her, winding their fingers together. He’d never done that before. Best friends, yes, but he’d never breached the barrier of physical intimacy, even platonic - the two of them always scared what it might be interpreted as. That could go unsaid. But now … she wasn’t in Illyria and perhaps he needed the reminder that she was warm and alive and breathing and here. 

“I’m not,” she squeezed his hand. “But I could give the females in theaters a run for their money,” a weak smile accompanied the statement. 

“Sure,” he laughed, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the center of her forehead, his lips lingering for a second. Her entire body tensed. His eyes bugged, he released her hand just as the door swung open. 

Madja, right in perfect or horrible timing. 

-

“You’ve never been to the theater,” Nyx said blandly, remembering her earlier comment.

She looked down at her hands, small scars general from life in Illyria flickering them. “I’ve read about them,” her voice was quiet, and he felt like an asshole. 

Read about them.  Nyx had taught her how to read, so many years ago, because she hadn’t read his favorite book and he desperately wanted to be her friend but in his mind it was impossible for the two of them to be friends if she hadn’t read it, hence reading lessons. She’d threatened him enough to earn a prison sentence during it, but obviously both the teaching and friendship worked. Beautifully, in his opinion. 

“I’ll take you,” he said a tad late, but she didn’t seem to notice. 

“In Velaris?” Her eyes lit up, shoulders pushed back but chest forward, leaning towards him. 

“In Velaris,” he promised, and got the sense that … It was crucial, somehow, that he showed her his city. He hadn’t gotten the chance yet, after all. 

She looked ready to jump up and cheer, so much so that he stepped closer, ready to help support her if needed. 

“I’ve always wanted -” her mouth snapped shut. He looked back at the door. Nobody. 

“Always wanted what?” Nyx pushed. 

A few moments pause. “To see the city,” she finally said quietly. 

He felt like an ass for not taking her to see it sooner. 

“Then you better rest up,” he winked at her. “I’ll be your guide.” 

With that, he had to leave. It was the most beautiful misery to be around you without you aware of the bond. For all of his bravado on the mountain, he still hadn’t the courage to tell you. One of these days, he’d find it. Nyx just hoped it wasn’t too late when he did. 

-

She frowned at his back. Leaving after a promise like that. Well, she supposed to him it might not be quite as world changing and ground shaking, but to her it seemed like everything in that moment, and maybe even something that ought to be celebrated. Or, the injuries still rattled her brain and she wasn’t thinking clearly. 

Nyx was good for his promises. That was a fact. He’d never broken a single one to her, and she’d never broken a single one to him. Hopefully, it stayed that way. 

Three thuds on the door, citrus and cinnamon flickering through the door - a scent she vaguely recognized. 

“May I come in?” A muffled voice sounded. It was a ridiculously thick oak wood door from what she could tell. She called her agreement, and the Morrigan - Mor - she mentally corrected herself, strode through the door, beaming. 

She was gorgeous, warm brown eyes and blonde hair, ruby red lips, and an effortless grace and confidence she wished she could channel sometimes. 

‘A free female,’ she thought. ‘That’s what a free female looks like.’ 

“How are you doing?” Mor asked, and she could hear the sincerity in her tone.

“The injuries aren’t healing as quickly as I’d like,” she admitted. “And I’m sick of this bed.” 

“I’m afraid if Madja orders bedrest, you’re quite stuck,” Mor shot her a sympathetic grin, like she’d been in that place before. Probably had. “As glad as I am to hear you’re healing, we have more unpleasant things to talk about,” her voice dropped just a tad, a sternness entering that made her back subconsciously straighten, “like what’s going to happen next.” 

She’d mentally prepped herself for this. The return to Illyria. She nodded, more to herself. 

A warm hand covered her own, squeezing lightly. 

“We won’t make you return there, not if you don’t want to.” 

Her heart dropped to her stomach, mouth parting, eyes widened, heart racing. 

The corner of Mor’s lips curled into a tentative smile, “we haven’t told Nyx about offering you a place here, although I suspect he would want to do it on his own. It’s important to - to me - that you get to make this choice of your own accord, with minimal influences.” 

In other words, she wanted her to have a true choice, for once. 

“I’m not ready to go back,” she admitted. “Does that make me -” 

“No,” Mor squeezed her hand again, refusing to let the words be spoken into the world. “If anything, it makes you brave to start over somewhere new.” 

At this very moment, she didn’t feel brave, but she supposed that could come with time. 

“We’ll make preparations to get you settled,” Mor started speaking and she did her best to pay attention, really did, but the healing tonic had a sedative effect and a yawn slipped. She laughed softly, “I’ll come back another time.” Mor stood, brushing down her pants. “For what it's worth,” she started slowly, as if uncertain. “I’m glad you’ve agreed to stay for now.”

“So am I,” she grinned. It took until she was drifting off to sleep for her to realize it had been implied she was staying in Velaris, that they’d assumed she would want to make this city her home. Maybe to another it would’ve been an insult, but it warmed her heart that they wanted her here. She felt quite special. 

-

Time passed, and she healed, in more ways than one. 

With some encouragement from Lady - no, just Nesta, she saw one of the priestesses from the library. That, she believed, really made the difference to her. Someone to listen without judgment, trying to fix things, or push themselves into her situation. She loved Nyx, as a friend of course, truly did, but he always tried to fix things for her and there were some things that were better left broken for a while. Not everything could be fixed, and she learned to accept her peace with that. She’d never have a relationship with her father, for one. Not that she was missing out on much. In her eyes, he’d grown irredeemable. Maybe that was the hardest lesson she’d learned. 

Lifting her pen from the paper, sticking it back into the ink pot, she blew lightly to dry the ink. Transcribing for the priestesses was slow, but she’d insisted she have some kind of work, and turns out she had a knack for deciphering nearly illegible handwriting. 

“How do you read that?” Nyx asked. She was thankful she’d already put the pen away, otherwise there might have been ink thrown all of her hard work. 

“I’m used to reading your notes,” she retorted. 

It was another book, you bit back your squeal of delight. You’d nearly begged him to bring another after you’d finished the first. It was slow progress, considering you were technically still learning how to read, but he’d chosen books that just worked. 

Each one had a series of notes, tucked in between pages at parts Nyx thought were particularly important, and thought it was highly important you hear his opinion on those parts. 

He snorted. “My handwriting is elegant.” 

“Glorified chicken scrawl.” 

He made a sound of mock offense, she bit down on her lip to hide a laugh, ducking her head. The sound of his laughter pealing through the air brought hers out. 

“Are you ready?” He asked when they’d both calmed somewhat. 

“I’m not finished.” It was a half-truth. She could be finished, but she didn’t want to be. 

“You’re working too much,” he complained. 

“I’m earning my keep.” 

“You’ve done enough for the day,” Nyx insisted, sliding the book further away from her. 

She sighed and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. He looked so earnest, and she hadn’t actually seen that much of him recently. Just his presence made something warm bloom in her chest, like always. Nyx had always been her warmth. A warmth he showed to a select few, but receiving it felt like the most precious gift and she found herself with an inexplicable chill of sorts without him nearby, like an itch she could never scratch. A subconscious smile crept onto her face, and she started packing her things. Only because it’s him, she told herself. She was lucky to have him as her best friend, she wouldn’t trade the friendship for anything. 

-

Three days later, the theater was back in season and she was aching to go. Mor - mother above it was still a little strange to call her that - took her once last season and she absolutely adored it. The costumes, the actresses and actors, the talent, the music, even the way they painted their faces for the crowds. Every bit of it made her heart feel full in a way she hadn’t realized was possible. 

But tonight, the first night of the season, when the stage should have her full attention she was stuck on the male next to her. Beautiful in his well fitting dark suit, stitched with gold and violet accents that brought out the varying shades in his eyes. 

Beautiful. She’d just called her best friend beautiful. Well, she supposed it was the truth. Nyx was one of the most beautiful, she was getting sick of that word, Fae she’d encountered. It didn’t mean she liked him or was attracted to him like that. Friendship. Friendship was good, safe, and she liked safe. Losing him would wreck her and she absolutely couldn’t afford to put her new life in jeopardy, even if her heart craved him, even if lying to herself was destroying her a little each day. 

“This is ridiculous,” Nyx sighed, leaning back in the seat. The two of them had managed to get a box to yourselves for the night. Well, Nyx managed it. His elbow brushed against hers. 

“I thought the play was done quite well,” she murmured. They were approaching the closing scenes now, she could tell at this point. 

“Not that,” he reached over and covered her hand with his own. 

“Wh-,” she started. 

“Watch the play,” he cut her off with a mischievous smile. Grinding her teeth together, she listened for once. 

Watching the play was bullshit. He knew she wouldn’t be able to focus on it, not with how right his skin felt on hers and how his thumb gently brushed back and forth across her knuckles. 

They both stayed until the theater cleared out, Nyx’s shield keeping the workers from coming into their box. 

“Did you ever get your revenge?” 

She knew what he was talking about. “Not the way you expect,” she flipped her palm so she could squeeze his hand. “Revenge doesn’t always have to be ice cold or bloody, sometimes it can mean living your best life and thriving without them.” Nyx paused, like this might be a foreign concept to him. It probably was. “But I’ll get the kind of revenge you’re thinking of when I'm ready. Although, I think hearing whispers of me living here, of my existence being possible outside of their bubble may hurt more.” 

Nyx frowned, “I don’t know about that one.”

She was suddenly aware of just how long they’d been holding hands, and moved to withdraw hers. He clutched on tighter, as if her touch was the only thing grounding her to this world. She stilled. Whatever was happening, it was the beginning of something else, and that terrified and excited her in ways her brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. In ways only he could. 

“Can I get a pass to do something potentially stupid?” Nyx asked. 

“Depends what it is,” she replied automatically. 

“I can’t tell you,” did he sound a touch pained or was she hallucinating? 

“Fine,” she said with mock annoyance, mainly because she was curious and maybe a little hopeful. 

But Nyx wouldn’t - 

A palm brushed against her cheek, and he did.

-

acotar taglist: @yeonalie

[meanbossart]

Ask compilation: I'm Starting To Think That This Drow Guy Is Kind Of An Asshole Edition.

Probably a Ranger in the hunter subclass. I actually intended to multi-class him as fighter/ranger at some point and make that his official class, but I haven't had time/quite figured out the best build that would still suit him - Ranger makes a LOT of sense with his backstory, arguably more than fighter, but he's still supposed to be a magic-less brick-house with 19 strength who hasn't handled a bow and arrow in 10 years, so I'm not sure where that leaves us LOL

A lot of people have suggested that Berserk Barbarian would fit him well, but I think that implies a lot of other characteristics that do NOT suit him at all so 🤷

HE DIDN'T EVEN GO TO THE CRECHE, and honestly it made the game feel much more immersive to pick one path and stick to it like Halsin suggested, even if I did have to endure the shadow cursed lands without the shiny mace 😂

Probably for the best, it'd be a real shame if the story ended there just because he didn't like Vlaakith's attitude.

But yeah Lae'zel (who, for the record, I adore) never stood a chance in his playthrough. Sorry baby girl.

I'm either uninformed or we have different definitions of what constitutes a crush, but sure I'll play in this space LOL

He's both jealous but also kind of aloof when it comes to things like that. It's yet another symptom of his arrogance, where it seems unfathomable that anyone who has him would be genuinely tempted by someone else. He doesn't mind a normal amount of glance-stealing and flattery, even playful flirting to a degree, but if there's persistence or if his partner seems to seek another person out for things he thinks he should be providing, he feels threatened.

Also, he has a difficult time discerning that "deep emotional connection" does not equal "romantic interest". So, at least immediately after the events of the game, he's more likely to be made insecure by his partners forming deep bonds with others than any throwaway expression of physical desire or fleeting infatuation.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Let me preface this with the (hopefully unnecessary) disclaimer that this murderous dark-elf's opinions are not my own, and that I very much purposefully made a bit of an asshole character because I find that entertaining.

And now that you're hopefully primed for what's coming - DU drow is pretty damn judgemental of people's looks save for the rare times when they give him a good impression right off the bat. He notes people's appearances and makes preemptive assumptions about them without even realizing it. He definitely does not equal beauty to value or prowess (in fact he will very much still mock of you if you seem too concerned with your appearance) but he does prescribe things based on looks.

I don't think he'd take issue with what you're describing, It sounds like a pretty average body, but he would assume that person is weaker and less fit to "keep up with him", basically. Which kind of diminishes interest.

As far as to what he finds immediately attractive, he definitely prefers people who seem physically fit (not more than himself though - gods forbid). But, the caveat to this whole tangent is that once you get past initial impressions, he could definitely come to be sexually attracted to pretty much any type of body attached to the person he's in love with.

Thank you! There was no main event, just the building up of resentment over time and the opportunity she saw opening up when the Chosen's plan came into motion. She definitely didn't always hate him though, they had a fairly close relationship until his obsessive behavior and arrogance became an issue.

Thank you!!!

They call him the/that drow, dark elf, or "big drow" if there's more than one present. In private they might facetiously call him Bhaalspawn if they get tired of referring to him by race.

I'll be honest, I forgot whether or not I found it in his playthrough LOL but if he did stumble across that would be VERY funny. He'd be like "look at these idiots and their fake murder god. What kind of dimwit would worship carnage as a religion. Hey Shadowheart get a load of this-"

HAPPY YOU ENJOY HIM! I think his unique situation overall with having been such a overwhelmingly horrid person and forgetting all about it is my favorite bit. That's kind of vague, I know, but I often think of dreams I've had where I committed a crime or did something horrible, and that immediate feeling of relief and disconnect that follows immediately after waking up. That's kind of what I imagine it's like for him - he knows of the things he did, but he doesn't really. In theory it's all true but that's a truth far too fantastical for anyone to conceptualize even if it's put right in front of your face.

That, tackling the guilt (or lack thereof) of something you genuinely don't feel like you've done and the intricacies of it, that's a fascinating state of mind to explore. I love how many directions you can take that.

For me, having a character who is not good, but is not necessarily pure unadulterated evil, makes for a lot of complex thought experiments and contradictory values. DU drow has a lot of those - things he believes and abides by absolutely except for this specific instance, being contradictory is a pillar of his character and it can be a little challenging to keep up with it - but I'd be lying if I said I don't deeply enjoy that aspect as well all the same.

THANK YOUUUU It took me so long to figure out how to draw Astarion in a way I liked, I'm so relieved that others enjoy it too 😂

Shockingly he did succeed it and was immediately put-off by it, lmao. They wouldn't really develop much of a relationship for a while after that, so at that point DU drow just figured he was trying to get something from him and wrote him off, much as he did with everyone else with the exception of Shadowheart.

He didn't meet her at the Tiefling grove! I didn't even know you could meet her before-hand for the longest time. But he did super, duper kill her at camp of course.

He managed to hide the body and everyone else was none the wiser, huge blood bhaal-sigil on the ground aside lmao. He was a little shocked but didn't feel all that bad about it, kind of resigning to that primal feeling of satisfaction at a job-well-done that overwhelmed him instead. He decided she was too weak to survive out there and he had just spared her the trouble.

[wakeup01]

Hey, is it still open ? If it is, I've got something to ask. See, the university that I attend is apparently quite focused on sports, when compared to degrees such as mine in linguistics. It means that, on my way to class, I see a lot of hot men with great hairstyles, and I've always felt a bit jealous at that. Don't get me wrong, I love the eyecandy, but it always made me wonder what would happen if, one day, I entered the wrong building. Could you help me to see what would happen ? Just as an experiment, of course, I want to go back to my degree nice and easy after that...

Team Player

Linguistics? Oh dear, oh dear. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you won’t be getting anywhere with that. But don’t worry, I’m feeling generous today. Okay, listen up. It’s very simple, all you have to do is follow that hot jock with the gelled blond hair to the left. No, no, not the right, the left. Take note of his smile. The way he laughs at literally nothing. Why? Oh, no reason…

Whoops. The locker room you say? What a blunder. Egg on my face, I tell ya. But while you’re there, maybe it’s worth taking in the sights and….smells. Every step is like walking through the humid air of the jungle, a breeze of sweaty jockstraps assaults you from every direction as the Football team get changed. You fail to avert your eyes from their hot glistening bodies, the display of pure strength and testosterone.

The jock you followed in notices you, notices certain inadequacies that need amending if you’re gonna be on the team. The team? Yes, the team. That messy hair for one. You barely get the opportunity to argue as he sits you down and scrapes the clippers across your skull. The buzzing sound makes you shiver. An overwhelming lightheaded feeling allows him to easily tilt your head down and mow the back. Running his hands through what little remains as he gells it up into a spiky jock style. Patting your strapped rear and padded thighs as the dirty, preused tight leggings pull up your legs and cover your cupped crotch. Your mouth opens, opens before your brain has engaged, just hanging ajar for several seconds. “B—bro.” The word is more of a proclamation than anything else. You impulsively adjust your junk, a clear shadow visibly outlines where your big balls push the cup outward.

He tells you that the newbies are liable if the team loses. That would be you. Taking one…or many, so to speak, for the team is the accepted punishment. He tells you this while stroking at his own cupped groin, a rather large bulge growing as you swallow hard.

Before you know it, you’re completely kitted out in the heavy uniform, a thick helmet lowering over your head - silencing those niggling doubts in the back of your increasingly tiny, sports obsessed mind. It’s like a deprivation chamber for your head, your inner monologue being blocked. The only thing that matters to you now is the game.

The game.

The ball.

The team.

The… punishment.

The twitching of your cock and ass makes you wonder if losing would be all that bad. You stand up and admire yourself. You barely recognise what you see, uncontrollably getting turned on by your own appearance. Were your arms always that chunky, that tanned? Like prime cooked beef hanging from your wide shoulders. Looking like a proper jock boy…smelling like one too. Huhuh. You turn, smiling dimly back at your bro. Laughing out loud for a reason you don’t remember. Uhh, I’m sure it’ll come to you…eventually.

I mean, you’re just trying out something new, right? No harm done, you rationalise as you sprint and achieve your first touchdown, your memory of…le..lin….lingizztics? Completely knocked loose from your ‘bro’d out, empty head.

Of course, the team loses anyway. Though you, and the rest of the team have suspicions about how accidental your ‘fumbles’ really were. Never-mind, that didn’t matter so much anymore, not while the whole team form an orderly queue behind your bent over rear. Your blonde bro is first up, he spreads your sweaty cheeks wide, spits on your crack and lines himself up for the ‘shot’. “You ready to learn how to handle some balls dude?”

“Hell yeah brah!”

[birdsong-goeson]

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend part 9 *final chapter* (4.9k words)

Summary: Final chapter! Valeria thinks of the past as you're released from custody. She wants the two of you to move on but she can't shake the feeling that there's still danger to be faced. Warnings: lesbian smut Note + tag list at the end Link to A03 Link to masterlist with all the parts

Valeria thought of the moment you met. Or rather, the moment she met you because you hadn’t noticed her.

It was many years ago when she was a soldier of the Mexican Army, when she was younger and lost. When she would wander the streets of Las Almas on her days off, unsure of what she was looking for. Back when her skin was tighter, her voice quieter, when she used to follow other people’s orders. It was another hot day when she got sent out of the headquarters to fetch some lunch for her squad – her most loathsome task. She hated how she’d run into other female soldiers her age during the lunch run and feel the burdened femaleness of the task. Hated having a male squad leader who found every chance to shove her in the kitchen by making her fetch something from one. She felt like an armed waitress. And worst of all, she hated the conversations that would happen when she was not there, when the team was finally ‘free’ to speak its mind without having to worry about offending someone. But she bit her tongue and said nothing. It was like a rite of passage for people like her. The go-to kitchen was one run by old Renata, an aged woman who ran a tiny thing in the corner that was able to produce an incredible amount of delicious food. Renata was a small, capable woman who sped around the place fulfilling everyone’s orders. There were never any complaints, and it was close enough to the headquarters that most soldiers used it as their prime takeout spot. She was open from noon till late and was favoured enough that Renata never had to worry about security because there were always soldiers there. Renata winked at Valeria as she approached the kitchen, which was already steaming with food. The restaurant was on the ground floor of a blue building; the restaurant dwelled on the ground floor and the upper floors were for residents. The outdoor part of the kitchen included a counter with stools and some outdoor fridges full of drinks and lollies. Large pans cooked steamy food at the front whilst a narrow, dark hallway led to an area in the back where the rest happened. The smell of spiced food and the loud sound of the fridge containing ice cold drinks were delightful to Valeria’s senses. She held a piece of paper in her hands.

“Valeria, my sweet. What can I get for you?” Renata asked with that warm, maternal glow that some old women had. It made a painful lump emerge in Valeria’s throat; she swallowed it down. Valeria slid the note to her. “Just the usual, Senora. Thank you.”

Renata glanced at the paper and smiled as Valeria took a seat on one of the stools by the counter. “I’ll add it to the tab,” said the woman and vanished to the other side of the kitchen. It was a hot day yet still busy, even with regular civilians eating or picking up food. Valeria’s mind wandered to things that were occupying her at the moment when she saw the flash of a hair ribbon flicker from the hallway. A shadowed figure moved around hurriedly, moving cartons of stuff per Renata’s instructions. The old woman emerged again with packaged food to give to someone. There was nothing interesting about a hair ribbon, plenty of girls wove them in their plaits. But for some reason, Valeria’s eye stayed fixated on the spot, waiting to see that colour flicker again.

“It’s my granddaughter,” said Renata whilst wrapping something in plastic. Valeria looked around only to realise that Renata was speaking to her. “You have family?” Valeria asked before she could stop herself. But Renata only laughed, the sound was like the jingle of bells caught in the wind.

“Oh yes, plenty. I just don’t like to share my business, but that one’s good. She’s helping out for a bit.” Renata bagged some drinks and held them out to Valeria.

The ribbon flickered again, the colour shone from the few specks of light that fell on the shadows. It was a soft purple colour and attached to a long length of hair. There was something in the way that it glided amongst the darkness of the hallway, how it followed the curve of your movements. It danced like a fallen flower petal and although Valeria was not particularly feminine, there was something that drew her to it. But before she could see more, she had her bag of food and had to return. Curious to see more, Valeria returned right before Renata closed up the place with the excuse that she came to cover the tab.

And that’s when she saw the rest of you. Your skin glistened with sweat underneath the lamp lights, Valeria saw you at work from afar before she approached. A girl with quick hands bobbing her head back and forth between pans, a fistful of paper orders leaking from her front pocket. Large, beautiful eyes that fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. You shone a polite smile at Valeria, acknowledging her as a customer whilst you finished serving someone. Valeria knew from that moment that you would be hers, pure intuition told her so. And so she enjoyed this moment where you were still complete strangers, because soon enough you would be more than that. There was something about the tense line of your mouth as you concentrated, the way it hid your lips that made Valeria want to reach in and remove what ailed you.

“Sorry, what can I get you?” You asked, your hands reaching for a plastic container, waiting for the name of a food. Instead, Valeria outstretched her hand.

“Valeria Garza. Sergeant.” It was something about the way Valeria’s way of speaking that made you look up and see her properly. She had that look soldiers had, that straight back and tone of authority, no matter what their actual rank was. You saw plenty of her people every day who just wanted a service and nothing more. But this one spoke to you. Something fluttered in your stomach when you shook Valeria’s hand. Her hand didn’t hold itself against yours for a few seconds the way that polite handshakes did. It fit your palm perfectly and as Valeria removed her hand, you felt the ends of her fingers caress the length of your palm as if hesitant to lose your touch.

“Y/N,” you said.

Valeria remembered this as she saw you changing your clothes right before your release. The ‘day’ of your release was actually a night as a matter of safety. It was thought best to release such a high-profile person as Valeria when the prison was closed for the night, to avoid the traffic of visitors. The two of you were the only ones in the room but you still covered parts of you whilst changing. Valeria looked at your hair wistfully. “Why don’t you wear ribbons anymore?” She asked.

You looked at her confused and shrugged. “I don’t know. One day I just stopped.” You continued changing. Many years had passed since you met; your body and your hair had changed. When you met, you were young enough to not have quite filled into your womanly features. Those last remnants of puppy fat that cling to women in their early 20s were gone, parts of you were plumper than they used to be, and your hair had changed too. But none of that changed how Valeria looked at you, that twinkle of adoration.

“Yes, but why?” Valeria sat there, staring.

“It’s like the last day you went to play outside. I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t realise it in the moment. But I just never did it again.” You saw how Valeria looked at you in that moment, her dark eyes taking in your body, a hunger. Her lips were pursed. “Is it because you used to do it for Diane?” Valeria saw your movements falter for a second. You scoffed lightly. “When did you remember her?” You mumbled to yourself and stood straight, brushing down your clothes. “Did you though?” Valeria asked. You folded the prison attire and left it in a box. “I told you, baby. I don’t know.” There was a nervous impatience creeping into your voice that Valeria didn’t like, but it was understandable. The closer you got to freedom, the harder it was to stay in there. Valeria knew her question was provocative and frankly unnecessary, but she couldn’t stop herself. She could sense a change in the wind, but Valeria could not yet understand what was happening “I miss them,” said Valeria softly, thinking of the ribbons. She had changed to her usual attire, a black turtleneck clinging to her upper body with her classic chain around her neck. Her work belt was waiting for her past the upcoming security check and she felt its absence on her waist like a phantom limb. Visions of the past had started haunting her recently, creeping up in her waking moments. She wasn’t usually this sentimental and spaced out, but something had changed recently – you could tell. She was becoming…not softer, but wistful of things that were no more. Her fuss about the ribbon was just the latest. She would randomly ask you about what happened to that old garment that you wore on your first date. Or what happened to that bracelet she got you on your first anniversary? And what about that dessert you stopped making?

“What do you think old Renata is up to now?” She asked and you just about lost it. You breathed carefully to calm yourself before turning to your wife, who was now rising from her seat. You caught her hands and placed them on your cheeks, and it snapped Valeria out of her trance.

“Val,” you said in no more than a whisper. “We’ve talked about this.” Your eyes held Valeria’s dark ones, silently pleading for her mercy. Valeria nodded and looked away.

You thought about this change in her behaviour as you left the facility. It was not lost on you that Valeria was getting older and had an atypical, queer life. The regular marks of life were lost to the two of you; you had no children, no ‘regular’ income with Valeria’s operation, and no holidays with family. The two of you were your own unit and were happy. But recent events had pulled the rug beneath Valeria’s feet, and you wondered if she was starting to question the point of all this. The heavy metal door of the entrance opened up to the darkness of the outside world. It was a cloudy night with no moonlight and no stars, but the fresh country air brushed your cheeks blissfully.

Security was tight, you made out the shapes of guards everywhere you looked and there was a cacophony from the barks of police dogs. Harsh white lights were set to guide you towards the helipad where Valeria’s helicopter rested. And there, amidst the harshness of the yard, was an unmarked vehicle and a woman leaning on it. Her eyes were set on the pair of you as you stepped out. Valeria tightened her hold on your hand.

“What is it now? She whispered to herself as you walked forward. More was visible of that woman as you got closer. She was a middle-aged white woman with a neat, prim appearance. Her hair was a pale colour, somewhere between blonde and white, kept in a neat bun. And her eyes were a piercing blue colour. In fact, she could’ve been older. Her eyes never left Valeria. This usually happened on the rare occasion that you were introduced to someone in Valeria’s presence – they spoke to both of you but really, they spoke to Valeria. Valeria let out a strange noise as she recognized the woman.

“Valeria and Y/N Garza,” she said and glanced at you momentarily. “Congratulations on your release. I wanted to personally apologise on behalf of Task Force 141 and Los Vaqueros for the terrible mishandling of your extraction.” Those pale, disconcerting eyes turned to you. They reminded you of a snake. “And I want to personally apologise to you, Y/N Garza, for your terrible treatment during custody. I want to assure you that the person responsible has-"

“Speaking to my wife is a privilege,” Valeria’s cold voice interjected loudly. “No one has it, and especially not you, Kate Laswell." The woman, Kate, pursed her lips together and nodded. She seemed like a powerful woman to you; the way she stood with perfect posture, the neatness of her appearance. And most of all, that shiny American badge handing off her heck. And yet she allowed herself to be scolded by Valeria. "I understand you’re upset, and you have every right to. I just wanted to affirm the terms of our agreement-" “If you want to communicate with me, you have my lawyer’s details. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a home to return to.” Valeria said and nodded her head towards the helicopter, which was now moving its fans rapidly. “Come on,” she mumbled to you. The two of you started walking around Kate, but that woman turned to you again. “I would have done the same for my wife,” said Kate. Valeria stopped and glanced back at Kate with disdain, it was a glance so full of disgust that it made you look away. “You’re nothing like me,” Valeria spat out.

Valeria turned and helped you up the helicopter, then entered herself. There was something about the desperate gesture of goodwill from another woman-lover that felt too precious to allow to disappear. This woman didn’t have to do this, but she still chose to be here, like a daffodil emerging of out of deep snow at the beginning of spring. Unexpected, but welcome. You turned to look at the woman one last time, but Valeria saw what was about to happen and slammed the door quickly before you could say anything. The helicopter lifted off the ground immediately. You turned to her sharply.

“I wanted to thank her,” you complained. Valeria said nothing as she put on her headpiece and began handling the helicopter’s navigation. You gazed out of the window as the world got smaller. Kate didn’t take her eyes off you until she became just another tiny thing on the ground. You wondered what all this was about and tried to release your curiosity. It was probably to do with whatever Valeria did to have you released, that terrible thing she wanted you to stay out of.

After what seemed like forever, you could see the familiar shape of your estate come into focus. You all but leapt out of the aircraft when it touched the grass of your home, which you noticed was trimmed. Valeria must’ve had the place cleaned up and maintained during your time in custody. You noticed Valeria’s frantic scrambling for anything that might have been mailed in, and soon enough the ‘business’ part of the estate was in full swing. Men ran around per Valeria’s loud orders, her shouts echoing down the many hallways. You tried not to feel hurt when she entered her study and locked the door behind her. You headed for your golden bathroom and filled the tub with hot, soapy water.

You immersed yourself inside and tried to clean yourself of all that happened. You washed off the cold looks from the man with the skull masked, scrubbed off Alejandro’s threats, and rinsed off the old skin of a body that dwelled in confinement. You then lathered your body with all the scented creams you could combine until you smelled like a flower nymph, you dressed your body in the silkiest garments you could find. Anything to return to the woman you were before Alejandro had leapt inside yours and Valeria’s bedroom.

You were almost asleep by the time Valeria returned. Her steps were so quiet that she startled you when she suddenly slipped inside the sheets, coming to spoon you from behind. She burrowed her face in the nook of your neck and inhaled deeply, you felt the softness of her skin on your back as she held you close. As she exhaled, you smelled the faint linger of nicotine in her breath and grumbled. “Just for tonight, baby. I’m sorry.” She said and gave small pecks to your jaw and then the back of your ears. “You smell so good,” she mumbled and tugged at your ears with her teeth. One of her hands roamed the length of your figure and you leaned back towards her body, feeling the soft and hard parts of her. The softness of her chest and tummy, the firmness of her upper arms, the strength of her legs as they snaked around yours and held you in place. You turned and shared a big, long kiss. You tasted the faint linger of smoky nicotine in her mouth mixed with the tangy sweetness of alcohol. She had celebrated your return home in her own way.

Valeria pulled back from you. “What if we left?” she asked, her lips almost touching yours. Her eyes were closed as she said this, and you nuzzled your face to hers. Suddenly, you felt how cold she was: she must’ve been smoking outside. It was something she did rarely because you hated the smell and you had always warned her about how it would yellow her teeth. It was a hard habit to break and although she was mostly clean, there were moments where she just needed a smoke.

You cupped the back of her head, the softness of her hair awakened something inside of you. A hunger, a warmth that glowed within you; you felt the same thing linger in Valeria’s body, down her legs and in her abdomen. The silence of the estate reminded you of your returned privacy. “I’d follow you anywhere,” you whispered and kissed her. Valeria moaned into the kiss, that delightful sound buzzed on your skin. She held your face with her hand, deepening the kiss until your bodies were desperately crashing into each other. Sloppy, wet kisses were interrupted by the shuffle of your bedsheets as you clawed at each other’s layers, begging to see and feel the other’s skin.

“You’re so cold, my love,” you whispered as Valeria pulled down your nightgown. Your breasts came into view and the sight elicited a soft noise from your wife. Valeria’s eyes darkened as she looked at them. She removed her final layer and tossed it across the room. “Come warm me up,” she said and pulled you on top of her. Your body fit onto hers and you enjoyed how similar yet different the two of you were. Two soft bodies pressing into each other; one cold, one warm. The tantalizing softness of your chests being brought together; the way she pressed you down onto her as she sought your warmth and softness, wanting to desperately feel your wetness onto her own. You kissed and allowed Valeria’s greedy tongue into your mouth, one of her hands kept travelling further down your back and she slowly inserted one of her fingers inside you. The kiss broke and you moaned weakly. Valeria moved her head higher to steal your lips again. Her finger stretched and curled, teasingly lingering close to your sensitive spot.

“That’s what you were thinking about. Right, princess?” Valeria asked and made you look at her, her finger exited and caressed your special spot on the outside, wetting your clit with your juices. “Yes,” you mewled, and she rewarded you with two fingers.

“You’re so warm,” Valeria whispered, and you kissed again. She slowed down and pumped weakly in and out of you, making you move your lower body desperately for more. You felt Valeria chuckle beneath you, she found it amusing when you moved yourself onto her hands; Valeria wanted to feel imperative to the path of your desire. She was the keeper of your pleasure, an instrument to your love making, your path to bliss. She urged you to keep going and just watched you dance to the song of your passion, watched as you moved to straddle her. The sight of your breasts bouncing up and down as you rose and lowered yourself onto her hand.

“Be loud for me, baby. I’ve missed it.” Valeria said as you bit your lip. Arousal made you bold and when Valeria moved her hand so it pumped into you, you spread your legs and moved frantically to your climax. Your cries of pleasure mixed with Valeria’s commands to keep going, to keep clenching onto her like the desperate, lovely thing that you were. To be good and open your legs more so she can see you come prettily, like you always did. You closed your eyes as the sensitive, hot spot within you erupted and the heat reverberated across your body. Valeria sighed satisfyingly as she pumped a bit more into you, making you jolt in your place as she sought the last scraps of your orgasm.

You looked down and found Valeria smiling to herself. “You’re glistening like a diamond, my love.” You huffed and breathed out from your slightly swollen lips, then lowered yourself onto her again. Valeria made a small noise as your ground your wetness all over hers, shivering as you rubbed onto her clit. Your hand reached into a drawer of your bedside table as you continued this movement until you found what you were looking for. “My love…” Valeria trailed off as she noticed this.

“You missed your favourite, no?” You said and brought her favourite toy in sight, a lengthy vibrator. You wanted her to have a truly special moment now that you were back home and safe to express the true potential of your eroticism. And there was one thing in particular that you felt she needed, something that was more than just the gratification of her senses: words of love. “Let me speak my love to you,” you said. Valeria’s eyes were dark with lust, and she flushed at the sight of the toy. But beneath that passion lay something vulnerable. Something that needed to be gently caressed. Valeria’s recent ramblings had concerned you and the way she mentioned your ex today was the nail in the coffin. Valeria, you felt, was feeling insecure. Intimacy is more than just sex, it is the tenderness of sweet words whispered between kisses and licks, it is found in the gentle touch of a lover who sees behind the desire within your eyes and speaks to the person in there who is desperate to unify with their partner. Who wants to reach true intimacy, to embed their soul unto yours. Sweet words were necessary with Valeria, but you couldn’t do that when using your tongue for other things. Valeria was quiet, she tugged at your lips with her teeth and opened her legs.

“You know how much I love you, Val.” You said whilst gazing into your eyes. Valeria nodded and you kissed, your hands positioned themselves close to Valeria’s core.

“I want to be with you forever,” you whispered and caressed the clean plastic onto Valeria’s wetness, you felt her sigh shakily.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” you pecked at her neck in between your words. Valeria’s little noises hummed out of her as you tugged at the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, the spot that made her squirm. “Y/N…” she whimpered your name pleadingly and the toy came to life. “I love you more than anything,” you said as you made love to her. The toy vibrated tantalizingly on her clit and rested there as you inserted a finger inside. Valeria moaned out your name and pleaded for kisses with her eyes, which you granted.

"Does my love feel good?” You asked her and she nodded whilst biting her lip. Valeria threw her head to the side with ecstasy. She cried out for more, which you delivered. You increased the toy’s setting and slowed down with your fingers so she could enjoy more of her pleasure. “You’re so beautiful,” you moaned and busied yourself with your wife’s throat, licking and kissing and biting it. Seeing Valeria like that turned you on and you lowered your core onto hers, feeling the second-hand vibrations bounce from Valeria’s skin onto yours. Valeria’s hands trailed down your back, making you shiver. The sounds of wet skin slapping, of moans and gasps filled your marital bedroom, the bedframe creaked as you made passionate love. “Come on, come on,” you mewled and pumped into her faster than before. You could tell she was close from her movements, her fingernails were digging into your skin almost painfully, but the discomfort got lost amidst the high of your sex. “Show me your love, Val. Come for me.” You took one of her nipples in your mouth and pinched it with your teeth and it sent Valeria to her climax. “I’m here, baby. I’m here,” she moaned as she started to erupt in orgasm. You saw a glimpse of insecurity flash her eyes as she wet the bed, but you drew out all of it with your fingers. “It’s natural baby, give all of it to me.” You said and she released it all.

"I’m so proud of you, baby. You haven’t done that in a while.” You said and kissed her forehead. Valeria huffed out and gave you a small smile, her cheeks were flushed with colour.

You cleaned each other in the bathroom with the shy smiles and looks of people who were happy but slightly embarrassed in hindsight. “It’s normal, my love,” you kept saying and washed off Valeria’s skin. The two of you lay in bed for a long time after that, not falling asleep but caressing each other’s skin in the darkness.

“You want to leave?” You asked and heard Valeria sigh next to you.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” She said finally. “He won’t leave us alone.” Fear tugged at your heart as you listened to her. “You think he’ll come after us again?” Valeria nodded next to you, she didn’t need to ask to know who you meant. “You saw how much he hates me, Y/N. And now he hates you. I know Alejandro well enough to know this: he will not stop. I don’t know how he’ll do it, but I know it.” You lay there in silence for a bit as you thought it out. Those people know where you live now – Alejandro’s team and the people he worked with. And who’s to say that the rest wouldn’t want revenge too. You remembered that masked man who removed you from the container, the one with the skull face. You remembered how his partner got hurt when you fled, maybe worse. What if he also wants revenge for what happened? You got him in trouble, didn’t you?” You asked her and felt Valeria turn to you sharply. You spoke quickly before she could jump to any conclusions. “I haven’t inferred anything more, I promise. And I won’t ask. But I can tell that much. You think he’ll want revenge for that?” Valeria shifted next to you and, for the first time ever, she let you to a part of her that was carefully guarded. The mastermind behind everything. “Yes.” You turned and softly pressed your forehead onto hers. The smell of soap on her skin mixed with her natural smell and as you inhaled it, you felt how badly you wanted the moment to last forever. “Let’s leave, Val.”

For the rest of the night, whispers of forgotten dreams and giggles over potential occupations turned your bedroom into a portal of the wildest parts of your imagination. What if you retired early by the seaside? What if you finally wrote that cooking book that you sometimes daydreamed about when setting the table? And what if Valeria became an art collector with the rest of her money? What if you vanished into thin air?

*

It was many months later when someone visited that estate again. A figure jumped over a wall in the middle of the night and shuffled around the bushes. Their eyes scanned the perimeter with the movements of a predator that sought its prey. That person slowly arose to their full height in disbelief: the place was entirely deserted. Only some scraps of light from lampposts illuminated whatever was left behind. The house was a shell of its former self, dark and devoid of people. Gnarly bushes of roses and overgrown weeds desecrated the once carefully maintained garden, they stretching out their green, thorny limbs to tear at the man’s uniform. Alejandro cursed loudly as he looked around, he called out to someone. And somewhere far away, two women danced in their warm kitchen, swinging their hips and laughing as their dinner cooked. In the living room, a fire was going in the fireplace, and they would later sit and sip their wine whilst watching a film. And then, they would go to bed. Because your life didn’t end when you were stolen from your wife. And her life didn’t end when she lost you. You would find each other over and over again just so you could dance like this. This moment was infinite. There was only one way things could have ended, and this was it. In Valeria’s arms, hearing your food bubble in the pot. Life didn’t have to be about money and blood and fear. It could be about dancing in the kitchen with your love late at night, seeing Valeria’s eyes twinkle beneath the light.

Note: Final chapter y'all we did it! Thank you so much for reading my story, I hope you liked the ending. This is the first fanfic I've ever finished omg. I got very attached to Valeria and Y/N's story so of course they needed a happy ending :) Writing this series has been so fun for me, thank you for all the comments and likes!

tag list: @justmare @silas-222 @m0rganit3 @blarba-girl @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @ashy-kit @00ops1e @lesvii @therapyneeds @lez-zuha @starre-eyes @7smexy7diva @hello-kitty-festival @konigmeu @cassiecasluciluce @gay-ass-country-boy @starwars-theclonewhore @bi-witch-bxtch @somnoslvt @ashthepillow @b3ns0ne  @idiotwrites @danart501 @deakyspuff @mistresssiri @angethehimbosimp @@sae1kie @00ops1e @yaebaal @p3arlier @xreals @coffeeandtealol

[writing-for-marvel]

"I dream of you. all i do, is dream of you."

If I Can’t Have Everything, Then Let Me Just Have You

Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Andy gets jealous of you talking with his colleague, you reassure him he’s everything you’ll ever need.

Warnings: age gap and although exact ages are never mentioned everyone is well and truly of age, jealous Andy

Word count: 700

A/N: this is for @nickfowlerrr’s the seven writing challenge - I spun the wheel for the seven deadly sins and got envy. A big thank you my darling friend @flordeamatista, queen of Andy fics, for not only providing the inspiration for this fic, but helping me with writing Andy for the first time and being my constant cheerleader 🩷 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

Andy hated attending after work functions with his colleagues. He could barely stand dealing with them during the working week, but then to also be forced to give up his Saturday night so his boss could show off the house his old family money had bought him was another level of torture.

You were his saving grace. Part of him felt guilty for dragging the woman he loved along to these grandstanding cocktail parties where you were forced to make small talk with people you didn’t enjoy the company of, but you were also the only person who stopped him from going completely insane.

But at this moment, while he was stuck hearing about how his boss’s fantasy football team was performing, as if he didn’t hear enough about it at the office, Andy saw red as he was subjected to watch Dylan, the office womaniser, chatting you up.

In the back of his mind he knew with absolute certainty that you wouldn’t cheat on him, but the reason his heart clenched and acidic jealousy bubbled in his stomach was because of what Dylan represented: everything Andy couldn’t offer you.

He wasn’t young anymore, he was well aware the prime of his life was past him at this point in time. He had settled into a comfortable routine which didn’t involve a thriving social life which he remembered having with Laurie when they were your age. He was surely not as flexible or had as much energy as a young man fifteen years his junior.

He wanted to be able to give you the world, but all he had to offer was the trauma developed from his tarnished past, which was still following him around like a shadow, his back problems, wonky knee and the remainder of his life which would be distinctly shorter than Dylan, or someone of his age, could promise to spend with you.

The root of his envy was insecurity.

And he was green with envy.

Excusing himself from the one-sided conversation his boss was having, Andy set off with purpose, making a beeline to you, only to find you were already making your way over to him. Relief eased the tension in his shoulders as your gaze found his and a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“Your colleague, the guy behind me, is a creep.” You commented, hooking your fingers through his belt loops and pulling him protectively into you. Andy leaned down and placed a small, sweet kiss to your forehead, not needing to look behind you to know exactly who you were referring to. A sense of satisfaction filled his chest with the notion that you were clearly averse to Dylan’s pursuits.

“That’s not what most young women around the office think.”

“Well he is.” You stated firmly, a look of disgust flashing over your features. “Why does it take me telling him I have a boyfriend to respect that I’m not interested. Why would I want a boy like him, when I already have a man like you?”

Andy smiled, coming to the realisation that he had no reason to be jealous. Perhaps he couldn’t offer you his callow youth, but he did have maturity and experience, which would surely be much more valuable in a devoted relationship.

“You are a dream come true, you know that?” In response to this you scrunched your nose and smiled in a way that made Andy’s heart fill with pure adoration and devotion.

You truly were all he would ever need for the remainder of his life.

“You’re my dream come true too, Andy.” Standing on your tiptoes, arms sling around his neck, you placed a delicate kiss against his lips, neither of you paying any mind to his colleagues who could be watching on. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

Taking a beat to commit the moment to memory, Andy made a promise to himself that he would never take his second chance at love for granted.

“Let’s go home, handsome.” You suggested, tugging gently on his tie with that mischievous grin which always promised a sinfully pleasurable time. “I have plans for us that definitely don’t involve the rest of you colleagues.”

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[kasagia]

right hand IV mini spoiler?🤭

One spoiler may be that I'm doing everything I can to get IV published this week, on Friday at the latest (and I'll probably do it, keep your fingers crossed for me). 😅🙈

But here is a fragment of part IV: 😈😈

(...)

"Yeah… he can be quite a pain in the ass." You nod, shifting your gaze to Feyd. He danced with Irulan. You try to ignore the pang in your heart, and without thinking much, you reach for two glasses, handing one to Fevas. The two of you make a quick toast, and you're relieved to feel the burning sensation of the alcohol masking the unexpected bitterness you feel.

"Well, since he's busy... will you allow me the immense honour of having my toes trampled by you?" You look briefly at the harpies, considering his proposition. It wouldn't hurt anyone if you will have a one dance with your old friend, right?

One of the harpies nods at you while the other two stare daggers at Irulan. And in that very moment, you decide that you will not allow yourself to become another of Na-Baron's harpies. You'd rather die than become the other jealous woman.

"I am better dancer than I used to be. You can get very surprised." You respond flirtatiously, offering him your hand. You giggle, rolling your eyes as he leans down and plants a kiss on it.

"Really? Impossible. The last time you danced with me, I had to go to a medic to heal my poor, trampled toes."

"And yet you still want to dance with me..." You reply teasingly as he leads you to the dance floor. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you a little too close to him for comfort. But neither of you care.

You think it's nice to feel seen and desired. It was certainly better to have a charming man like Fevas than to prop up the walls at a party. Sometimes being in the shadows bothered you. And even though Fevas was... too lively for you, right now you wanted to break out of your comfort zone for a moment. You knew he was perfect for this.

You didn't realise that the blue eyes of a certain Harkonnen were piercing your companion with a hateful look, which especially intensified when Fevas wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and leaned towards you to whisper in your ear.

(...)

"I think you've forgotten who I am to you, little witch. Say it."

"I… you are the Na-Baron." He hums dissatisfyingly, shaking his head at your response.

"Try again."

"Future Baron of Giedi Prime." Your answer was again unsatisfactory to him. You shiver as you feel him press the dagger against your chest, the tip of the blade playing with the strings holding the corseted bodice of your dress together. If he used a little bit of the dress, it would expose your breasts to his view.

"Don't play stupid, or I will punish you in front of everyone. And I wish that dirty, walking pile of muscles that had his hands on you didn't see me slapping your beautiful, little ass red. In fact, I'd rather be the only one enjoying this view, so be my good girl and tell me whose remains I'll throw to my harpies tonight?"

You hold your breath at his words. Feyd couldn't visit his harpies tonight. Not when they were supposed to be busy... getting rid of the baron's corpse. You think quickly, trying to find the best way out of the situation without condemning Fevas to a certain death. Feyd's intense, urgent gaze makes you blurt out words in an act of pure panic and thoughtlessness that you have probably never said to him before.

"No."

I hope you want more... 😊🩵🩵🖤🖤

[sparklingjay]

Shadow is out here being the biggest sonamy hater.

[itstimetojellyfish]

Yo hey I just finished your Misha angst now I'm addicted have you thought about writing for Yanqing platonically because I've got some good angst for that silly lil guy but anyway what about platonic angst for Jing Yuan like say he has a biological kid and they feel like they disappoint him because they aren't fully a long life species but they have a lot of achievements they just don't have like a lot of confidence and they feel that he prefers Yanqing over them bonus points if they are already an adult because they've been carrying that thought all throughout their childhood oh oh don't forget the dead nom

Great! I actually have considered it , but I’ve been on a writers block so this is a great opportunity! Thanks for the plot!

Always in your shadow ( Platonic Yanqing x reader)

Time for some more angst no comfort!

Here we go again..

“General! When will we have our next session?” The blond haired boy sprinted beside your father as he excitedly told him about everything he’s done .

You feel… jealous…

You press your lips together as you watch them talk excitedly, telling each other about battle techniques and chess….

You suppress a sob in your throat as you suddenly grasp your chest , your heart throbbing and clenching painfully.

Wasn’t the General supposed to be your father?..

You had nothing against Yanqing , in fact , you love him as if he was actually your blood brother, you took care of him ever since Jing Yuan brought him in .

However , he’s a teen , and you’re an adult now , and Jing Yuan still hasn’t smiled at you the way he smiled at Yanqing .

You’ve done so many things… fighting Mara-struck , leading his army , doing his desk work unfortunately.

And yet..

Here you are , trailing behind them like a guard while they laugh with each other as if they’re the blood relatives, not you .

You hiccups quietly, suppressing the tears that threaten to fall upon your face , you feel neglected.

You’re no longer that social anymore , because you thought that if you made more connections…

You would finally be useful.

However , you now know what the truth is.

He loves Yanqing.

Your head short circuits when it comes to that conclusion , making you stop suddenly behind them , eyes wide with disbelief.

No… that can’t be true, your father wouldn’t do that! He loves you both equally! He always did , he definitely didn’t host all of Yanqing’s celebrations!

He definitely doesn’t spend more time with Yanqing when he asks ,when you have to literally wait for months to get an appointment!

He definitely doesn’t dote over Yanqing whenever he gets seriously injured while never visiting you !

Oh who are you kidding?

You take a step backwards before running away towards your destination , a lush green field you cultivated yourself .

You now see the signs, ever since Yanqing came into the picture , you’ve been neglected because apparently…

You’re old enough to not depend on another .

You collapse underneath a willow tree and your long sliver hair comes undone , you wish you could tear out your hair .

You wish it was mother’s color , you wish mother was still here , then she would’ve took care of you when your father didn’t .

You wish that your eye color was the same as your mothers , then you’d have something to cling onto .

You wish you had at least one person to cling onto because you’ve been alone since you were 8 .

You…. Wish …. You just wish you had someone that would love you.

As you cry silently beneath the tree , a soft rustling came from your left side , you turn your head and then see a blue sleeve push the leaves aside and a blond head pops through the canopy.

Your eyes immediately dull and cloud up.

He looks at you and then says “ It’s my fault that you look so defeated and worn everyday isn’t it?” His expression has guilt written all over it .

You sigh,” Yanqing , it’s fine . No need to worry , my prime has already passed, just focus on you okay?” You give him a strained smile .

He just stares at you , the tension between you two thick .

In midst of your staring contest, a soft creak can be heard from behind the willow tree , making your head turn , Yanqing steps closer to inspect it , looks at the stem , however , the stem wasn’t the problem.

A Mara-struck had crept up and chopped the tree, making it fall towards you two . Your first reaction was to leave , but Yanqing didn’t realize until it was too late .

Wouldn’t it be easier if he just died?

(No)

Wouldn’t it mean more attention from father?

(More like hatred)

He favors Yanqing , and others don’t like you , so it would be better for everyone , if he survived , so you did what you thought was the most logical reaction.

Push Yanqing away , and get buried underneath the tree , letting the Mara-struck slash at you until Yanqing recovers from the shock.

As soon as you felt the tree bury you underneath it , a loud crack was heard , and your rib cage felt more and more in pain as the Mara-struck stalled towards you.

While you expected Yanqing to at least help you up , he just ran after he pierced the monster .

Was a little bit of help too much to ask for?..

So, you just lay there , sobbing quietly as the pain in your rib age became more and more unbearable, silently wishing for someone to comfort you .

It didn’t take long for you to slowly loose consciousness, the last thing you heard was ,

“ I’m sorry for everything “

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

"Nine is homophobic" this and "Classic is homophobic" that

WRONG

They're literally both gay

[taldigi]

Other aspects of shadow chie design driving me insane in de gud vey:

Her gloves are covered in blood, both the one holding yukiko (because she feels her possessiveness is a kind of violent) and more prominently the hand holding the lead (guilt for the violence she’s conducted at others but held at arms length both literally and figuratively (the gloves and the lead both serving as distancing herself from the guilt), it’s not really her hands and she’s not really in control so her hands aren’t really covered in blood — even though they also are because even she knows both of those aren’t really true. She’s the guard dog but she also the master of the guard dog and yukiko is just another puppet for that)

The tag on her ear (she isn’t better than everyone else just because she’s the guard dog and the butcher. She’s also a piece of meat to be processed for slaughter and sale, because under her paradigm everyone is — she just happens to be also the guard dog for now. What happens when a younger, better dog comes along?)

Also I would like to hear why you chose to make shadow chie’s cognitive yukiko look like she’s been drawn for butchering. I know I motioned to a reason why but I’m spitballing ideas here and I love your dissection if the art just like the rest of your art

Chie's the prince who saves the princess, but she is also the dragon who protects her from other princes. Yukiko is her treasure, too precious to tear into- yet Yukiko is the most delicious, prime A5 wagyu amongst lesser scraps of prince meat. Meat she'll decimate and burn to keep her beloved treasure safe. But she wants her, so fucking badly.

But if she hurts Yukiko, her treasure, she'll never forgive herself. So she's forcing herself to be content to chitter her teeth and salivate.

Wagyu is a uniquely Japanese breed of cattle, too- world renown for it's quality and deliciousness, and who's often praised as a "traditional Japanese beauty"

Just my train of thought.

Anyway, have a Butcher Vanity remix, the worlds most Shadow!Yukichie song ever

glad the cattle tag was noticed too. Chie's viciously jealous of Yukiko too, after all ;3