#realized i bit off more than i could chew lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tadwisethebrave · 16 days ago

Text

Saturday, November 23 — The Final Labor: Based on the final task for the labors, write an AU featuring all your characters in a role. Choose an AU, set out a list of goals for yourself based on tropes within that AU (ex. a red shirt has to die if you’re doing Star Trek or someone in the group gets bitten by a zombie and doesn’t tell the rest if you’re doing an apocalypse), then write to your heart’s content! To count, each character must have a role and your tropes must be laid out beforehand.

A Lord Of The Rings AU

Finn - ringbearer, hobbit (repping Frodo) Judy - elf (repping Arwen/Legolas) Mushu - hobbit (repping Merry) Pepper - human (repping Eowyn) Shang - man (repping Aragorn) Tad - hobbit (repping Pippin) Tink - i think it’s better that it’s a surprise. <3

Old Muses that pop up:

Anthony - straight up baddie evil eyeball Arthur - man, nearly killed by his own father (repping Faramir) Roxas - wizard, (repping Gandalf)

Other appearances: Nemo - hobbit (repping Samwise Gamgee)

Tropes: An Unlikely Chosen One the Power of Friendship Back to Back Badasses Royals Who Actually Do Something Battle Couple

TAD:

The battle of Minas Tirith was finally over. Tad had just barely managed to save Arthur, son of the Steward of Gondor, and now that he had, he couldn’t help but hope that the worst of it all was over. Sure, he knew that Finn was still out there somewhere moving closer and closer to Mordor. But Tad sort of figured his part in all of this was over.

After all, what use is a hobbit who’s never really seen much combat in all this. Right? Right. He was sure that he wouldn’t be needed at all.

At least until he was pulled into a meeting that included the beautiful elf Judy, his best buddy Mushu, and Shang who had honestly helped lead the Fellowship as far as it could go. And then of course there was the wizard Roxas, who always took things so seriously. It was because of Roxas that Arthur was still alive. Tad was grateful for that. Even if he didn’t quite want Roxas’ eyes on him at that moment. He sat down next to Mushu, leaning over to ask, “hey, so what-” “Shhh Tad. It’s about to start,” Mushu muttered, nudging him lightly to try to get a little bit of space between them.

“But-”

ROXAS:

“If you would all settle down,” he eyed the two hobbits who always seemed to be somewhat in their own little world. “We need to discuss what our next move should be.” The man started to pace, hands clasped behind his back. “Finn has passed beyond my sight now. The darkness is deepening.”

There was a graveness to his voice, but Roxas could not keep this part light. They all needed to face the unlikeliness of it all. He knew… he had always known that the plan was a bit of a fool’s hope. But it was the best hope that they had been able to muster up.

The enemy would never have suspected them to place such a mighty thing in the hand’s of a hobbit. And now here they were, and Roxas was starting to believe that he had sent the poor hobbit to his doom. If Finn failed in his task… had he already failed?

SHANG:

“If Anthony had the ring, we would know it,” Shang pointed out, stepping forward to try to settle the wizard, if only to stop his pacing which was starting to fray on his own nerves, and no doubt the nerves of the hobbits too, who were watching them all with wide eyes and barely concealed fear. Not that Shang blamed them. They weren’t suited to this place or the times they were in.

Yet their stout hearts had led them to be the vassals of a King of Rohan and a Steward of Gondor.

“If he had it he would not hesitate to cover the whole world in darkness once again. We would all be dead or near it.” It was a fact. He was certain that there could be no doubt about the possession of the ring if it returned to its master.

ROXAS:

“He suffered a defeat, yes. That much is clear.” It was a hard earned victory, with many men of the Rohirrim and of Gondor dead, including the King of Rohan. And then the new King Lucky was distracted, understandably, by his sister’s state in the healing wing after having fought in the battle where she wasn’t supposed to be.

Yet without her, the Witch King would never have been defeated.

They had been victorious…but they had lost many. And yet… “But behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping.” Mordor could afford to do so. Orcs were easy to continue to create and create like an endless tide of evil. Human, elf, dwarf and hobbit lives were not so simple.

“Let him stay there and rot! Why should we care? That guy may as well rot in his own gross orc filth,” The hobbit Mushu insisted. Roxas barely resisted rolling his eyes. Instead he directed his gaze on the other full force, briefly relishing the way the other’s shoulder shrunk in on themselves. He forced his irritation down.

“Because 10,000 orcs now stand between Finn and Mount Doom.” He paced a step or two and then stopped, the realization of it all hitting him, the weight of what he had done hitting him. “I’ve sent him to his death,” he added, his face almost crumpling to the grief of it before he forced himself to be steady. It was not the time. He could not let it be the time to grieve for the hobbit.

SHANG:

Shang stepped forward and put a hand on the wizard’s shoulder. “No. There’s still time. He needs time and safe passage across the plains. We can give him that,” Shang pointed out, the dawning of an idea starting to take shape in his head. Reckless? Yes. Bold? Beyond that. But would it give Finn a chance to accomplish what he needed to accomplish? He thought that it could.

They might not have the army that would survive another full onslaught. But they had enough of an army that they could keep the enemy distracted just long enough. Just long enough that hopefully Finn would be able to make it to the top of the volcano and throw the ring in.

“Are you crazy? How are you going to do that?” Mushu piped in again. He seemed at least to be trying to follow along. The other hobbit Tad looked like his eyes had sort of glazed over again at the thought of another battle.

“We. Mushu, we will draw out his armies. Make him empty his lands. And then we’ll gather our armies and march on the black gate.”

—

FINN:

Meanwhile, Nemo had just rescued Finn from Cirith Ungol, and the two of them had slowly found their way back down and started down the hill to really get into Mordor. The ring was heavy now, heavier than if Finn were to be clad in two sets of armor at least, and he wished (not for the first time) that this burden hadn’t fallen to him. He was no one extraordinary, but he had made a promise to try and bring the ring to Mordor, and despite everything that had come between him and his goal… he was close.

And Nemo had stayed by his side at his worst moments.

Finn turned to Nemo then, not daring to go further without saying it. Without expressing some of what he was feeling. “I’m so… I’m so-so-so sorry Nemo. I’m so sorry for everything. That I… that I let my-my-myself believe you could ever-” Nemo stepped forward and squeezed his hand, and some of the anxious feeling that had started bubbling up settled back down again. Nemo did always seem to have a way of putting him at ease. Even before they had ever left the Shire.

“Don’t worry about that now Finny,” Nemo replied softly, glancing out in the direction they still needed to go. “For now we probably need to put on some of that ugly orc armor. Disguise ourselves so we can head straight for the mountain. You ready?” Finn wanted to say no. He wanted to sit there and rest and forget about the weight of the ring and their fates and what they had to do. But Nemo looked at him with that warmth, and he smiled, and he knew that even though every fiber of his being was exhausted, he would keep going and keep fighting for his friend.

Finn nodded and got to his feet. Together they stepped forward and took the armor from two dead orcs of Cirith Ungol. Nemo helped Finn when he felt unsteady on his feet just from the effort of it. And then he and Nemo started marching down the hill and onto the plains of Mordor, the stretch of plains leading right for the looming mountain that they had pinned all their fate on. “There are so many orcs that way still…” Finn pointed out nervously, the two of them walking as close together as they could. How would they find a way past all of them?

—

MUSHU:

So now Mushu was riding behind Lady Phoebe (who had barely recovered) and he could glance to his side and see Tad gripping onto Lady Judy as their mounts steadily carried them away from the sturdy walls of Minas Tirith. Mushu glanced back at it, a big towering city that he had barely spent much time in at all. And now his doom would be decided far away from it, far away from the Shire that he had grown up loving.

They were marching to another battle. Only this time it seemed even more hopeless than the last. A part of him wanted to jump off and run himself right back to the Shire. To greener pastures and to a place that seemed untouched by war or darkness. He didn’t care about being noble.

And maybe he would, but Tad was right alongside with him, and Finn was out there somewhere doing what no man or elf or dwarf or wizard had the strength or willpower to do. Mushu shoved down the urge he had as their army came to a stop before the looming black gates. And suddenly, slowly the gates started to open, and Mushu could see a glimpse of the army of orcs that were stomping their way to meet them. It was too late now. He was in for the last great battle of the age.

He hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself before the end.

PEPPER:

Phoebe guided the horse she shared with Mushu to one side, glancing back to see if her companion was okay. “Courage now Mushu. We’ve already faced the nightmare,” she pointed out, harkening back to their horrible battle with the Witch King. After that…what was the rest but an army of orcs?

Insurmountable odds, but she still felt stronger about it than she had when she had stabbed the Witch King. Despite her body still healing from it, she refused to be left behind when her brother and her people all went to face the final stand. The final moment that would decide the world’s fate.

She sucked in a shaky breath and gripped her reins a little tighter as the black gates continued to open. These ugly orcs were not going to take her down, or her hobbit friend. They had survived the Witch King… they would also survive this battle. She would make sure of it.

SHANG:

Shang nudged his horse forward and then into a canter, riding in front of all the troops to gain their attention and to encourage them for the battle ahead. “Keep steady everyone. Fear no darkness. Find your center and you will win. We will defeat this evil.”

He drew his sword, and many of the soldiers in the army then drew theirs as well. “Today is a day that we fight for friends. We fight for valar. We fight for ourselves and for the hope this will change enough to make a difference. Stand and fight! Fight for everything you hold dear!”

The soldiers came marching forward and Shang had his horse lunge forward at the army, Lady Phoebe and Lady Judy not far behind, Roxas the wizard right alongside him. With them the rest of their army followed straight into the battle…

FINN:

Finn and Nemo had been walking for what felt like hours, days. He found himself slumping to the ground, Nemo dropping down with him quickly and offering him sorely needed water. They didn’t have much of it left, but of course all Nemo could do was share it with him. Finn was so lucky to have him as a friend. He was just lucky to have him in general.

He gulped down the few bits of water, shivering as he tried to guage just how much further they had to go. Would they even be able to with all the orcs?

“Look Finny…the orcs are leaving! Some luck for us finally.” Finn lifted his head and startled. Nemo was right? They were all marching away, clearing out the plains for them to cross and get to the mountain. Maybe there was still hope for them. It encouraged Finn, it finally boosted him enough to get up and start off toward the mountain again, Nemo right along with him.

He kept going until they started to climb up the side of the mountain and his legs finally gave back out on him. And the ring continued to get heavier, now at its worst with their close proximity to the mountain. “Let’s…we-we-we should get rid of the…of the armor now,” he suggested after a few minutes. They didn’t need it for the climb. They didn’t need much of anything else except each other now. He and Nemo quickly tossed their armor and what equipment they didn’t need off the side of the mountain.

“That’s better,” Finn said, though he still felt just as heavy. It still might help give the final push that he needed. That they needed to get to the top of the mountain.

—

JUDY:

The battle had started in earnest, and it became impossible for Judy to spot Shang like she wanted. The elf had her bow and she was firing at orc after orc after orc. Tad was close to her, swinging his little dagger and stabbing those that she didn’t quite get with her bow. There was already a pile of orc corpses and yet still more kept coming.

“Fight with me Tad. Back to back. Let’s make them all regret coming against us today.” Tad guarded her back and she guarded his, and between them they had managed to take down a section of orcs at least, though the flow of them didn’t seem to pause much.

Not until the trolls came in.

Three massive trolls that came in hard swinging. Judy ducked to one side and lost sight of little Tad. But she did spot Shang then, and all thought to make sure Tad was alright was pushed back as she ran to help the man she loved.

“Shang!” She shouted, elbowing past someone else and firing at the troll’s neck. The troll roared and turned its attention toward the one who had caused it pain now: Judy. But that was good. That allowed Shang to get back to his feet and stab at the troll. Judy was able to get another shot in and take the troll down. One troll down. Several to go.

–

FINN:

Finn, with the help of Nemo, managed to make it up nearly to the top of the mountain. And, as luck would have it there happened to be a doorway that led right into the volcano. After everything they had been through up until that point, Finn was so grateful he blindly stumbled forward. Nothing else mattered now. Nothing but the weight of the ring, and this burden that he was so close to being free of.

Of course in that moment, as he started past a boulder and toward the walkway that led to the large arch, two things happened almost simultaneously. He heard “clever little maggots climbing all the way up here!” and then Gollette tackled him and knocked him to the ground, trying to choke the life out of him.

Finn struggled and tried to fight her off, but he didn’t have anything to really fight her off with, and he wasn’t as strong as he had been when they had first faced Gollette before. And just when he thought he was going to lose again, Nemo came and pushed Gollette off of him. “Run Finny!”

Finn hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Nemo behind. But he also didn’t want to give Gollette the chance to take the ring and ruin everything. He ran through the doorway and into the volcano, making his way toward the edge where he would be able to drop it into the volcano.

TINK/GOLLETTE:

Well these hobbitses couldn’t very well destroy everything precious to her now could they? Tink…or Gollette had spent so much time trying to get rid of these ridiculous hobbitses so that they could finally have their treasure back. Their precious.

Gollette wrestled with that stupid hobbit Nemo and got knocked down a little way on the mountain. Nemo seemed to stop caring about their fight in that moment and ran off to catch up with Finn. Stupid little hobbit. Gollette scurried back up the mountainside.

“Must hurry precious, must hurry and kill them both!” Tink lectured Gollette as they made it back up to where they had been before. “Shut it. We survived because of me. We’ll kill them because of me. You haven’t killed anyone in decades,” Gollette argued back as they scurried up to where the doorway was.

“I can do it precious. I can. Must kill the little hobbit that’s too clever. Let me kill the clever hobbit,” Tink insisted with a hiss before she followed Nemo in through the doorway not long after.

FINN:

Finn stood at the edge, holding the ring over it and feeling the weight of it all, and the ring was shouting out to him. It was as if it was yelling to not do it. To take it away from the edge. To save it from destruction and take it for himself. It whispered. It told Finn of all the ways that it could fix his life. How it could make up for the pain and suffering. Finn shouldn’t toss the ring in. He should keep it.

Finn didn’t want to keep it.

Just as he was about to drop the ring, he felt a weight against him again. Once again Gollette had caught up, having knocked Nemo down to come get Finn. Finn wrestled with Gollette. Suddenly, at the edge of the volcano he found his strength again and he fought back. He couldn’t let Gollette have it. He couldn’t let everything they did be in vain.

Finn fought with Gollette, until they both toppled over the side. Finn let go of the ring then, letting Gollette hold onto it as he scrambled to get a grip of the cliff’s edge. Gollette in the meantime clutched onto the ring, a smile lighting her face even as she tumbled down and down until she and the ring hit the lava at once.

The ring was gone and the weight was gone, and Finn was dangling off the side of a cliff. It would be so easy really. He could let go now too, fall into the lava along with it and be free of all burdens forever.

But then he heard a voice shout out. “Finny!”

He looked up to see Nemo reach out his hand to him. For a moment he hesitated. He thought it might just be better to give in and let Nemo go back and tell everyone what happened. For one moment he thought selfishly. But then Nemo stretched even further, and Finn couldn’t do it to him. He couldn’t let Nemo down like that.

It took a few tries, but finally Finn got a hold of Nemo’s hand and the other pulled him up back over the edge and onto solid ground as the volcano started erupting around them. Finn didn’t even have a minute to thank him. They took off running back out the doorway they had stumbled into.

–

TAD:

The battle was raging, Tad was now fighting side by side with Mushu, the two of them just trying to keep afloat in the mix of all these monsters. And then they both heard it. A loud shriek, and suddenly the orcs seemed confused. They stopped attacking any of them and started running away.

And as Tad turned toward the center of Mordor, he saw something he never thought he’d see. The big tower started to collapse on itself. Then the black gates and everything else that Lord Anthony had created tumbled to pieces bit by bit.

Finn had done it. Finn had destroyed the ring. A smile spread across Tad’s face and he shook Mushu lightly by the shoulder. “Finn did it! He did it!!” Their whole plan had worked! Tad and Mushu cheered and threw their fists in the air even as the volcano erupted and the remnants of Anthony’s army withered.

–

FINN:

Finn and Nemo had just managed to climb onto a larger rock surface that wasn’t covered in lava or the flow wasn’t going toward it. Then Finn collapsed on the rock with his best friend, a relieved smile spreading across his face. He’d done it. They’d done it. The ring was gone. It was over. The long terrible journey was finally over!

Finn hadn’t let himself think about everything he missed from home. Not until now. Not until he knew that their home was saved. The Shire was really saved. He let himself breathe, settling in on the rock there. “You know Nemo, I can finally see the Shire again. The b-b-beautiful river and the trees. The parties we used to go to. Roxas’ fireworks… and… and that time we kissed underneath the party tree.”

He smiled up at Nemo, feeling more like himself in that moment than he had in all the months since his uncle had left him the ring. He could think about all the peaceful and good moments because the shadow was gone. The shadow was gone and Finn was free.

“I thought I lost you Finny. First to the ring and then… then on that cliff…” Nemo started to choke up and Finn forced himself to use what little strength was left in him to sit up again. “I’m here Nemo. I’m here be-be-because of you,” he added, reaching for Nemo’s hand and squeezing it the way Nemo had done for their whole journey. For the whole time that the ring had been a burden to him.

“I can be-be-be me again because of your support,” Finn added, tears flooding his own vision now too. “I’m so grateful to you.” He pressed a tender kiss to Nemo’s forehead, and then he cradled his face in his hands for a moment before he leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. Even in all of this, surrounded by lava, Finn had the one person by his side that could keep him going. He could never do enough to make up for all the good that Nemo had done for him.

—- insert a Peter Jackson white out eagles flying in cutscene –

SHANG:

It all seemed to come together fast. And now, Shang was crowned King of Gondor with the help of the wizard Roxas. The audience clapped and Shang could barely process that this was where they were. That they were truly in the times of peace, and his days from now on would be a much more peaceful time.

He gave a speech to his people, though he hardly remembered it, stepping away to greet some of the people who had come to see him crowned. He smiled and nodded his head to the Lady Phoebe, arm in arm with Lord Arthur, new Steward of Gondor. They curtsied and bowed and he continued forward until a part of elves came to greet him.

Shang could only look at one particular elf though: Judy, no longer dressed in battle armor, but a beautiful flowing pink dress. The two stared at each other for a long minute. Judy reached up to cradle his face in her hands. Shang traced over the wound she seemed to have gotten on her cheek during the final battle with his hand. And then Shang and Judy leaned into each other, melting into a passionate kiss, arms wrapping around each other.

Once the two of them could grasp the relief they had at seeing each other again, they were able to pull back, Judy taking his arm and squeezing it before they both continued further down to find themselves face to face with four hobbits: Mushu, Nemo, Finn, and Tad. All four started to bow, but Shang quickly stepped forward.

“My friends… you bow to no one.”

The four hobbits straightened up again as the whole city knelt to pay their respects to the four hobbits who had helped bring about this good change in Middle Earth. From there, Shang made arrangements to give them all the best supplies in the city to aid them on their way back home.

From then on, Shang and Judy were able to live peaceful days rebuilding the kingdom and ensuring a good future for Gondor for many years to come.

—

FINN:

A whole year after they had all set out on their journeys Tad, Mushu, Nemo, and Finn found their way back to the Shire. Mushu split off first, heading off to find his brother and his family and tell them all about the craziness of the adventure, and likely telling them about how big Mushu’s role was in all of it.

Finn, Nemo, and Tad waved him off as they rode their ponies further into the Shire. Then came the final split where Finn and Nemo embraced Tad before he returned home to where his own sister would be waiting.

And from there it was just the two of them again. Just Finn and Nemo finding their way back to a familiar house. It was hard for Finn to believe, even after all of it that they would find their way here. But as he stepped back through the doors of Bag End, a wave of relief hit him in a way he never expected.

This was it. He was finally home. And here Finn would remain, with Nemo at his side, to the end of his days.

#swynwrimo #swynwrimolena #swynwrimo2024 #tw: character death #but it's deserved really #lol #also this is terrible #no one perceive me #i realized i bit off more than i could chew on a lotr au #but it is what it is #love me <3

0 notes

dawnbreakerluna · 5 months ago

Text

NOT WHEN IT COMES TO YOU (W. SYLUS QIN) wc. 1050. hurt/comfort. reader is the mc and experiences a panic attack. canon compliant to the l&ds story, no spoilers. character study-ish on the mental state of the mc. sylus is perceptive person and sees through the reader. non-established relationship. not proofread. side note: my writing program crashed after i pasted it to the tumblr draft. lol!

‘Does any of it matter anymore?’

You write those words in a pocket-sized journal every night. The very same one that’s tucked away in your drawer where an assortment of lingerie overfills and molds within one another. You have to do something, anything, to keep your body aware of its movement, its functionality and life.

Does any of it matter anymore?

You almost want to reach out to Zayne about it. To talk. To explain this stream of endless thoughts and the endless void of questioning your worth. Things haven’t been easy, to the point where you wonder if taking the Hunter Exam, valuing your worth on whether or not you passed, was worth it in the end. Not after everything you’ve found out. Not after everything you’ve witnessed and lost.

Now, you had bargained your life. A bold, risky step that required more trust than you could ever ask for. (You got it, regardless. You had nothing to fear in that aspect.)

“Does any of it matter anymore…?”

You ask yourself again, your voice a low whisper. You needed to make sure you were here, still. Some way, somehow. You were now shrouded by a blaring red sky and even darker red moon. Your gaze, holding faux grit, stares into a crimson gaze that looks over your sunken, kneeling form.

He wears a light curl of a smirk, lowering himself to you: “You should speak up, little Hunter. I can’t quite hear you.”

You push down that growing dread in an empty chest. But if it were empty, your heart wouldn’t be housed there, beating ferociously as you were face to face with the one who had answers you needed. If not all, at least some. The ones to point you in the right direction.

You call it going away in your own head—it’s what you do when you feel more than just your heart on the verge of giving out. It’s what you do when your fingers begin to twitch and tremble, your words struggling to come out. You don’t consider it freezing up completely, but a different sensation.

It’s just something you always dealt with on your own, always aware of.

The gentle flick of your fingers at your side gauges your knowledge of it happening again. Surrounded by desperate brokers and merchants; people with vile intentions and greed that isn’t a homely territory back in Linkon City.

You’re reminded why Onichynus thrives. Why Sylus wears the success and pride he does.

Despite his teachings intending to help you hold that same pride, you can’t. You realize too late in this room full of people who could eat you alive, you bit off more than you could chew. You remain by Sylus’ side as he indulges in the meaningless chatter of those who throw themselves at him with wretched desperation—but the room is beginning to feel hazy.

You know you should’ve arranged something. Some kind of signal to let him know you needed a breather.

This was more than a breather you needed. This was an emergency where you’re a glass sculpture, waiting and begging to be knocked over. You hated being made of glass, regrettably—hated being ogled at in that way. You feel it in the worst form now, being the guest of the most powerful man in the N109 Zone.

Your arm, securely wrapped around his bigger one, shifts back just slightly to tug at his sleeve. It’s not an obvious action, not even to the keen eye like yourself. But it’s enough that you feel the slight jerk, that startles him. To Sylus, this would be a disturbance as little of a fly on someone’s shoulder.

Yet, the air between you two shifts.

Sylus holds a hand up to the two men standing before you both, “Ah—you’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen. I just recalled that I am to assist the security detail with an issue. Please, do enjoy the rest of the evening.”

He leads you away without another word, brushing off the guests.

Vultures. Vultures. Vultures. Every single one of them.

You hold your breath in a subtle manner, your throat constricted. Sylus’ movement is swift and urgent at once, heading towards the back of the ballroom. He opens one of the double doors, ushering you out first before following closely.

It’s just you two now, in this empty, grandeur hall.

You felt sick. You wanted to die. You wanted every fiber of anguish to leave you be and never come back. You never wanted to feel anything again. You wanted to rip your heart out and burn it, to bleed out to death by its side—

—Does any of it matter anymore?

“Little Hunter,” Sylus’ smooth voice cuts through your clogged mind. His hand comes forward, knuckles gently brushing against your cheek, catching stray tears that roll down, “Just focus on me. You’re alright now.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen, your faint breath an overwhelming echo in your head as you come back to yourself. Never before had you seen his eyes so… fond. Gentle. Comforting. It makes you feel sick. You feel the need to lurch and throw up everything you’ve eaten.

Instead, your tears thicken. You blink a few times before lowering your head, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth as you pant heavily. Clawing through your throat is a string of sobs, your body tensing along with it.

Sylus reacts with instinct, his voice lowered as he gently shushed you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pressing you into his strong torso. To hide you away from the world, to delicately hold your sorrows.

“You’re alright, Little Hunter.” He whispers into the top of your head, lips brushing softly against your hair, “I feel your shame, there’s no need to carry such a thing. I’m not upset.”

You hiccup, pulling away just enough to tilt your head back—looking up at him: “You’re… not?”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. His fingers gently tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, offering you the most warmth he possibly can in this moment. Unfamiliar, but not unappreciated. You’re more grateful than anything, in spite of everything you two had rough edges about.

“Never,” he assures you with a smile. “Not when it comes to you.”

571 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 2 years ago

Note

i was reading your fics, and was reading one where daemon is going up against cregan a little bit. i got this idea, cregan giving the reader a direwolf puppy as a gift. daemon makes a snide comment about it and cregan just turns to him, telling him that your enjoying your new pet, and who knows, maybe one day cregan will give you puppies.

daemon seethes as cregan walks away, acting as if he didn't just imply he was gonna breed you.

Puppy Love

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: Ever since you came of age, you became the jewel of the court and your father turned down proposal after proposal, knowing if the man didn't want your massive dowry, they wanted to claim and corrupt your beauty and kind nature. And the only reason why your father hasn't chewed up the all too friendly dragon prince, was because he was doing most of his job for him. And anyway, your father knew you were too kind to think his attentions to you were anything more than friendly.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, 'too kind' reader, jealous!daemon, smitten!cregan, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: first of all, i have written quite a few fics were I've added cregan as uh an opponent for daemon so HAHHAH im not sure which one you mean, though I have an inkling it's Wish I Was Her (this is not a p2 of this btw) second of all, /: cregan dumb for giving away a direwolf to some rando dafaq. third of all, i really want do a take on a 'traditionally feminine reader' since i normally dont do that lol so im tryna make reader fit the period more, without making her a damsel in distress. wish me luck Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony

You straighten the brown paper in one hand while you fiddle with the wax seal that was on it moments ago. You snort through your nostrils, beaming at the ink on the the letter, eager to both reach the end of the page, and not wanting the words to end at all.

Daemon, who had been walking with purpose, forgets where he was going along the way when he spots you. You, the giggling lady, sat comfortably on the stone blocks that separated the garden and the hall.

The prince's stoic demeanor melts into an expression similar to yours when you smile at what you were reading. What were you reading? A letter? A letter from-

Quickly, the realization of what kind of letters a lady such as yourself would be receiving that would cause you to giggle like that makes his expression splat into annoyance.

With twice as much purpose, he struts over to you and calls out your name. You immediately avert your gaze, smile widening at the sight of him.

Good.

"My prince," you speak, bowing your head just as Daemon reaches you.

Daemon raises his brows and drops his lips, eyeing the paper in your hand, "a good read?"

You release a chuckle at the expression he pulls, "a very good read. I say Alaric is as good with the quill as he," you point to the paper, "harks to me how good he is with the blade."

He grunts, "Alaric." Where has he heard that tatty name before?

You chuckle as you watch Daemon stiffen. He places his hands behind him, slowly walking to the other side of the block you were sat on, sitting there across you, "which moronic suitor is he again?"

You drop your letter on your lap, tilting your head at the fuming prince, who now had his arms crossed. "Alaric," you start with a chuckle, "is my darling cousin, Anna's, son."

Ahh, Daemon blinks, that's why his name is familiar.

You snort, "he has merely just turned ten and one, your grace."

He clears his throat.

"Do you not recall rejecting my offer to attend the boy's nameday?" you speak through an amused grin.

"I've never cared for namedays," he trails off, crossing his arms.

You laugh. He turns to you because of it. How could he not when your laugh was like that? Your being beams in amusement, glowing like a star. It makes the prince emit a soft chuckle.

"If I didn't know any better," you say in between catching your breath, "I'd you were jealous of a child, my prince."

You catch the small smile on Daemon's face as he pretends to be offended, "and I'd say you've been reading too much."

Very suddenly, you gasp and point at him, making him pull his head back and his expression drop. His concern drops when you say, "is that a blush I see? Ooh!"

Daemon's arms loosen at your words. As if eager to make your words true, he begins to feel his body burn. Damn body.

You gasp the second time before throwing your head back in laughter, "I do say," you sigh, "scarlet suits you well."

Daemon rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he stands from his spot.

"Well, I mean, it is one of the colors of your house."

"Yes," he drops his hands to the side and walks over to you, "and I should well ought to make it your own."

And though Daemon smirks when he says this, your brows furrow at the thought. His vanilla baby.

"It would be pointless to try and convince my father to change anything about our house."

He sighs as you refold your paper, trapping a waxen seal in its center, and move to stand next to him, "in our actual house, I had to argue with him to change our drapes."

"No," Daemon says in shock, as if he actually cared.

"Yes!" you shake your head, "it was terrible! I had to remind him that I was now the woman of the house."

"Oh, that does sound terrible," Daemon huffs, eyes widening. He watches you as you believe in his empathy. He watches as you smile at his disingenuous words. Two beasts rip at him from within.

Normally, naïveté and slow-wittedness were traits that repelled him, especially in its womanly form, as it was drawn from the sheltered nature ladies like yourself were bred into. The dragon in him found this dull and all too conforming. He liked the burn from the whores, who would snarl if you took more than what you paid for.

Yet this personal brand of innocent on you was dizzying to him. One beast wanted to protect the purity within you, while the other wanted to taint it until all remained was him.

"And yes-" you take a moment to continue, "those were my mother's beloved drapes but... they had not been changed since her passing."

Daemon presses his lips together when you turn to the ground with a solemn expression. He does not get a moment to share the semblance of comfort in which he was capable of, because you quickly smile at him the way you always do and comfort yourself, "it is good to remember those who have passed, but they would not want for us to mourn them too long."

For once, he responds with honesty, "they would not, no."

The moment you smile at his words, your attention is taken from the prince.

You are called by a servant, who tells you there is a man waiting for you in the main hall. You courteously thank the servant and turn to Daemon, "thank you for ke-"

"I will escort you to your visitor," Daemon smiles, though not a real one.

You return a genuine one nevertheless, "I am grateful, but I do not wish to bother you, nor take up more of the time you already so graciously offered me."

Daemon takes your hand and pulls you near him with little regard, "you dare dictate what I do and do not with my time?"

You press your lips as you body collides with him.

"As though you were my wife?"

You clench your jaw, unintending to overstep, "my prince, I did not mean for it-"

"Yes, well," he cuts you off, "let us meet this moron who wishes to meet you."

"You know," you smile, "it may well not be a suitor."

Daemon chuckles, "I'm surprised you even caught onto that."

"Well, how could I not?" you chuckle, "when you were just jealous a child!"

He loses his smug expression. He scoffs into a chuckle as you laugh at him. "Oh very good," Daemon rolls his eyes and slowly claps his hand, "I'll give you credit. I did not expect that."

But what he very much did expect was that your audience was sought by a suitor; one large, slobbering dog of a suitor.

Very truly, Daemon's grumbling was merited, for why were you so enamored by the wolf-man and this overgrown rat-pup he bought with him?

He scoffs as you coo at the furry creature for the hundredth time, and for what? For doing absolutely nothing but expose its incompetence to walk in a fucking straight line?

And what's more, for every time the degenerate baby wolf toppled over, you tugged at its master's arm and pointed, leaning into him as you laughed and expressed jovial sentiments over the creature.

The prince rolls his eyes from the armchair he was sat on.

What was so impressive about a dog? There were dozens of strays outside the walls. He could get you twenty right now. A dragon egg should have elicited such a response from you, not this.

"Oh, dear Cregan-"

Gods, dear Cregan, she says.

"-your pup is a ray of sunshine on this chilly day," you speak.

Daemon watches you smile angelically at the large man with muddy dark hair and wiry curls. He watches as the cretin bares his teeth at you like a wolf does its prey, and you mistake it for genuinely, as always.

"If you are cold, my lady," Cregan says, removing the brown pelt on his shoulders, "then allow me to warm you."

Daemon straightens where he was slouched.

You recoil at Cregan's generosity, raising your hands as you shake them, "oh, my lord, I could not possibly accept the clothes on your back."

You watch as Cregan's rosy cheeks pull up with his smile, "then would you prefer I give you one your own?"

Cregan put on his fur again. You open your mouth to speak, but it is Daemon's voice that sounds, "she would rather you fuck off back to the North, dog."

You still at Daemon's words, promptly turning to him with a hardened expression of disbelief, "my prince-"

"And you best take your defective animal with you," he adds, grimacing at the wolf-pup chewing at a ball of wound fabric.

"Prince Daemon," you call tersely.

Daemon turns to you, expression unable to melt with the presence of that oaf on your side.

"Please do not speak for me as though your sentiments and mine own are one and the same," you calmly say.

Daemon scoffs. Cregan chuckles.

You turn to Cregan with a guilty expression, "I apologize on the behalf of ill-contrived words against you, Lord Cregan."

"No, you don't," Daemon quips as he stands, "don't fucking-"

"I appreciate your sentiment, my lady," Cregan ignores the whimpers of the lizard prince, "though you needn't worry yourself, for I am not wounded by words from the likes of him."

"The likes of me?" Daemon sneers as he storms over.

You turn to Daemon, suddenly at your side. Your eyes widen at the fury on his features. You hands instinctively come to his arm when he appears as though he is about to lunge at Cregan.

Cregan watches you do this, watches you calm the hot blooded fiend. Part of him burns in a shade green at your shared familiarity, but he is more amused by the fact you turn to him with a concerned look, nonverbally expressing your concerns that you, in fact, to not want him to pound your prince if he attempts anything. And so he laughs.

Cregan laughs and takes a step back, allowing you to step between them and push Daemon away in return.

Daemon's ire is fueled further, "what, you halfbreed?!"

You grunt as you turn back to Cregan, relieved he was smiling and not partaking in the hotheadedness the other man was.

"Did you fuck your wolf yourself to offer the pup to her?"

You recoil at the grotesque notion. You cannot stop yourself from calling out the prince's name in anger and bewilderment, "Daemon!"

Cregan laughs. It draws your attention. You sigh, "Cregan, I beg your par-"

"No!" Daemon barks, peering down at you, "he's come here on the intent of you bearing his pups, girl, and you'd so readily drop on your knees for him?!"

"He's brought one pup, Daemon!" you quip pulling away from him as you shake your head, "and I have no intentions of keeping the little wolf," you turn to Cregan, "for I have no such capabilities nor capacities to care for one!"

Daemon grinds his teeth. You heave.

Good enough.

The prince finds slight catharsis in your words. His anger does not fade however, because Cregan's grin is as wide as ever.

"Actually," Cregan raises his hands casually, "I have spoken to your father about the pup and he said he would accept it, for I am also giving you one of my servants as an aid."

The two men watch as you perk at the idea.

"Oh!," you gasp in disbelief, "so..." you break into a wide smile, "I can keep the wolf?!"

Cregan laughs as he nods, "and even better, you can name it."

Daemon is appalled by your next actions.

You run and throw yourself onto Cregan, sealing him into a hug for a moment before pulling back in realization your actions were most indecent.

Cregan however prevents you from pulling away too far, hands coming to your waist as he smiles down at you. He speaks with a lopsided grin, "I have been meaning to bring you the pup ever since we spoke about my pregnant wolf when you visited me in the North."

When you what?

"Will your dear Luna not mourn the loss of her puppy?"

LUNA?

Cregan chuckles, pulling his hands away from you, not because he wanted to, but because, between the two of them, he was currently the more amicable in your eyes, and he was not about to ruin that, "I assure you, she will fair fine, as she is preoccupied with three more at home."

You frown, stepping back from Cregan to turn to the pup, not at all seeing the twitching face of your prince, "still... I must not let him be forgotten by her mother and likewise."

Cregan smiles at the sentiment, "you have a kind heart, my lady," he takes your hand, "I would be glad to bring my wolves to your home whenever you want."

You are horrified by the notion, "oh please, it would be much better if I came to you."

Cregan nods, lips in a smirk, "I shall await then."

You seemed to be caught off-guard by the fact you unwittingly just made plans with the Stark.

And you had meant to explain you could not simply agree to his offer, but you were distracted by the string of High Valyrian being spewed into the air, paired by the loud sound of the prince marching out of the room.

#daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfic #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark fluff

4K notes · View notes

tizeline · 4 months ago

Note

Oh boy, at this point I feel that the truth is gonna chew Mikey hard after discovering they are actually the bad guys. Side note: I know Raph and Mikey are gonna struggle at first to accept the truth and even more to accept that Splinter and April aren't evil… but when and how is gonna Mikey really START to accept this? because I feel theres more chances with Raph than with Mikey

Okay, so this is what I've worked out so far regarding Mikey's redemption arc-

Like in canon, after the season 1 finale and Draxum gets fucked up by The Dark Armor and then also becomes wanted in The Hidden City, he (plus his kids) ends up finding and settling down in that apartment in April's building (the idea of them accidentally becoming April's neighbours is hilarious so I'm keeping that lmao). Then Leo enters his Rebellious Teen Arc and runs off to hang out with Donnie and April most of the time, eventually he's joined by Raph too so then it's mostly just Mikey and Draxum brooding in their apartment all day. It's during this time that Draxum spends some time self-reflecting and eventually decides to abandon their plans of world domination, much to Mikey's dismay who is still very much in the mood to end humanity.

It's hard pinpointing an exact starting point of Mikey realizing that he's been in the wrong, deep down I think he already know this, but he'll be damned if he actually aknowledges it. But it's around this part of the story that things start turning around for Mikey. Because when Draxum announces that it's over and they're done with trying to take over the world, Mikey gets pretty pissed about it and decides that he's ALSO gonna go all Rebellious Teenager on them all! See how they like THAT! BTW Mikey's "Rebellious" Teen Arc mostly includes him spending more time sulking outside than in the apartment as he previously did, and acting a bit more cranky towards Draxum, but he still returns home at a reasonable time in the evening and in general doesn't do anything he isn't allowed to do. He's not very good at being a bad kid haha. (If anything, Draxum thinks it's good that Mikey spends some time outside)

I've mentioned before that I like the idea of introducing Mondo Gecko and Woody Dirkins into the story and that they could help him in his character development and expand his world view (also godammit Mikey needs some friends aside from his brothers) So anyway, it's when Mikey starts spending time outside on his own that he meets and, after some time, befriends both of them. I don't have the details figured out here, but I'm thinking that he first gets to know Mondo considering he's a yōkai/mutant (haven't decided which). Mondo would already be friends with Woody which is how Mikey later meets him, when Mondo introduces them to each other. Mikey is obviously Skeptical at first, but Woody gives him free pizza so Mikey is all like "okay, maybe he sucks slightly less than other humans". All of this is to say, Woody is probably what leads to Mikey actually confronting the fact that he MIGHT be wrong about some things.

It's still very much a gradual change. It's around the end of season 2 that the Draxum family all reconcile with each other, and while Mikey is still not very fond of the Hamatos (especially Donnie lol) or humans, he doesn't wish for their demise anymore. Then it's some time after the events of the movie that Mikey fully commits himself to not judge people merely on them being humans or yōkai.

#tiz sep au #tizel talk #tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt au

169 notes · View notes

spiderlilyserendipity · 6 months ago

Text

Responsibility 🔞🖤

**Minors DNI! This is content for adults only! To read my SFW works, please see my masterlist.**

Summary: You’ve always had a hard time asking for help when you need it, and it doesn’t seem to get better as time goes by. Luckily for you, Hoseok knows you well enough to know when you need pampering.

Tags: Dom!Hoseok, Sub!Y/N, minimal plot, established relationship, dollification, safe words established, she calls him owner, PRAISE!!!!!, nonverbal sub space, oral (m. recieving), multiple orgasms (f. recieving), breeding kink (I didn't even mean to put it in this fic I swear but I can't fucking stop myself anymore send help), aftercare!!!, light angst (oopsie ✨), fluff at the end.

Warnings: Unprotected sex (don’t do that obviously lol)

W/C: 3970 (3.9K)

A/N: Hello everyone!! Sorry I disappeared once again, I just realized the last time I posted here was in NOVEMBER???? For the amount of BTS x Y/N writing I do it doesn't add up... I have been in a veryyyy big writer’s slump ALTHOUGH I have made some really good progress with a bigger series I hope to get out to you guys soon! These last few weeks have been a bit rough for me, so here is something a bit chiller with my beloved Dom!Hoseok x Y/N.

You’re in one of those moods again where everything feels too much.

It’s not necessarily your fault, but you’ve always had a hard time asking for help when you need it, and it doesn’t seem to get better as time goes by. You’ve known this about yourself for a long time, but you can’t help but get trapped in it.

It starts for you with a big project at work. You only volunteered to help out because no one else did, and it led to you being given more responsibility than your payroll even calls for. Initially, you tried to back out of it and make excuses, but your boss pushed forward with his own agenda and you never could. Now, you’re stuck doing work that isn’t really even yours without extra pay and with significantly more stress.

You’ve regretted it since the start, but you thought you’d be fine until today.

Today, you made a small mistake and your boss chewed you out for it in front of everyone. It wasn’t even a big deal, but your boss was in a bad mood to begin with and you just happened to be the person in the line of fire. But that small incident flared up something inside you—a deeply rooted fear of not being good enough.

And now, you find yourself plummeting down a rabbit hole of negative self-talk that really has nothing to do with work or anyone else. It has to do with you.

“What are you doing spacing out?” Hoseok’s laugh jolts you out of your thoughts. You look away from the TV, where your boyfriend is smiling warmly down at you. “Had a long day at work?”

You purse your lips. You don’t really want to get into it. It’s a bad habit, but you don’t like to drag Hoseok into your negativity. He has enough stress at his own job. “No, just tired.” You lie, getting off the couch.

“Y/N.” Hoseok says your name, wrapping a hand around your wrist. His voice is low, worried. You avoid his eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“Nothing, I’m just tired.” You lie again, but you know Hoseok can see right through you. Of course he can, after all these years together.

You take a quick shower in the ensuite bathroom of your shared bedroom, then step out and run yourself a bath as a treat after a long day. You smile to yourself at the array of different bath bombs Hoseok keeps stocked for you, picking out one with a candy-like scent for tonight.

You drop the bath bomb in the water, watching it fizz and turn the water a shimmery baby pink. You step back in, sinking down into the hot water with a sigh. It’s not enough to take away the negative thoughts in your head, but it does take the edge off.

You’re almost dozing off in the bath when the bathroom door opens. Hoseok steps inside, then closes the door behind him. “That smells so good.” He comments, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid beside you.

You smile. “Yeah.”

The air is still slightly tense between you. Hoseok watches your face for a moment, then smiles. “This scent is nice, isn’t it? I’m glad I listened to the salesperson.” He asks, rolling up his sleeves. You wonder what he’s doing when he leans in and begins to massage your shoulders. “You’re too tense, though.” He comments under his breath.

You look away. With one small touch, Hoseok breaks down your walls. “Don’t deserve it.” You mumble.

“Don’t deserve what, sweetheart?” Hoseok asks gently, his thumbs now working into the dips of your collarbone.

You shake your head, feeling overwhelmed. “Everything. Don’t deserve your touch.”

“Is that so?” Hoseok asks in a low, patient voice that sends heat to your core. You know exactly what he’s doing, and although you want it, you can’t let yourself have it. You try to push away, to reach for the tub’s stopper and drain the bath away. But Hoseok stops you with a firm hand over your wrist. “I’m not done yet, sweetheart.” He warns you gently, pushing you back against the tub.

Hoseok’s eyes flicker down to your cleavage, but he doesn’t touch you there yet. He can still see the hesitance in your eyes, the self-doubt that makes you fear submission to him. “It seems like you have a lot of thoughts in your head right now. Would you like me to give you a break, to let me do all the thinking? And you get to relax, just like a pretty little doll?” He purrs, causing you to rub your thighs together.

In the low light, Hoseok’s eyes glint with satisfaction at the effect his words have on you. “Oh, you would like that. Unfortunately I need to hear a special word before I can do that. Does my pretty girl remember what that word is?”

“Candy.” You murmur.

Hoseok beams, running a hand through your hair. “Good girl.” He emphasizes, making the fire in your belly burn brighter. “What a gorgeous doll I own.”

You gasp softly as Hoseok’s hands move down to cup your breasts, toying with your nipples. “Owner.” You whisper.

“Yes, doll?” Hoseok replies easily, continuing to rub the now-hard nubs.

“It’s cold.” You whisper. By now, the hot water has become lukewarm and you’re starting to get chilly. Hoseok hums, leaning in to kiss your breasts.

“Is that right?” He coos at you. His hands move down your torso, then part your thighs. You whimper as Hoseok plays with your clit, then drags a finger along your entrance. “Hmm…Feels nice and warm here though.” Hoseok makes an expression of fake-confusion, then slides a finger inside. You whine, gripping his forearm with both of your hands.

Hoseok chuckles, then kisses your forehead. He cups your mound, looking directly at you as he does it. “I don’t think I want to get my clothes wet. Let’s get you up and dressed.”

With that, Hoseok pulls the stopper. You watch the water drain down, until you’re left sitting in the empty tub. Hoseok stands, then puts a hand under your chin, guiding you to stand. His eyes move down your naked body, full of controlled lust. He has you step out of the tub, then picks a towel off the shelf. “So wet.” He chides, taking your hand in his and drying each finger diligently. You watch him as he carefully works his way up your arm, then dries your armpit for you. He repeats the motion on the other side.

Then, Hoseok pushes your chin up, expecting you to look up. You obey. He dries off your neck, then your collarbones. You whine as he takes his time with your breasts, thumbing at them through the towel. “So, so wet.” Hoseok chides, then pinches one nipple. “This is why pretty things like you are hard work. If owner forgets to take good care of you, you become so messy. Isn’t that right, doll?”

“Yes, owner.” You murmur.

Hoseok lightly guides your chin down, allowing you to look at him again. “But messy girls are fun, too, because then owner has fun cleaning you and setting you straight.” He says, forcing your thighs apart to dry off your inner thighs. You purse your lips as he takes his sweet time drying your thighs and calves. Hoseok smiles up at you as he wipes off your feet. “It’s been so long since I got you a mani-pedi. I should do that, then take you out and get you some outfits. We can stop by a jewellery store, too. TIffany’s? No, maybe Cartier would be better.”

You listen quietly as Hoseok talks to himself, appraising your body as he does. You’re not meant to voice your opinion for things like this—you’re meant to take what he gives you. You let Hoseok turn you around, then begin wiping down your back. It’s mindless, but that’s the point. To submit, to gratefully take what you’re given. But you can’t help the nagging voice in your mind. “Don’t deserve it.” You mumble. Hoseok’s hands pause.

Hoseok scoffs. “How can a doll know what their worth is? What, are you some kind of AI?” He comments, continuing to work at you.

“Deserve punishment.” You mumble. “I’m bad.”

Hoseok hums as if he agrees, then puts a hand on your ass. You flinch and he notices. “Do you think I’d play with a bad doll?” Hoseok whispers, his voice dangerous in your ear.

You answer immediately. “No, owner.”

“That’s right!” He says cheerfully, turning you back around. Taking your face in one hand, Hoseok grins at you, but warning flashes in his eyes. “My doll doesn’t get punished. My doll is a good girl who listens and takes what I give her. Has owner been slacking in pampering his doll that she’s forgotten who she belongs to?”

“No, owner.” You repeat.

Hoseok looks displeased. You feel the urge to cry, hating his displeasure. You want to be good, but you don’t feel good enough!

Hoseok takes your hand and guides you into the ensuite closet. Still naked, you stand with your hands clasped as Hoseok (still fully dressed) opens a bag at the back of the closet, one you’ve never seen before. He pulls out two pieces of lingerie—one is a simple pair of white silk panties, and the other is a white, translucent babydoll with a small white bow in the middle. Without asking if you like it, Hoseok comes over to you and lifts you up onto the island in the closet. He puts the panties on you first, then the top. “So pretty.” He says, then rubs your cheek proudly. You preen at his touch.

Hoseok brings you to the bedroom next, sitting you down in front of your vanity. He hums to himself as he picks up your comb and brushes your hair. He decides to do a French braid tonight, then ties it in place with a little bow hair tie at the bottom. You both know it won’t look like that soon. “Such a pretty thing.” He praises you, eyes boring on you in the mirror. He taps your lips once, and you open your mouth. Hoseok spits in your mouth, then settles a hand on your throat. “Swallow.” He orders, then beams as he feels your throat bob from swallowing.

The dom reaches between your legs again, moving aside your underwear as he slips a finger into you again. By now, you’re much wetter. Hoseok laughs, then holds your face in one hand, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. You watch your own helpless face as your dom fingers you with amusement on his face. “So weak. Is this all you can take?”

“Owner, owner—” You whimper, putting a hand on Hoseok’s arm as he slips another finger inside.

“What, now you remember who owns you?” Hoseok asks, reaching down with his free hand to rub at your clit. He laughs at your fucked out face. “Dolls can’t come without permission. You should know that by now, sweetheart.”

“Owner, please, please let me come, please—” You plead.

“Five. Four.” Hoseok counts you down. You bite your lip, trying to hold back. “Three, two, one, now.”

Your whole body shakes as Hoseok works you through your orgasm. You feel come drip out of you, wetting your panties and the chair underneath you. But you don’t care at all, not with Hoseok murmuring praises in your ear. “What an obedient little cunt, just like I trained you. It’s like you were made to belong to me.”

You whine. Hoseok has you stand up, turning you half-sideways. You look in the mirror as the dom runs his clean hand down your hair gently, then rubs both hands over your hips. You breathe in sharply as you meet Hoseok’s eyes. He smirks, then digs his hands into your asscheeks, slightly spreading you. “What a messy girl. Only took two fingers and you’re all shiny down here.” He laughs, running a finger over your inner thigh, where your pre-come coats the skin.

“Owner.” You mumble against Hoseok’s collarbone.

He beams. “Yes, my doll?”

You both know what you want, but you can’t bring yourself to ask for it. It’s not your place to ask him to fuck you, since you’re meant to let him do as he pleases. So instead, you just press yourself in against him, placing your cheek against his collarbone. Hoseok knows what you mean without saying it. He presses a kiss to your hair, then presents his left hand—still covered by your juices—to your mouth and sticks his thumb in. You suck obediently, looking directly at your dom. “Such a useful mouth.” He purrs. You let out a small sound at his praise. Hoseok withdraws his thumb, then switches to give you his index and middle fingers. As you do that, the dom meticulously straightens your hair, ensuring not a hair is out of place. Finally, he gives you his ring and pinky finger to lick. You don’t miss the emerald and diamond ring on his ring finger—ensuring to get your juices out of every crevice around the ring. Hoseok’s jaw tightens at the sight.

The dom intertwines your hands, then brings you over to the bed. Using his free hand, he pulls back the covers, then guides you under. You watch Hoseok grab the TV remotes and return. You glance at the hard member in Hoseok’s pants as he sits in bed next to you. Knowing what you’re thinking, Hoseok pulls his pants and underwear down in one go—revealing the hard, leaking member. “I wonder if that movie is out yet…” Hoseok says to no one in particular, pretending to be interested in finding some movie. Without saying a word, Hoseok entangles a hand in your hair, guiding you down toward his member under the covers. Your breath sharpens at the feeling of being used to pleasure him as he watches a movie, just a little thing for him to control.

You start to lick from your position at his side, but Hoseok frowns at you. Your eyes widen. Have you done something wrong? “Hmm…” He says, then reaches down and hooks a finger into the hip part of your panties. Using them, he pulls you down so you’re sitting on his calves. He lets go, then returns the hand to your hair. For added effect, he tucks the covers in around you, leaving just your head up for you to suck him off. You whimper, loving the feeling. You’re his toy, his doll.

You begin sucking Hoseok off, doing your absolute best to please him as you work at him with your mouth and cup his balls with your hands. Hoseok runs a hand through your hair gently, idly, like he’s barely paying attention when you know he couldn’t care less about what’s on screen. Even like this, you know you’re his priority.

You lick the slit of his member and Hoseok hisses. “Oh, that’s it.” He praises you, tightening the hand in your hair slightly. “What a good girl. So useful.”

You moan, accidentally pressing yourself down against his calf. Hoseok notices immediately. “Is my doll getting restless? Is me playing with your mouth not enough?”

“No, owner. I-I’m grateful.” You protest weakly.

Hoseok’s eyes glint dangerously. “Yeah? Then why are you rubbing yourself against my leg like a puppy in heat?” He sits you up, bringing you onto his lap. You purse your lips as Hoseok feels how wet you are again with his hand. “Good girls don’t hide their feelings, sweetheart. You know that.”

“Yes, owner.” You say, looking at him through your lashes.

Hoseok tsks. He slots his thigh between your legs. You sigh as he pushes up against you, loving the feeling of his hot skin against your aching clit. “If it feels good, you need to show me, sweetheart. Now, look at me and show me how good it feels. And don’t look away.” He orders. You swallow. Hoseok settles a hand to the back of your neck, holding you firmly. You slowly begin rubbing yourself against his thigh, looking directly at your dom. Hoseok watches you intently, ignoring the movie playing in the background. The lust in his eyes is illuminated by the changing colours from the screen.

Your desperation mounts embarrassingly fast with Hoseok watching you rub yourself against him. Knowing that, Hoseok taps your chin, indicating for you to open your mouth. You take his thumb in your mouth, sucking as best as you can but you’re not consistent—the seal you form around his thumb is broken all too often by the moans and sighs you let out. Hoseok smirks at that, knowing you can’t handle it. “Suck properly.” He orders. You swallow, then wrap your lips properly around his thumb. “That’s it. Who’s my good little slut?” Hoseok asks.

You whine, grinding faster. “Is it you?” He teases. “Hmm…I thought my doll knew how to come when I told her though. Let’s see. Come now.”

With a single order, you get your release. Your whole body shakes, and Hoseok pulls you in close. He wraps his arms around you, using one hand to cup the back of your head as you shake from your orgasm. “So obedient. Just like I trained you. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, thank you.” You chant, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You’re almost crying at this point, feeling so taken care of and loved. “So grateful. Thank you, owner.”

Hoseok pulls back slightly, cupping your face in both of his hands. He kisses you, slow and passionate. “Can you handle more, baby?”

“Yes, owner.” You answer, feeling soft. Hoseok’s eyes sparkle. He knows that tone of your voice. You’re slipping further and further into your sub space, and it won’t be long until it’s hard for words to come out altogether. But Hoseok knows your body and your limits. He’ll give you exactly what he knows you can take.

“Go get your plug.” He orders. You crawl to the other side of the bed, reaching into the nightstand. Although the two of you have various toys, you know he means the small toy shaped like a teardrop with a little gem at the flared end. You bring it to him, presenting it with both hands. Hoseok takes it, then guides you to lay down. You lay back, feeling loved and safe. Hoseok will take care of you. He always does. Hoseok leans over you. “Show me your colours.” He says, knowing words are starting to slip away from you already. You squeeze Hoseok’s shoulder once to indicate green, twice for yellow, and three times for red. Hoseok kisses your forehead in praise. “What’s your colour right now?”

You squeeze once. “Such a good listener.” He praises you. He checks you’re ready, then slowly slides into you. You pant as he bottoms out, feeling full.

“O-Owner.” Your voice comes out weak. “P-Please.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Hoseok reassures you. He allows you to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I’ll take good care of you. Fill your womb with my seed.”

You clench around him. “P-Please.” Then, you whine into his ear. “B-Breed me, owner.”

Hoseok growls, planting his hands on either side of your waist. He begins to move slowly, but you know he’s holding himself back for you. “Yeah?” He asks. “Want me to get you pregnant, sweetheart? Take care of you, take responsibility?”

You moan at the idea of being safe and taken care of. For someone who always pushes herself too far, you know deep down you’d love that. And Hoseok knows it, too, even if you don’t know how to ask for it. He knows you. Soon, Hoseok’s thrusts become faster and faster, knowing you’ve adjusted enough for him. Your moans become louder, and the nails you dig into Hoseok’s skin start to leave deeper indents. Soon, you’re arching your back. Hoseok’s own hips start to stutter. He reaches for your hair, tangling a firm hand in it. You sigh happily at his firmness. “Almost there, sweetheart.” Hoseok promises, reaching down to rub your clit. “You can do it, baby. Ready? 3…2…1…Now.”

Your orgasm wracks through you again, making you shake a third time tonight. At the same time, hot seed fills you, making you feel insane with pleasure. Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes, landing on the pillow. Hoseok wipes your cheeks immediately, then pulls you in as he lays on top of you. You feel so safe with him both inside you and on top of you, sandwiched between him and the sheets.

“T-Thank you, thank you.” You repeat, digging your nails into Hoseok’s shoulders. “Thank you, owner. So grateful.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” Hoseok says, smiling at you. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back. Even though he doesn’t say it, you see the relief in Hoseok’s eyes as you finally smile sincerely tonight. You lay there for some time and catch your breath. You kiss and hold one another, feeling comfortable. Then, Hoseok slowly slides out of you. You shiver as the seed begins to slip out of you, but Hoseok guides it back in with the plug. You clench around it, feeling pleased. “That’s my girl. So proud of you, sweetheart.”

You lay peacefully as Hoseok gets up, leaving the room momentarily. He returns with a glass of water and two granola bars for you. You’re still quite far into your sub space, so words are a bit difficult for you right now. Knowing that, Hoseok just quietly helps you sit up and feeds you your snack. Once you’re done, he carefully helps you drink the water.

“Should we shower now?” Hoseok asks. You purse your lips, looking down at your intertwined hands. He laughs. “Okay. In twenty minutes then.”

You smile, letting Hoseok pull you back under the covers for some cuddles before shower time. “Sweetheart.” Hoseok says, hooking his chin over your shoulder as he spoons you. You hum. “Remember you don’t need to hide from me, okay? If anything is bothering you, you tell me. I won’t think you’re any less good at your job if you talk to me about it, I promise. And although I know you would never give up your passion, I want you to know you don’t have to work if you don’t want to.”

You blink, craning your head to look at your boyfriend. Hoseok (despite the blush on his face) looks resolute. “I’m not kidding when I say I’ll take responsibility for you. I really can take good care of you.”

You giggle. It feels like a proposal. “I know, Hoseokie.” You mumble, cuddling back against him. You sigh, closing your eyes against the pillow as Hoseok gently rubs a hand over your belly. “I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you too.” Hoseok presses another kiss in your hair. Just then, he glances at the clock. “Okay, twenty minutes over. Let’s go.” He says. You pout, but he just grins at you. “A deal’s a deal, baby. Come on, let me get you cleaned up so I can change the sheets.”

You pout, holding your arms up. Hoseok laughs, tipping his head back. “Actually, I change my mind. I don’t want such a spoiled wife.”

“Too bad.” You mumble with a smile as he scoops you up into his arms like a bride. By now, your headspace has worn off but you feel so soft and content. “You have to take responsibility for me.”

You and Hoseok laugh together as he carries you to the bathroom.

🖤🖤🖤

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd like to thank the Academy and fucking 2022 Mama red carpet Hoseok for inspiring me to stay up and write this fic when I have work at 8 am (but just look at him AGHHHHHHHHH). Also, requests are open <333

#hoseok x reader #hoseok x y/n #hoseok x you #hoseok smut #hoseok fluff #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fluff

220 notes · View notes

foodtruckery · 11 days ago

Note

Okay noncon thoughts about ford forcing himself onto fem!stan after the science fair incident, it isn't more so intentional but in an act of rage, it's rough and merciless, with hard thrusts. Fem! Stan initially attempts to fights it off at first but later just gives in it as it would be useless and she technically "deserves this" or whatever lie she makes up to comfort herself in the moment

Cue the post nut clarity hits and stanford is either a) deeply disgusted/horrified at himself and regrets it immensely, after all, no matter what- that's still his little sister or b) literally does not regret it at all and is finally glad he could be open about his desire for fem!stan

(Please ignore or delete this ask, if you aren't comfortable with noncon aaaa, I'm so sorry if this was unwanted)

hello anon! not uncomfortable with noncon, so no worries there, but i appreciate you checking! but! lol i will say that i do tend to be picky about the noncon stuff i consume and enjoy, and it's usually one of those things that has to be "right situation at the right time." and in typical me fashion, i uh. managed to talk my way into it! putting the rest of this rambling below a cut for anyone who is sensitive to this topic! <3

all of THAT being said, if we're looking at a scenario where we do get ford who kinda loses it, seeing red and wanting to put stan in her place, i think it's a lot more interesting if it's NOT the first time these feelings are out in the open. let's say, instead, that they've already crossed that line with each other. so at first, it isn't anything usual even. getting ford annoyed and riled up enough to want to be rougher than normal, pull out a little more of that possessive streak of his -- that's something stan's gotten good at. so that's what this must be, right? they're gonna fight about it and then they're gonna fuck about it, and then they're gonna get over it.

except ford is a lot angrier than usual. angrier than when she sneaks back in after curfew with with a new hickey and won't tell him who gave it to her, angrier than when she disappears halfway through a saturday shift in the shop and makes ford finish restocking by himself, angrier than the time ford had to come and pick her up from a bar she'd snuck into but got too drunk to make it home by herself -- angrier than she's ever actually seen him, maybe.

that's probably fine tho, right? she likes it when ford wants to manhandle her a bit, and when he gets worked up enough to growl the kinda lewd shit against her neck that's just a sexy cover for the fact that he gets jealous or worried. but he isn't saying anything now, actually, and it's kinda weird, the silence. they've stopped arguing and his hands are in all the places she usually likes, but the anxious anger from the fight isn't dissipating into lust and want like it usually does. ford isn't grinding his knuckles against her clit through her clothes and chewing on her ear in the way that that usually redirects all that energy into something to better spend it on. he's gripping too hard, being too pushy, and none of it actually feels good like it should. when she actually loses buttons off her goddamn shirt for how hard he tries to yank it open, she snaps at him, "jesus christ, stanford, at least try to be careful, will ya?"

and she's not at all prepared for how actually fucking angry and, worse, how cold he sounds when he responds. "like how you were careful with my project? shut the fuck up."

and suddenly this isn't about fucking it out, and it's not about letting off a little steam. and when when she goes to shove him, ford is. a lot heavier than she'd realized, actually. he doesn't rock easily back like she ususally does when she pushes him, and his grip is hard enough to bruise when he shoves her down. and it hadn't ever really occurred to stan before then that ford just...let her push him around when they were scuffling. that his time being forced into boxing lessons by their pa actually meant something on her scrawny nerd brother.

suddenly ford is threatening.

and suddenly she's afraid of him.

and stan is used to that feeling of fight or flight surging through her. usually through a her fist into some loser's face. but she's not at all used to feeling that way with ford. especially not like this, underneath him. and he's suddenly heavy and huge in ways that had always been nice and good. but they're not anymore, and it's the first time stan has ever felt the rush of fight or flight and just....frozen instead.

he doesn't even take her panties off, just yanks them to the side. and she knows she's liked that before, found it really hot even, but now all she can feel is how hard the material is cutting into her hips and thighs and how wet she isn't. and some of the fight does kick in, finally, when he pulls his dick out and she realizes, holy shit, she doesn't want this to happen. but he's already got her at a fucked up angle, crushed down against the mattress, out of reach of anything on the nightstand, the width of him pressing her thighs too far apart to get enough leverage to knee him as hard as she tries to.

that just makes him angrier, anyway, and she yelps when he grabs her by the thigh so hard she knows she's going to have six finger shaped bruises for days afterwards.

"shut up!" he hisses again, squeezing the already sore spots on her leg hard enough that she flinches and tries to jerk away, but the mattress doesn't give her any leeway -- it just dips and reshapes to support her exactly where she's at. "if anyone comes up here, i'll tell them you came on to me to try and make up for what you did. it is the least you could fucking do, after all."

and he's....right? she thinks? ford's the golden child, the eldest son, and she's always been too loud, too stupid, too shamelss, too fat, too her. they'd believe him. and maybe....maybe she does, too? this is how they've been handling all their fights, lately. most of them fights that she starts on purpose to get goad ford into fucking her. so....so maybe that is on her? for setting the precedent?

it all hurts, but maybe she deserves that, too.

there's a shitty little sketch of a sailboat on one of the wood slats holding ford's bed up above hers. it almost looks like it's the one moving.

after, ford climbs off of her, and the sailboat stops moving. she hears him cleaning himself up and getting changed, and she flinches when he climbs the ladder to his bed. but she doesn't peel herself off the sheets until she recognizes the slow, even cadence of his breaths from overhead that suggest he's fallen asleep.

it's probably the quietest she's ever moved around their room. usually, she doesn't care if ford hears her shuffling around. usually, she's hoping he'll notice.

now, she's careful not to make any noise at all. it's dark, which she appreciates when she's stripping out of her ruined shirt and stretched panties, but it means she doesn't know what she's grabbing to throw on instead. she doesn't really care as long as she's dressed again as quickly as possible, but she is grateful to find a sweater and jeans to pull on. nothing else she grabs out of the dresser gets a second glance, though. clothes just get pushed as quickly and as quietly as she can manage into the bottom of her bookbag, and she doesn't risk making additional noise by closing the drawers back up.

ford's bed squeaks, just once, when he shifts in his sleep, and stan nearly throws up on the carpet, gripping her bag so tightly it makes her hands hurt. the door is only a few steps away, but it feels like it takes forever to get there. the soft clicking of the handle have her heart in her throat, but ford doesn't move again, and the hall is silent when she slips out of his room. her shoes and her keys are downstairs, which is good, they'll be easy to grab. she wants desperately to shower. she wants to use all the hot water their ancient water heater can provide and then some. but she thinks that even if she could get it to spit out boiling water, it wouldn't be enough. she also thinks that if she goes into the hall bathroom now and closes the door, that she's going to fall apart, and she can't do that. not yet. instead, she sneaks downstairs the way she always has, skipping the creaky fourth step, dodging the table of tibetan singing bowls Ma uses for "ambiance." she doesn't even lace her shoes, just shoves her feet into the sneakers and grips her keys in a clenched fist to keep them from jangling. she feels the metal teeth digging into her palm and clenches harder. she doesn't breathe until she's behind the locked door of the El Diablo and three, going on four, five, six blocks up the street. she'll find a parking lot to pull into later, when she's out of town and can't keep the wheel straight anymore. she'll lose it there. she'll cry until she has to stumble out of the car and throw up, and she'll bloody her knuckles punching asphalt.

but for now she keeps a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel and drives and refuses to look when she passes the beach.

#i'm at work btw god help me #i wasn't even sure i was gonna answer this one tbh #cause i LIKE noncon from time to time but it's not my go-to #but HERE WE ARE #stancest #cw: noncon #pretend my ask tag is cute

65 notes · View notes

booquip · 3 months ago

Text

Hello! Sorry guys I broke my arm lol and it was my right arm too so writing was on the back burner for me. I even had to take a final with my left hand. But dw guysss I came back so alpha sigma skibidi 😜😜🐺🐺 I hope you enjoy whatever the heck of writing this is that I never posted because it felt stupid and doesn’t even make sense to me ☹️☹️

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!Reader x Suguru Geto

Synopsis: Takes place a bit after the star plasma incident (written in multiple POVS) (trigger warning(?) Scars and bloody injury.)

Word Count: 1,455

The scorching summer day slowly faded into an orange-purple hue welcoming the stars and saying goodbye to the sun. Something you’d usually notice but everything recently just looked dull. You found yourself ignoring it… Dismissing the moment under the guise of saying you’d see it the next day… something you’d been saying a lot recently.

You were walking to your dorm coming back battered from a mission. You didn’t even notice the blood stain on your arm or the aching pain from how deep the curse had punctured you. You’d been biting more than you could chew recently with missions and who were the higher-ups to deny a special grade actually wanting to do something? You needed the distraction… Your mind being miles away —well no more like stuck in time—hence why a grade two curse was able to almost get the jump on you.

You look down to the thin paper cut like scars on your hands tucking them under your sleeves it seemed to be a permanent karmic reminder of that day… When Gojo and Geto became Suguru and Satoru… But at what cost? A trauma bond? The loss of a promising young girl? The over exertion of all your techniques? The questioning of all your morals?

Goj—Satoru didn’t let anyone get behind him for a while. It’s subtle but you noticed it…. Or were you just projecting that hurt? Suguru being a different story all together.. it was a rare occurrence to see him anymore… You never know how much a presence is needed until it’s well…gone.

You let out a breath your eyes feeling heavy yet you weren’t sleepy this had been going on for a while since then… Instead of bee-lining for your dorm like usual in which you’d usually cross paths with Satoru who’d be talking to Shoko about whatever it was they would talk about, you were too tired to pay attention…

You walk straight to the student common area to make yourself some tea. You didn’t even notice Geto’s presence until you saw his figure in front of you in the dim lit kitchen area.. You just give him a slight bow of the head in greeting. In which his eyes rake over your form. His presence didn’t seem right… but then again nothing did these days.

You didn’t realize that you subconsciously made tea for two. Why had you done that? You set a cup in front of him. He gives you another once over almost like he was surprised. Then he does so again the moment you take a seat beside him.

He murmurs something, you make it out to be a thanks but it was hard to tell because he kept his gaze down his shoulders slouched as if he was carrying the weight of the world on them.

You notice the bags under his eyes ,the attire he’s wearing, the way his hair looks, his slouched shoulders… His once vibrant violet irises, that reminded you of purple Hydrangeas were now withering purple Hyacinths. Even like this he was still a breathtaking site. You were snapped out of your thoughts when he unexpectedly spoke a bit louder for you to hear this time, breaking the silence that would leave even a feather to be heard if it fell.

“You’re hurt.”

His voice had a rough coarse edge to it, yet hearing it after so long it could be mistaken as silk to you. How long had it really been since you heard him speak? You take one hand off the hot tea cup you were holding going across to touch the wound on your left shoulder. You graze over the wound staring down at the crimson on the pads of your middle and ring fingers. Now that he pointed it out it started to sting. “Oh it’s really noth—“

He cuts you off by taking your wounded arm and rolling your sleeve up. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you almost instinctively retract your arm the scars from the Star Plasma incident stoping at your elbows… he knew you over exerted your blood technique back then but not by how much. He clenched his jaw at the site rolling the fabric up further eying the fresh wound on your shoulder.

His hands were cold you thought to yourself. Cold but soft…You manage to say something before you could get lost in his touch—his movements… Even in this state he did everything with such grace… “It’s nothing… really it’ll heal on its o—“

Why were you always neglecting yourself? He found himself thinking.

His mind was everywhere but worrying about you seemed to be the only constant.

Even though the both of them weren’t speaking much he could tell Satoru was also worried about you with the way he conviently needed to go to the girls dorm to talk to Shoko every time he saw you walking back on campus from a mission.

Suguru knew he wasn’t one to talk about appearances at all considering he could barely muster the energy to do well… anything. Yet somehow he found himself drinking the tea you made him, he found himself actually enjoying it,savoring the taste on his tongue as much as he could. He hears your pitiful attempt to downplay the situation quickly shutting that down with a knowing look. He felt the ghost of a grin purse his lips…it was almost amusing to him how fast you had stopped yourself.

Your eyes widen a bit seeing even the undertone of a smile on his lips. How long were you missing no— craving his presence. His hands were cold yet even the slightest curl of his lips felt so warm. You clear your throat a bit when he grabs the first aid kit beginning to clean your wound wincing a bit at the stinging sensation.

“Don’t be such a big baby.”

Says someone with an airy tone that betrays hints of something you couldn’t quite catch. Worry? Sympathy? Pity? Concern? You didn’t know but something about it was as everything was these days …off.

You turn your head looking up at him. You were so lost in the moment with Suguru you hadn’t sensed Satoru’s presence behind you.

His arms were crossed leaning his back against the wall raking over your form, his eyes narrowing in on your wound. The scars from that day still sent a mess of anger surging through him. Why was that? Why did it pain him to see you hurt? Why did it pain him to see you so clearly neglecting yourself? Why were you so casual about it? More over why did he care? Why was he finding himself wanting to pamper you?

He glances at his best friend…if you could even call them that right now.. Satoru knew he was going through something but he was afraid. For the second time in his life he found himself afraid of something…What if everything crumbles the moment he points something out? Since when did he find himself feeling doubt? Why did it always have to be about you two?

Suguru doesn’t look up from your wound but his grip on your arm tightens ever so slightly as if he was…nervous of Gojo's presence. It had been so long since the three of you were together. The tension between the two was thick almost enough that it could be cut with a knife. You let out a light laugh your eyes crinkling a bit at the sides as you shake your head in response to Satoru’s words .

You hadn’t noticed the way both of their eyes widened ever so slightly. Geto looking up at Gojo, both of them silently communicating...something. You turned your attention back to Sugurus hands now wrapping a bandage around the wound on your shoulder. For some reason the tension seemed to visibly dissipate Suguru finally speaking, the ghost of a smile returning on his lips.

“Like you’re one to talk Satoru”

He says his voice still tired but now with hints of playfulness to it.

Satoru pauses for a brief almost unnoticeable moment before clutching his hand to his heart in a dramatic display of mock offense, letting out a gasp.

You smile a warm one this time looking down at your now patched up shoulder, Suguru’s touch still lingering.. Why did you find yourself always craving more of it? You realize you smiled more in this hour than you did in the last two weeks. Their bickering filled the room feeling so warm the atmosphere beginning settle into something so foreign yet so familiar at the same time.

Everything would definitely not go back to normal but you three… maybe... You three would be okay.

I don’t really know how to feel about this to be honest…. I find myself pulling my hair out when it comes to witting Gojo. Trying to write him in a way that isn’t over saturated in fannon because he’s just way more complex than that but still finding myself unsatisfied with the way i write him because it doesn’t feel canon (but then again nothing will be because its FANFICTION). Oh and don’t get me started on dialogue its like pulling teeth taking me half an hour to figure out if they would really say the most simple phrase or if they would really react in such a way. Sorry if this disappointed you guys anyway as always thanks so much for the love on my last posts!! Also thanks so much for reading! Constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated!!

I was tweaking my old writing and it spiraled into this long mess. I like to think that Suguru would be more assertive in situations where the reader is hurt just the silent type… Like he’s mad but quiet in his words but body language tells another story… while Satoru is similar but much more… aggressive... maybe? Like he would berate the reader loudly for not taking care of the wound tease her for being ‘weak’ but also patch it up best he could even though he doesn’t really know how to??? I don’t know mann I just be yapping 😭😭

Also sorry for any inaccuracies again you can totally nit pick me I love getting better at writing! (Not too much though I have a fear of rejection) due to well uhmm my broken arm… haha… I couldn’t catch up on JJK as well as I hoped… you’d think I’d be able to laze around but nooo… I had to be an actual person and do stuff 😒😒 so yeah just feel free to tell me if I made an error in any concept!

Taglist: (I'm not sure if this is the writing you guys wanted to be tagged in but let me know and i'll remove it but thanks for liking my writing enough to want be tagged!! Like seriously it makes me jump for joy🙆🏽‍♀️🙆🏽‍♀️ also i have no clue how to tag so if i did it wrong let me know and ill fix it) @colorful-happy-shit , @ami20019

#jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen fandom #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #fanfics #gojo x reader x geto #satoru x reader x suguru #fem!reader

64 notes · View notes

its-time-to-write · 2 months ago

Text

chapter 5

guys I got confused and apparently I’ve had chapter five done for a while and the chapter I’ve been stressing over is actually chapter six??? I’m so terribly sorry! But here it is lol, I’m still a bit concerned I’ve written myself into a corner but I’ll post chapter six on Monday if not sooner.

table of contents

at least I’m trying

Jamie’s the one driving the car, but he’s actually worried that he’s about to be a murder victim. He’s never been a big fan of true crime, so he’s not entirely fucking thrilled that he’s going to be come one but he supposes he probably deserves it and anyway, maybe death isn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things.

Except he wants to actually hold Clare and buy her things and tell her he loves her and never leave her ever.

So maybe death-by-Madeline is actually so bad in the grand scheme of things.

“What the HELL is your problem?” she asks, and she’s actually expecting an answer so Jamie has to think fast. What the hell is his problem? No- what has he done in the present for Madeline to come straight from Milan to chew him out?

“What exactly do you mean?” he asks carefully. He needs to make sure Madeline knows he isn’t fucking hostile or some shit, and that maybe if he handles this right she can put a good word in with you.

He knows he’s reaching, but hey. He’s made it this far in life.

Madeline glares at him. “I mean, where the fuck do you get off showing up like this? Are you trying to take Bean? Because let me tell you, only one of us was at the birth and that shit was fucking gross. But the ones who showed up are the ones who get to take care of her, not some deadbeat father who’s too busy kicking a ball and fucking models to actually care about anything.”

That offends Jamie, but it terrifies him more than anything else. Because yes, he wasn’t around, but he didn’t know. And now he does fucking know and he has to actually see if he’s a good father or if being a piece of shit truly is genetic.

But he can’t imagine treating Clare even a fraction of the way his father treated him, so he’s hopeful.

He says, “I just want them to be taken care of,” and Madeline sighs.

“You can’t keep dragging her around, Tartt,” she reminds him as if he didn’t remind himself a year ago before thinking fuck it and calling you. It was supposed to go different. He was supposed to tell you he loved you and wanted you back and was done being a fucking idiot, except he got freaked out so he clammed up and left. And maybe that’s the strongest evidence as to why he should just leave the whole thing alone.

Jamie says, “I’m not,” but it feels like he’s trying to convince himself at this point.

“Being a parent is a lot of responsibility,” Madeline says.

He says, “I know,” then realizes he’s driven them to your street. He parks where he knows you can’t see him and waits for whatever Madeline has to say next.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “She still loves you a little bit, you know. That’s why this whole thing is such shit. I truly think she’d take you back if she could trust the fact that you wouldn’t leave her, and I actually fucking think it would be good for her. But you’re the fucking worst so it isn’t going to happen, obviously.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jamie says. “I wouldn’t do that to Clare.”

Madeline says, “You’ve met her twice,” and Jamie gets her point. Because yeah, he’s met her twice and he loves her but that’s not really a reason to try to patch things up with you, and that’s what Madeline’s really saying, so Jamie says, “It’s not because she has our baby.”

“Oh, is it not?” Madeline asks in her most sarcastic posh voice. “Then by all means, enlighten me as to what you think you’re doing with my best friend other than re-fucking her up.”

She’s got bags under her eyes, partially from Milan and partially because she’s just tired too. It’s her firmly-held opinion that you deserve the whole entire world and nothing less, but there isn’t much she can do to give it to you. She can try to protect you, she can threaten Jamie and torment him and bring you coffee and help put Bean down for naps but she can’t take the entire weight of it off of you.

And she was being completely fucking honest when she said she thought Jamie would be good for you. He was the best when you were together, always taking care of you when no one else would, and Madeline worries sometimes that you’ll never let that happen again.

“You don’t NEED a man,” she’d said more than once, “but if you wanted one just to take your mind off things or to buy your dinner I have a whole list.”

“I’m pregnant, Madeline,” you’d reminded her to which she’d just grinned and said, “Babe, there are real men out that who love that shit.”

You’d never taken her up on her offer because she knew, down in her core, that you were waiting for Jamie. She never, ever brought it up because she also knew you would be mortified to admit it. And that even though you wished for it deep in your soul, you also knew it would never happen.

“I’m not going to re-fuck her up,” Jamie says firmly, and if this were less serious of a situation he sees at least three ways he could turn that sentence into something dirty. “I have a plan.”

Madeline raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe,” she says. She reaches for the door and shoulders her away bag. Jamie watches her walk up the street and to your house without looking back once.

—

The first thing Jamie does is call Georgie because he actually does not have a plan. He has a vague idea of sweeping you in his arms and kissing you and that’s about it. He just can’t for the life of him figure out how to get there.

But his mum’s been on the other end of this, so she’s got to have some wisdom for him which is why Jamie calls her before he’s even out of your neighborhood.

He starts talking before Georgie can even say hello. He tells her the whole thing and about the fact that he’s an entire father out of nowhere and he has no idea what he’s even doing but there’s a part of him that wants to quit football and yes mum, he knows he’s being fuckin’ dramatic but he just wants to get his point across yeah? And by the time he’s done explaining that he just wants to make things right and permanent, he’s back inside his big empty house and wishing he were over at yours instead.

Georgie sighs and says, “I love you darling, but you’ve really fucked it,” and Jamie feels awful.

“I just don’t want to be like Dad,” he says quietly and Georgie says, “Jamie Tartt, you are nothing like that man. You’re my sweet, sexy little baby and you’ve grown up so much since you’ve been away. Don’t you ever think you’re like him.”

She’s right, Jamie knows that, but still. “So what do I do?” he asks.

Georgie’s silent on the other end of the line for a moment. Jamie doesn’t know if she’s hesitating or thinking but she says, “Now Jamie, I can’t promise this will work for you. And you need to make sure you’re listening to what that poor girl wants every step of the way. But I can tell you what I used to wish your father would do for me back in the day.”

Jamie digs around his house for a pen and paper because what’s the good in being England’s best striker if you can’t go for a long shot?

—

You’re not surprised Madeline is at your door, but you are surprised that she hasn’t been back to her flat yet.

“Your flight got back hours ago,” you say, baffled. She just shrugs. “Customs was an absolute nightmare,” she responds and you know she’s lying but you don’t question it. You just wave your hand vaguely to the guest shower that doubles as Mads’ second home and pull out a takeout menu.

Clare is on the brink of sleeping through the night, but she still isn’t quite there so you just do not have the brain space to cook a real dinner. It’s not like Madeline cares, anyway.

By the time the food arrives, Madeline is out of the shower and laying on the couch with Clare as she recounts her trip, carefully omitting how much time she spent with Keeley fucking Jones. You know you shouldn’t hate her, but god, every time you see or hear her she just says one insensitive thing after another. So you don’t pry when Mads clearly skips over something; you only press when you know it’s about whoever her mystery fling was, which she is less tight-lipped about.

It’s only after you’ve both eaten and Clare is (mostly) asleep for the night that she asks far too casually, “You’re not thinking of getting back together with Jamie, are you?” and you nearly choke.

“I beg your fucking pardon?” you laugh and she lifts a shoulder in a shrug.

“I think he’s going to try something,” she says. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again. Just because he wants you back doesn’t mean he’s going to fucking change. It’s really not the same shit, you know.”

You say, “Yeah, I know,” because you do. But if he’s going to volunteer to be awake late at night so you don’t have to, you might just take him up on it. Especially because you think it would be a much-needed humbling experience for him.

“What if I did?” you ask while Madeline sips her wine. “What if I did take him back?”

Madeline sets down her glass with a clink. “Then I think you’d need a plan,” she says seriously.

—

Madeline’s plan consists of specifically detailed criteria Jamie must meet before he’s redeemed as a trustworthy person. It includes signifiers of emotional intelligence, maturity, and a general sense of stability that has been previously dispelled. She writes everything down and sticks it to the fridge with a magnet, right under Clare’s ultrasound photos.

“If he can well and truly change, then he’s allowed back,” she says, and you agree.

And for the first time, you allow your hope to come to the surface.

Meanwhile, Jamie’s finished his own list. Everything his mum would’ve like to see his dad do and everything Simon actually did do to win her over. It’s a wide range, that’s for sure, from flowers to grocery shopping to fucking cooking which he definitely hasn’t done since he was twenty-one but he knows how to fucking read, doesn’t he? Cooking’s just following instructions and he can do that pretty well on the pitch, so it probably is the same thing.

He’s awake all night. All he can think about is how much he misses you in the bed next to him, and then around four in the morning he gets really fucking worried that all of this is just selfish and he should actually just leave you alone.

So instead of trying to sleep (because apparently it’s useless) he makes a cup of coffee and goes for a walk.

He walks all the way to the green in the dark and goes to sit on a bench, except it’s already occupied.

“Mornin’ Jamie,” says Ted. “Bit early for a walk, ain’t it?”

Jamie just looks at him. “You’re awake too,” he points out, and Ted shrugs.

“Just a little jet lagged,” he replies.

Jamie knows that’s bullshit, and he says it. “You’ve been here long enough, coach.“

Ted shrugs again. “Guess it never really leaves you.”

He doesn’t say anything else but he doesn’t seem like he’s trying to get rid of Jamie, so Jamie sits down. A few minutes pass before Ted says, “Henry wanted to talk, so I woke up to FaceTime him. Then I couldn’t go back to sleep because I just miss him so dang much.”

Jamie says, “Same coach,” without thinking, and now it’s Ted’s turn to give him a look. Jamie ignores it and says, “I got a kid. Couldn’t fucking sleep thinking about her and her mum, you know? I just want to be fucking… involved but it’s all weird, like.”

“Weird how?” Ted prompts. He has enough questions to fill a black hole but he’s sure it’ll come out sooner or later so for now he’s just going to listen.

Jamie leans back and stares at the sky as it begins to lighten. “Pretty sure I’m still in love with her. I sort of fucking suspected when I were with Keeley, but it weren’t till I saw her again that I knew for sure. But I don’t want to be fucking selfish and shit, so now I think I should just leave them alone.”

“Is that what she wants?” Ted asks as if he hasn’t had this conversation with himself a million times and moved to stinkin’ London to try to prove that he wasn’t selfish himself.

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “She doesn’t want me to leave again.”

Ted says, “Then don’t.”

next chapter

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt #ted lasso

52 notes · View notes

tremendum · 6 months ago

Text

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Me and the Devil; vi

(not my gif)

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

previous next series masterlist

word count: 11k LOL SORRY

summary: "Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike."

warnings: blood and gore, graphic descriptions of violence (reader and others), allusions to noncon/incest/pedophilia (Feyd Rautha and the Baron), referenced past abuse, blood kink, predator/prey kink, allusions to dubcon, knife kink, rough unprotected PiV, slapping, flashback to Feyd-Rautha warning maybe i should say, drinking and making dubious decisions... pls lmk if i left any out.

notes: hi to my friends here who are reading this series! thanks for the patience I know its been a little bit since i last updated but in return, this chapter is the longest yet with almost 11k words... i promise itll be worth it!! things are moving along!! new chapter on AO3 is also coming soon :) as always please feel invited to leave feedback, its how i get motivated! love u all i hope you enjoy!

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

My Dearest Niece,

I received your letter with great joy, though I regret to inform you that I will not be able to attend the Space Trade Referendum or the arraignment as planned. It is with love that I must share the news that I am set to give birth around that time, and I am unable to travel in my condition.

Please know that my absence does not diminish my support for you in any way. Though I cannot be there in person, I will be thinking of you and sending you all of my love and support from afar. Should things become dire, please remember that you are always welcome at House Ginaz. Our doors are open to you, and we will do whatever we can to assist you in any way possible.

Take care, my dear niece, and know that you are never alone.

With all my love and best wishes,

Lady Ginaz

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

The planets look tiny and unimportant from so vastly far away.

You've decided, in the last few days, that you are not particularly keen on space travel; The ship that transports you and the members of House Atreides is incredibly massive and freezing cold, and the empty void of space that sits just to the right of your bed has been a present reminder of your mortality.

You stare silently out the expansive window that covers one whole wall of your chambers; out into the deep dark, your breath nearly fogging the plexiglass from your proximity. Your lip, chewed raw, has cracked down the middle and bleeds gently as you sigh, one hand toying with the sleeve of the dress you wear.

It is now only three days until the summit Referendum is drawn - four days, then, until your fate is charged against the rest of the Landsraad - when you could lose your planet and your name, your right to marry Paul, your claim to the Noble class.

"I want you to be prepared," Duke Leto had said last night at dinner, "Baron Harkonnen will be in attendance, and it is likely that either of his nephews will be with him."

Your eyes bore holes into the window before you, showcasing the wide expanse of space that stretches deeper than you could fathom. The thought of seeing Feyd-Rautha festers in your mind; a dangerous, hungry beast that cannot be quelled but with the taste of flesh and blood.

It is with a twist of your gut that you realize you want him to be there.

Ever fiber of your being screams with the desire to see him, to scream, to rip the skin off of his face. More fearfully, though: deep down inside you feel a longing, quiet and unsure, that sings in your heart. There were those days when Feyd would come to you late at night, muscles weary, and he would lay with you; nothing more than his head on your chest, his breaths labored, as he fought back the gruesome memories of his uncle's vile ways. He never particularly opened up about his experience completely - but in those moments, where you'd tenderly stroke his head and listen to his uneven breathing, he'd whisper evil truths to you; truths that prove even the worst person you know can be hurt by another.

You'd shared moments of tenderness with Feyd-Rautha, even though it is now completely unimaginable - warped and disintegrated by the cruelty of your stay, the horror of their culture. Fingers, dipping into a bowl of black paint to be smeared over his taught torso; Lips, smeared with the same color and pressed on his palms, where he'd clutch blades in the arena.

Small gifts; the bright red wax currants from your homeworld, smuggled when the Baron was none the wiser; a new dress in your wardrobe the day after he'd ripped one apart. Feyd's hands, surprisingly soft when he was placated - pressing against your waist, or smoothing over your cheeks. The same hands that hit your skin and the same lips that said horrible things to you; the teeth that broke skin, the blades that cut yours.

There was once a semblance of care between you, however skewed and twisted it was; Now, all that remains is hatred.

A knock at your door makes your brow furrow; the view from the plexiglass window, thick and slightly warped, reflects your surprised expression. You are not set to land on Kaitain for another few hours.

"Yes?" You call, voice sharp; you are unable to shake the anger that has grown in you the last few minutes reminiscing upon your relationship with Feyd-Rautha.

"My lady," Your handmaid calls - it is not Hestia, but a sweet maid who is younger and less inclined to speak freely. "Lord Paul wishes to speak with you."

You find yourself relieved that it is him who wishes to speak with you, not sure you have the energy to face anyone else now. You send her a small faux smile, hoping to ease her anxiety - wherever it may stem from - and nod, "Let him in, please."

A few moments before he walks in, steps quiet against the floor as you stare out into the vast darkness. It's been over a day since you've seen Paul - consciously, at least - and he looks quite different away from the winds of Caladan. His eyes are dark, framed by those long lashes, face more serious than usual; a feat you never thought possible. Much like yourself, he is dressed quite formally - curls tamed away from his face, dark dress uniform that has the brass sigil of Atreides on the collar.

You wetten your lips as he arrives next to you; you taste the tang of your own blood, familiar and warm, as you greet him. "Hello, Paul." You say, turning to nod at him.

You haven't spoken alone since the few nights ago in the garden; during meals and meetings upon your travels to Kaitain you've exchanged pleasantries and discussed options for trade routes and embargoes, but nothing more. It's a good thing you're seeing him now, you remind yourself - to become acquainted with being seen publicly by his side. You'll land in a few hours and stand together upon arrival; a flicker of anxiety flares within you.

I don't know why you pretend to know anything about me.

He says your name, and it gives you that odd feeling in your stomach at his timbre. His eyes don't hold yours for long after greeting you; silently, he resigns himself to watch out over the ocean of space with you. Perhaps it's the sense of foreboding that lingers over your head, or the desperation that crawls through your veins when it hits you; while unlikely, there is still a possibility that you could lose your engagement to Paul in a few days, and by extension, lose the only grasp at power you might have.

His breathing is low and slow; you match your own breaths subconsciously, unaware of the comfort you find in his presence. "Will you sit in with your father for the drawings?" You ask, unsure why he's chosen to visit you before it is time to land and chosen to remain mute; but you are curious to know what he is thinking. It will be more beneficial to be on each other's good side going into the next few days, and it's better to start with tortuous slow talk as to avoid the arguments that are bound to sprout up.

"Yes," He affirms, "But not for the trial; only House representatives may sit on the bench."

You hum, your hands clasping in front of you, smoothing over the rich texture of your dress. You're not sure if it's a relief or another anxiety that Paul will not be sitting front row at your arraignment.

The starlight reflects in his eyes as he stares at you, as if unsure what to do. A violent rush of emotion floods through you - you realize in this moment just how much you've come to rely on him; not in the way you had with Feyd-Rautha, where you'd had to rely on him out of necessity, but because he understands what you are feeling, if not just a tiny bit.

It's been a lonely many years, and to finally trust someone - with your life, your future - uncertainty blooms in your gut untastefully, but you are finally beginning to let yourself ignore it. You're learning to let things happen as they come; resistance holds more pain than fortune in some cases. It's much easier to ignore your troubles when Paul's standing beside you, watching the stars silently.

"I used to get nauseous during space travel." He says quietly; introspectively. The corner of your lip quirks; you haven't felt too good yourself since setting off on the ship. You debate even responding, but curiosity piques you as you turn to regard him.

"Have you traveled off-planet much?" You ask. You've only ever been to Sabberon, Giedi Prime, and Caladan; Though once, when you were just barely fifteen, you convinced your father to take you to one of the smaller moons under the jurisdiction of your House, but fell ill and had to stay home.

He shrugs with one shoulder in that peculiar way he does, shaking his head. "Not particularly, but I've gone with my father to High Councils and meetings on Kaitain."

You nod, considering. "Is it really just one big city?" You ask, willing to play a pleasant game of small talk. His eyes are locked on a particularly bright star in the distance. Paul's response is thoughtful, his expression distant as he recalls, "It's mostly Corrinth City," he muses, choosing his words carefully. "There's certainly more variety than just buildings, but the parks and vegetation they have lack authenticity."

A wistful smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you remember the natural beauty of your home planet, impressed by Paul's fascination with different cultures and planets. "Fresh air." You mutter. He watches you as you turn back to the glass, toying with the necklace in your hands. "Giedi Prime is similar," you confide, a touch of bitterness seeping into your words. "Not a single part of nature there that wasn't synthesized."

It's quiet for a heavy moment in which you're thrust into black and white memories of thick air, an oppressive sun, unwelcoming glares and hisses.

There's a brief pause as he considers his next words, a thoughtful furrow appearing between his brows, "I can't imagine what it must have been like," he admits, his tone gentle. "But I admire your resilience."

It's not a particularly enticing subject; the thought of Feyd-Rautha has you seeing red, and the prospect of it happening in a setting like you're about to be in is sickening to you. You are tired of people repeatedly telling you that you're resilient or strong after being forced to survive such tragedies; there is nothing irrepressible about it when enduring is the only choice. You sigh, "Maybe one day people will stop telling me how strong I am."

He turns to look at you in your peripheral. "And what would you have them tell you instead?" He questions.

You find yourself interested in the small glint that reflects within his green stare; attention fully on you, you've never particularly noticed what Hestia had once said to be true: There is a side to Paul which enjoys a small bit of humor, however odd it may be. And perhaps you are starting to recognize a similar side within you.

A pang of longing washes over you suddenly; a selfish wish. To enjoy your youth while you still have it grasped within your hands, to relish in the attention of the handsome boy who stands before you - no matter who he is - and to bask in the wealth and prosperity of the house you're marrying in to. When you were eighteen, before leaving Sabberon, you would have felt overjoyed to have such a connection with your future husband. Even in the eclipse of your anxiety of the days to come, a resentment grows within you - towards everything, perhaps, that threw you into the midst of crimes you did not commit, to have to answer the call for your family after those who cast it killed them.

"I don't know, maybe something shallow and complementary for once? That they like my hair, or the dress that I'm wearing." Your voice is tired - less sardonic than usual, though, and you find a kind of warmth within it. You shrug, "What do people usually tell noble ladies like me?"

Paul stares at you, and for a moment you flounder under the scrutiny: have you just embarrassed yourself, for acting so childish? But then, who is to say you shouldn't act childish, when your young adulthood has been so tainted and tarnished?

His small grin eases your worries quickly and even stirs something deep within you; you've never seen his expression so relaxed, so pleased except in dreams; The thought sends your stomach flipping. "Well, I do like your hair." He says simply, shrugging.

You send him a flat glare, ignoring the heat in your face at the blunt compliment. This is certainly untread ground. At your expression, Paul shrugs, pointedly staring at your knife that lies untouched by your resting area. "To be fair, if someone tried to compliment your appearance I believe you'd carve their tongue out."

You scoff, "Just because you think I'm some monster-"

He doesn't let you go off on another tangent this time; he dares interrupt you instead, tilting his head as if to prove a point. "-And as for your dress," he added, his tone teasing as he takes the time to take in your appearance, "I like the color. But I'd say it pales in comparison to the woman wearing it."

You roll your eyes at the cliché, the way his grin looks innocent and boyish in the starlight, and you shake your head. Concealing your heated cheeks with a glare, you huff, "I should cut out your tongue for that. That was painful."

"I'm simply following your orders, my lady." He defends, hiding a small laugh. His own amused smile looks completely foreign and quite beautiful upon his features, you can't look away. "Shallow and complimentary."

"I didn't mean it like that." You mutter, crossing your arms. He turns towards you; the viridian of his uniform is striking against the matte architecture around you. "You seem not to know what you want." He shakes his head.

This is, for some reason, sobering.

You clear your throat, smile dying down as your thoughts spiral, concern growing the closer you close in on Kaitain.

You hadn't acted much like a noble lady, especially when you'd arrived; though Duncan does not hold it over you, the look on everyone's faces after they'd seen the claw marks you'd left him is fully ingrained into your memory. You'd lashed out, been cold and distant, unwelcoming. Even as Paul tries to navigate through the thick haze of both of your dreams, you've been difficult - but you've come to understand that his introspective nature, which you initially perceived as snootiness, is just introversion and a sharp mind.

"I may not act like it all the time," you say smally, unsure who you're admitting it to - him, or you - "but I am very grateful for your help. Your house has shown more kindness than I deserve. And I'm sorry for the times that I seem less than so."

Like in the garden the other day, you almost add; hesitating, you let the words hang above your head. It's a hard thing, to trust him with your future. Despite the uncertainty that looms over you both, there's a quiet reassurance in his presence - even as he takes a step back from the window and looks towards the hall.

He doesn't say anything, but the corners of his lips uptick in a gentle smile.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

The weather is warm and sunny when Paul steps out of the space port.

The House Atreides is received by members of the Imperial House; Paul's father pulls one of the men into a tight embrace for a moment as he watches, a smile growing on his father's face. Each one of them wears a mask, even you; Paul stares on at the people before him with his chin up, just as he was taught in his youth.

You stand next to him, his father on his right and his mother on the other side. The sun burns brightly today - it's about midday, and though he is exhausted from travel, Paul's gaze is immediately drawn to the grandeur of the cityscape; the bustling city that reflects in your hairpiece as you tilt your head in his peripheral.

There are towering spires of gleaming metal - gold, too - and glass that stretches towards the heavens, reflecting the fountains below them. The fountains adorn the main plaza where a convoy waits to shuttle the house to the lodgings - cascading waters create a soothing symphony amidst the hustle and bustle of the city.

The entire walk, you stand beside him, your back straight as ever; your eyes are wide with awe at the vibrant energy of the city. Banners and posters line the boulevards, boasting of the Trade referendum; convoys with tinted shields carry other Noble Houses to and fro under the watchful gaze of the large conference building that towers above the other theaters and galleries.

Paul never cared too much for a large city, preferring the sparce Cala City with its docks and canals.

The ride to the accommodations is filled with views, too: grand theaters and lush parks, each more impressive than the last - a gentle breeze, barely a cloud in the sky above all the skyscrapers, statues of previous Corrino Emperors watching down the boulevards with golden stares.

His parents murmur gently in front of him - you, however, stare out the window solemnly, your eyes stuck on the large building in the distance: The Imperial Opal Palace.

There is a worry between your brows that does not subside the entire trip towards the accommodations; to save your dignity, Paul pretends to not see it.

He is likewise stuck with a sense of apprehension for the days ahead, but doesn't dare voice his thoughts out loud. He's spoken with his father already about his concerns - The political landscape of the Landsraad is fraught with tension now more than ever; every decision made during the referendum will have far-reaching consequences. Not to mention, the very present chance that, after the arraignment, you may be stripped of your House's land and wealth - most of which was absorbed by the Harkonnens but some of which still remains on Sabberon.

Blinking away drooping eyelids, Paul rests his chin in his palm. Sleeping has become quite a chore as of late, and he's found that more often than not, each slumber leaves him less rested than before.

It's only thirty minutes until you're being received again at the gates of their lodgings; A plethora of people in uniform who bow to the members of House Atreides and their staff before shaking hands, pressing small kisses to you and his mother's knuckles. You look stricken with panic; though your face is completely schooled and placated, he can see in the tenseness of your neck and the way your eyes flicker sharply that you've found that feeling again - to run. He almost feels it, too.

Glancing sideways at you while staff directs everyone to their quarters, Paul feels his hand brush against yours; a fleeting accident, but the look you send him before entering your own quarters is less than chilly - he turns forward, leaving you without a word when a maid gestures him down a different hallway.

The days on Kaitain are long and filled with conferences, galas, and 'town halls' in which Paul takes diligent note of every single person, who they are, and what their stance is on the upcoming voting; His father insists on debriefing each evening and then again in the morning. There is little time for rest and even less time for speaking with the others.

Paul cannot help but miss the routine of life on Caladan; perhaps he's grown keen to the architecture that has held up his entire life - intricate windows and hexagonal wooden floorboards that creak every third left foot - but the streets and buildings of Corrinth City are much less pleasant and too gaudy for his taste.

The sun is more inviting on this planet; he decides the intermittent gloom that creeps into Castle Caladan might have put an even worse damper on the anticipatory moods of him and his House members.

During supper the second evening, his mother mentions the court building she'd accompanied you to with Thufir earlier in the day. You'd gone to provide your genetic data for the upcoming trial and arraignment, as well as sign the correct paperwork as final heir to your house. Paul has to suppress a look of exhaustion when you make a face at the thought of the courthouse.

"Was it bad?" His father asks you, a glint of amusement in his eye. You, as you often do, miss the jesting in his voice. "It was perfectly pleasant, I suppose, despite why we were there. I didn't quite like the golden dome, though."

They love their gold here, Paul thinks. Your eyes flicker to him after a split second and he blinks, somewhat startled by the sudden attention.

It's over as quick as it came, and dinner sullies on.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

You don't see much of Paul or Duke Leto in these days leading up to the Referendum; Attending the meetings and councils for the Great Council are forbidden for you. Deemed a person of interest, you are not allowed a seat at this conference; instead you stay back and try to ignore the impending doom growing in your gut.

The few days between your arrival and the actual Referendum are littered with pointless social gatherings; you observe as Paul attends every single meeting, gala, dinner, and everything in-between with a grace you never actually thought imaginable. He's up bright and early each morning, mumbling deeply at the breakfast table and rubbing the sleep from his eyes while reviewing subjects with his father. Besides the short visit to the court building to provide genetic data, there is nothing for you to do besides wait for the others to return and relay information to you, waiting to hear your thoughts.

There is a play you attend at the opera house that one of the Emperor's daughters is also in attendance to; this is a big buzz for the other Nobles, who you have grown to detest even more through the last few days. Lady Jessica keeps her stay with you when she can but attends several of her own more mysterious meetings off-campus; some that leave you wondering and doubting, spending hours of your day staring at the wall, trying to recover the full knowledge behind the Shortening of the Way.

Hestia was unable to come with you, and though you enjoy the company of your maid, she is quite jumpy around you, and stares with fear at the knife that sleeps beside you on your pillow. Despite being around many, you still feel alone - more than you have in a while. Perhaps that is why you fall asleep so early the night before the Referendum.

Perhaps that is why you dream what you dream.

Your feet slap bare against the cold floor of the halls; your breath comes, but it is ragged.

If Giedi Prime's atmosphere was capable of it, you'd imagine a harsh ice storm slamming against the echoing walls, berating and mocking your racing heart. Plumes of clouded breaths betraying you as you pant, holding a shaky hand to your lips as you turn your neck.

A distant shout; His voice rolls, feet sliding down the same hallway upon which you crouch; Your heart thunders in your chest, fear striking you as the dull heat in your stomach grows lower, aching in your core.

You should not feel excited for what is to come - but something dark in you dares Feyd-Rautha to come near you, to try and best you in combat; you, unlike the others he fights, are not drugged.

Despite your fear you're as sound as ever tonight, because it is your nameday. And you know what the Harkonnen grooms gift to their betrothed on their first nameday spent together - it is strapped to your waistband, sheathed and perfectly pristine.

After tonight, that blade will weep with blood.

A deep chuckle through the walls; you slide as quietly as possible from shadow to shadow, the billowy dress skirt you don providing no ease. Perhaps another day, you'd find this entire thing a complete waste of time - if Feyd-Rautha felt the need to exercise his control over you, he need not look further than, say, your living quarters, which were small and attached to his; the slaves they gave to serve you, with their tongues cut off; the complete regulation over anyone you come into contact with; the times you go to the arena and train or fight.

Every part of your life, he can control - except one.

One part of you, nestled deep down from the last few years on Sabberon with your mother holds onto the power of sex; a power of yours that Feyd-Rautha yields to quicker than anybody else.

It is not exactly true, either, to say that he takes things of that nature from you unwillingly; though he'd probably enjoy to anyways. Because the worst part of it all is that deep down - in the evenings, when the shadows glint over his brow bone, in the mornings, when you agree to paint him before he goes to the arena, when that smooth chuckle echoes in your chamber, when you take down yet another competitor in the arena and you meet his hungry eyes, or even when his hand wraps around your throat - you like it. You love that deep arousal, the simmering fear that bubbles into hunger.

You've begun to crave the darkness that spills out of him, relish in the feeling of him on your body far after he's gone.

Feyd-Rautha's appetite cannot be satiated; he is hungry for you, for warm skin against his, constantly. He has his Harpies, and you are thankful for that; without them you fear you'd have to kill him in his sleep.

Tonight is different, though - because you have just celebrated the first steps in a long-seated tradition of House Harkonnen and are now hiding in the depths of the stronghold, hiding away and hoping your betrothed cannot find you.

The walls creak, hallways groan; something disgustingly personified about some of the areas of Barony's Castle that sets your skin on edge. Fingers shakily skim over the leather hilt of your new blade - curved, silver and foreign, it is engraved with an odd language that you do not wish to read.

Suddenly, a chilling laugh echoes through the empty halls; back flying rigid, shivers wash over your spine. Freezing in your tracks, your eyes scan the darkness for any sign of movement, knowing he is much closer than you'd wished.

You've made it - from what you can tell - a long time running from Feyd; he grows impatient with every breath, every step - though you are not on your way towards either of your quarters, you wish you had been. There is a dull ache that has sprouted in your anticipation that you know Feyd-Rautha will be eager to satisfy your arousal after the ritual; though you are unsure if either of you will be in a state good enough for it.

You hear a whisper around a corner and shrink back further into the shadows of the room you've slid into. Across your vision lies a grand table, its legs a thick dark wood with a glossy finish in the moonlight.

And then, like a specter, his shadow slides up against the backlit hall - casting a tall frame over the glint on the table. You resist a gasp, your eyes pealing over the twin knives that hang dauntingly in his grasp. "Come out, little pet," he taunts, his voice a sinister whisper. "There's no use hiding. I can smell your fear."

He might be bluffing, but you're not sure; there is a part of you that has fear quaking through your bones and nearly sets your teeth to chatter - but a larger part of you is ravenous, hungry for a chance to get your hands on him.

You press yourself against the cold stone wall, heart pounding in your chest as you make a quick plan; you're not foolish enough to believe you are any match for Feyd-Rautha in your current state of panic - But still, you refuse to give in to despair; You might be able to outwit him for just a bit longer.

He draws closer, entering the room. The footsteps echo ominously in the silence and send a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a silent prayer to the void, you dart down a narrow corridor, footsteps quick and light as you seek refuge in the darkness. But Feyd-Rautha is relentless in his pursuit, his laughter echoing through the halls as he gives chase.

"You can run, little mouse," he calls, his voice filled with cruel amusement. "I'll still find you."

Desperate, you press yourself into the shadows, not daring to breath as you wait for him to pass; then, with a surge of courage, you spring from your hiding place, drawing your knife from its place at your hip.

For a brief moment, your blades clash; he, with a small light of shock in his dark eyes, and you with fury and anger. You're too weary from running for over an hour - he, on the other hand, had adopted a leisurely stroll through the castle he's known for years longer than yourself; barely winded, he attains the upper hand in moments.

You get several cuts in; he, per tradition, does not have a shield on and takes the pain with a glinting smirk.

You relish in the crimson that beads at the seam of each strike.

But you are too little, too late; in a sudden blur of motion, he is upon you, his frame crashing into yours with a force that sends you sprawling to the cold stone floor.

The impact is harsh; you squint your eyes to ward off the dizzy spell that accompanies the ache in your skull. For a moment, you lay there, stunned by the impact and mind reeling as you struggle to catch your breath. Feyd-Rautha follows you to the floor swiftly- you feel his weight pressing down on you like a jolt of electricity.

It's a sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced before; a heady mix of fear and desire, arousal and revulsion, all swirling together in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that makes you scream out, exhausted and petrified. Feyd-Rautha's hands roam over your form, one blade still in his fist; lifting the tip of it, he traces the curve of your jawline gently. You gasp at the cold metal, the sweet sharpness slicing gently down your cheekbone. When the blood pebbles, his tongue is there to lap it up; a shaky sigh you admit into his ear lets him grunt and from there, he's all but forgotten the purpose of the hunt itself.

You, foolishly, drop your blade in a last-ditch hope he will too; instead he leans just so, dragging the curved knife over your neck and down between your breasts, where he begins seamlessly slicing your dress down the middle. You squirm under his thighs; not for discomfort - no, that would be too sane - but in desire, your body alight with a primal hunger you cannot deny.

Your mind rebels against the intrusion, screaming out; you should push him away, fight back against the overwhelming tide of desire threatening to consume you - but why shouldn't you? He will be your husband one day - there is nothing wrong about satisfying your desires with him. Perhaps it will distract him from his task.

You yield easily; into his lips, a whisper against sharpened black teeth and a hungry growl. Your body melts against his touch in a dizzying haze of surrender and desire - "Have you ever tried spice, my pet?" You think he asks. You shake your head, body trembling as the knife lowers across your waistline, nicking against the pair of underwear you don. Your hips buck with desire in response.

He hums, tongue sliding from your bleeding cheek to your chest; teeth marking you as he chooses to do every night; over the cacophony of yellows, blues, purples, blacks and browns. He tsks into your throat as he throws the blade to the ground; having cut open your dress you are nearly bare for him, spread out and eager on the stone floor. "When we go to Arrakis we will have it." He promises; an odd thing to remark but you can barely focus as he presses his length, hard and eager, to your heat.

Your eyes close, trying to visualize where your knife's gone, and where his are; because at some point, he will have to finish the job, and you will be prepared. A harsh twist of your budding nipple has your back arching, pain and pleasure flaring within you.

"Are you listening to me?" He growls. You yelp in pain, hand slapping him hard across the face. His eyes roll back as he inhales sharply; a twitch as he roll his hips against you. "I'd listen better if your cock were inside me." You dare say, fed up with waiting; you glare impatiently as he stares with pupils so wide they swallow your next words. A hand on your throat, pressing you into the ground with a snarl.

"When I am inside you, you tend to forget your own name." He grunts into your ear, hand fumbling with his own belt; with anticipation you move against him, hand snaking down to pull his length from his slacks.

"You caught me," You breathe into his ear, risking a reminder of the game you'd been set to play and how deliciously it'd been forgotten. "Claim your prize, na-Baron."

He does.

Unfortunately for you, you are not as lucky as you'd hoped after Feyd enters you. Indeed, minutes later when you are at the very apex of your own pleasure and he is just about to find his, he must come to his own senses; and that is very unfortunate for you.

Your legs tightening around his hips, back arched and bare chest pressed against the rough texture of his tunic, you barely feel his hand slip from your throat and upwards, to your left above your head. If you'd opened your eyes, you'd have seen the sadistic smirk upon his face when he thumbed the virgin blade, as your breaths of satisfaction fogged it up.

You feel it very presently when it happens.

You've hit your high; spasming, gasping, fingernails drawing blood in streaks across Feyd-Rautha's scarred back, yet you feel the blade as it pierces through your skin.

You freeze for a moment and your eyes widen; he's watching you, eyes fanatic and excited as he plunges the blade just between your ribs; just so, shallow enough to avoid serious injury but still enough to stake claim. You scream louder than you ever have before. He moans along with your curdled, cracking voice as he slows his thrusts, your legs spasming and arms pushing him away in shock and pain.

His spend leaks from you as you gasp, hands shaking as blood seeps from your torso, hatred coursing through your very veins. How dare he defile you, take your own virgin blade and stain it with your own crimson; you're luckier than most Harkonnen brides, perhaps if only for the fact that you knew of this ritual before it began, but you are filled with a newfound hate for your betrothed.

It doesn't make it any less real when the wound heals but the scar does not; the feeling of Feyd-Rautha's tongue lapping your blood never quite subsiding even years later.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

The day of the referendum finds Paul in an extremely dreary mood.

He is plagued by a horrific dream - one he knows is more of a memory - and cannot bring himself to eat breakfast, stuck avoiding your stare all morning as the members of House Atreides break fast together.

There is no time to speak with you about what you dreamt, but the fear that has clawed in the back of his mind - what is being set up for us? - is starting to wage a serious war within him.

The minutes tick by in droves as Paul's mind whirs; calculating constantly- your eyes, flashing to his every time he thinks about you, as if you know. You couldn't possibly know, though?

His mother stares at him intently, too; a gaze that he'd usually just find mildly concerning but has since grown with every day pushing towards the outcome of this trip.

His father discusses the plans drawn from the previous day with you and you're perceptive; insightful as you double-check Gurney and Thufir agree with your opinion on fruits exports at the end of summer harvest, should the redrawn routes go less in the House's favor. At one point, to Paul's surprise, you even coax a short laugh out of Gurney and the Duke.

But Paul is too consumed to tune in himself.

Chewing on his lip, he sticks a slice of melon between his teeth and chews half-heartedly, struck by another bout of confusion concerning the entangled dreams.

At first, he had considered the possibility that it was some manipulation by the Bene Gesserit. Something that was cast by the Reverend Mother and carried out by his mother - a subtle ploy to influence your relationship, to harden the bond that was indeed barely there at all. This can't be, though; Paul has grown up his entire life preparing to marry a complete stranger, as is requested by almost every noble person in the known universe - why, then, wouldn't they trust him to carry through with it, even if he had once believed you to be a spy? There is no dire need to ensure the marriage would happen - both of you have admitted your reluctance, but not once have you nor him declared to refuse the union.

But this last dream was a memory, he's sure; and he wasn't in it, which implies many things he wish not unpack presently. Not to mention that even his mother, with all her training and abilities, has never found a semblance of this kind of connection, through conscious or subconscious, with him.

A stroke of concern clouds his mind at this; might this be a manifestation of his Mentat abilities - some latent aspect of his training that allowed him to perceive the world in ways others couldn't? To see into your mind and, in turn, project his into yours?

Paul's eyes accidentally find yours again; he casts his gaze to his plate, recalling unpleasantly the blood-curdling scream you'd let out as that same knife you still carry was plunged into your ribs. A sense of unease stirs deep within his core.

Resolutely, there are other matters to attend to that are more time-sensitive. He and his father are informed that their transport has arrived, and so with tight nods and farewells, they leave for the final addendum.

Paul will have to ask Thufir about these concerns after the convention; But for now, Paul tucks the question away in the recesses of his mind, awaiting the opportunity to seek answers.

The chamber hums with anticipation as Paul sits attentively beside his father - looking over the crowd, he notes representatives from each of the Great Houses Major and Minor of the Landsraad, along with delegates from the Spacing Guild and stakeholders of the Imperium fill nearly every seat in the grand hall, their voices a low murmur punctuated by occasional bursts of conversation.

He can only imagine how it will feel for you tomorrow; each face staring down at you as you perch on a stool, subjected to answering for the family that never answered you. He bites his lip, recalling the trunk he'd requested be brought with them on the trip to Kaitain; perhaps you could use a distraction tonight from what's to come - or would that just make you more skittish, more ready to bite any hand near you?

He hopes you aren't agitated by what he'll offer this evening - don't you deserve to enjoy at least one part of this whole trip, even if the worst may come in the morning? Paul suppresses a groan, wondering when any of that ever started to really matter to him.

The lights are too bright and it makes his eyes squint; drawing, somewhat unintentionally, to an unpleasant splattering of black and paled, sickly skin just several rows away.

His spine straightens, stomach curdling.

"House Harkonnen." He whispers; his father hears it, though, and his eyes trail over to the grotesquely gigantic man who takes up two seats - the machine suspending him as he reposes with several others around him. Memories, faint and not his, flash in his mind and disgust trickles through his veins.

Paul flares in fury; His father sighs, "Paul, you mustn't start anything."

As if he was going to walk up and slit Baron Harkonnen's throat in the middle of the Referendum?

He grits his teeth, "I won't." He says calmly, eyes stinging from the stare he casts.

A deep-seated rage simmers within him even as the meeting begins; fueled by a sense of injustice and a fiercely warm burning in his chest when he thinks of you- left to fight alone for years. The Harkonnens represent everything he despises: cruelty, deceit, and a complete disregard for the well-being of others - his House's deepest enemy, the vilest of beings.

Paul maintains his composure and pays attention to the council, but an extremely violent hatred gnaws at him relentlessly. Is one of those heads glinting in the fluorescents Feyd-Rautha? Will you have to stare into his eyes as the charges are read to you tomorrow?

His fingers twitch, but he does not dare disrupt the meeting. Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike.

Things do not get better after this.

One by one, the representatives from each House cast their votes, their voices ringing out in the vast hall. Paul watches on with a sinking feeling as House after House sides with the proposed changes; Not necessarily a sealed fate for the economy of House Atreides, but certainly putting it at risk should the Baron decide to leverage his holdings.

After a recess, the final votes are tallied; Imperial Mentats, their eyes flashing, approve of the calculations. The presiding official steps forward - Paul, too lost in his thoughts of your dream last night, had missed the man's name - and addresses the gathered delegates.

"Esteemed members of the Landsraad, members of the Imperium," he begins, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The new spacing trade routes have been decided."

Paul's mind whirls with possibilities as the herald of change continues, "The routes are set to transform, with a large expansion through the Epsilon Opiuchi system and the Campas system," the herald announces, "along with direct routes through the Core Worlds of the Imperium."

As the implications of the announcement sink in, Paul feels a bizarre wash of calm; If nothing changes within the proprieties of the surrounding systems, the new routes present opportunities for expansion and growth. On the other hand, they also represented a shift in the balance of power within the Imperium; the Spacing Guild is in the Harkonnen's palm and the risk of the Baron leveraging this against the rest of the Landsraad is concerning.

Paul pushes through his mental calculations to admit that despite the changes, there are still open routes they could take without relying solely on Spacing Guild transportation if the market becomes saturated. With a quick turn to his father, he makes eye contact with Gurney. "What do we do now?" Paul asks, voice barely a whisper. His father's jaw is tight.

"We adapt." He responds.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

You're in the beginning stages of panic when the request comes.

Having bathed and taken a good thirty minutes to stare at the wall, letting your insides eat you alive in apprehension of tomorrow, you're startled when your handmaid comes and informs you the Lord Paul Atreides has requested your presence in his chambers.

Your brows furrow; it's much too late for that, but you are certain you'll go crazy if you spend the evening on your own.

You barely blink, hair still drying as you slip on a night gown, following the woman down the hall. Your anxiety is gnawing on you from the inside; and how does Paul seem to find you in every moment, with any weakness you may find? Several times before he's taken the grace to check in on you, be it out of duty or order by his parents or simply his good will and empathy, you are caught off-guard each time and still keenly unsure how to react.

Supper this evening was an affair dampened by the recounting of the official Referendum outcome; an event which boasted very little confidence in your small group considering the possibility of Harkonnen route monopoly. You’d barely touched your food and Paul looked more trouble than he normally does (another feat, considering the constant analysis he seems to impose upon his mind at any moment). In fact, you do wish to speak more about it- and freely, if you dare say so, without the hawk ears of the Sisterhood nor the political influence of the others to weigh in. You'd like to hear what Paul really thinks about it.

When you do enter Paul's room, you stare, bewildered, at the sight before you.

It's certainly not what you expect.

The table, positioned just near the lit hearth, is gaudy and full of at least five wine bottles - two fine crystal glasses rest, untouched, next to them.

Paul sits, his expression somber, as he uncorks one of the bottles; with a pop, the rich aroma of the wine fills the air and you tilt your head, walking cautiously further.

This is certainly not what you'd expected.

"Celebrating with a few bottles of wine, are we?" you remark, tone laced with bitterness.

Paul looks up, meeting your gaze with resignation. "There's little else to do but drink." he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of irony. This is not necessarily true - this planet is full of parks, theaters, galleries, clubs, even. Paul seems uninterested in this tonight, though, and you barely got yourself over to his own chambers without disassociating for less than thirty seconds - there's not a chance the two of you will be venturing out into the Kaitain air tonight. You've got quite a big day ahead of you tomorrow.

You take the seat opposite him, body heavy with worry. "I suppose." you concede, fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you watch him pick up the bottle. "Your hard work's all but finished."

He doesn't respond to the jab and it makes you feel even worse.

"You told me once that you've never tried wine." He states simply, as if you weren't teetering on the edge of the worst day of your life, "I thought you'd like to taste." He says, tilting the bottle into your glass; the liquid flows viscously, a deep maroon color that reminds you of blood. You suppress the warmth that blows through your chest at this, surprised he remembers those off-handed few sentences you exchanged so many moons ago.

"They taste mostly the same to me, but I prefer red." His eyes don't leave the crystal, watching as it stains with the dark color.

You're so shocked - bewildered - and exhausted that you can only grin; a true, unimbued smile, because you do not want to think about what will happen tomorrow, and perhaps Paul can see that.

Looking at the glass, you bite your lip: you should have just stayed in your quarters and gone to sleep; But you don't necessarily want to be alone, either.

You wait until he's filled his own glass and then clink the rim of yours to his; watching as he lifts the liquid to his lips. His eyes flicker, lifting a brow when he sees you hesitating. "It's not poison." He mutters dryly. You sigh, taking a sip yourself as you avert your eyes.

It's bitter, but not in an unpleasant way - your gums tingle slightly, the smell of oak and a deep hint of pitted fruits. Cherries, plums, dark licorice... It almost tingles on your tongue. Spicy, deep.

You're pleasantly surprised as you swallow, making a noise of content. It feels warm all the way down and leaves a peculiar taste on your tongue after.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Paul's lips are stained a reddish color by the end of the third glass.

Things seemed to slip from your grasp by the tasting of the second bottle - a Zincal, from the Southern Continent of Caladan. It was much more robust, and though Paul doesn't know much about wine he has studied his homeplanet's culture enough to impress any guest who visits - and talks you through each tasting as if he were a professor. It almost makes you want to laugh - the first sign that you are not completely your sane self.

The second sign is the low simmering heat that begins to grow the second that Paul leans back in his seat and stretches his shoulders back; the uniform from earlier discarded he is still in his under-tunic, a white number that was more unbuttoned than when you'd arrived earlier in the night.

His chest and exposed throat, gleaming and flushed from the heat of the room and the tannins of the wine, glisten gently. Your heart pounds hard in your throat; is this what being intoxicated feels like?

You're sure your lips are just as purple-stained as Paul's, but your mind is too fuzzy to consider this at all. You feel warm, surely the fire in the hearth is too high - your cheeks are on fire and your mind is more at ease and foggy than you've even felt in your dreams.

There's that distinct feeling again that you'd had days ago on board the ship before landing at Kaitain; like yourself, but more careless, free. Content, despite the doom that rumbles in the near distance.

On the fourth tasting - a bubbly white wine that is crisper than snow and delicate as lace - you feel yourself loosen, opening to Paul and letting words flow freer than you'd ever found before; he listens with gentle, large eyes as you sprawl on the floor, having taken the liberty to get more comfortable in his chambers.

"I met the Harkonnens when I was young." You explain, leaning back to stare at Paul through your lashes. "My mother was instructed to have me mate with Feyd-Rautha when I came of age, so we saw each other twice before I was sent there. Once at ten, then at fourteen."

There is a noise of disgust from the bedpost.

Paul lays, un-chivalrously sprawled on his bed; head upside-down, his dark curls hanging in tendrils towards the floor. His features, handsome and sharp, look most foreign upside-down, even as you sit on the rug, toying with the strings that have come loose with time.

His eyes are heavy with the effects of the wine, the room smells like cinnamon and cherries. You stifle a laugh at his noise and even more so at the look upon his face at your choice of words. Your hands move over your face but you don't really know if you have control over them, a feeling of lost control sending nothing but amusement to your muddled brain.

"It was a Bene Gesserit match?" He asks blurrily, but you know he knows the answer. You laugh - had you been slightly less inebriated, you'd never dare let out such a girlish thing, especially in his presence, but you can't help it.

You swipe hair away from your eyes. "Of course, it was." You sigh, leaning back to support yourself on your palms, head tilted sideways; His brows are incredibly full and move oddly, as if he's trying to make you laugh again. "As is ours."

It's a disquieting thought - one that sends you reeling through your drunk mind, trying to recall the Kwisatz Haderach and all you've learned about it. He seems to be lost in thought, too- his brows have settled low upon his lids in a calculating look, his hands laying neatly folded over his chest.

His face is red; perhaps from the hearth, or the wine, or from laying with the blood rushing to his head - it occurs to you with a bitter jealousy that he looks pretty even like this.

"It's late." You observe, watching the clock as it chimes; Paul hums in agreement, lazily tilting his glass until the remnants drop onto his tongue. You watch on with a fuzzy, aimless interest.

You should return to your bed- you'll be up in the morning early to be escorted to court.

A pang of fear and resistance courses through you.

You don't want this evening to end - or, you don't want the morning to begin. Plus, leaving Paul's quarters would require fighting to walk all the way back without rousing anybody else and settling in to bed on your own. And you quite like the blissful ignorance the wine has given you; an excuse to just be you for a night, not the disgraced and fallen noble woman, not the betrothed-twice and likely never again.

You sigh. "I don't enjoy sleeping like I used to." You hum, finishing your own glass and reaching for the half-empty bottle beside you. Your voice is syrupy and sweeter than usual, and it floats warmly in the room.

Paul watches your motions with slight amusement, eyes widening microscopically when you try to gnaw off the cork with your teeth. You suppose you’ll be embarrassed by this in the morning.

"I can't imagine why that could be." He muses, voice barely more than a murmur. You like his voice, you realize; it's quiet, deep, but contemplative.

You shrug, finally plying off the cork, blinking in surprise when your vision shifts with the movement. The vertigo reminds you of the feelings you find in those more pleasant dreams, the ones with Paul; the ticklish feeling of lips fluttering around your throat, a playful nip of teeth against your breast, the tight grip of hands upon your hips, pinning them down - that must be the reason for the words to fall from your lips so carelessly. "Some of my dreams I don't mind." Your words almost echo in the chamber, the fire crackling and spitting in the silence that follows.

This captures his attention, his eyes snapping to your frame quick; you ignore the gaze, focusing intently on pouring yourself another helping of the wine. This one, the fifth bottle, is more sweet - dessert wine, Paul had explained.

He doesn't respond to your words, but his lips part in a soft exhalation of breath.

You offer the bottle to him and numbly he nods, as if still reeling from your admission; you try to ignore the heat in your cheeks at such a profession, the weight of the words occurring to you only after you've said them.

Perhaps due to your state, you finally let yourself consider the thought that's been actively repressed for days: If he's been dreaming similar things as you, does that mean he dreams of... all of it? How does he feel about that?

Your eyes flicker to his hands, how deftly they move as he cracks a few knuckles - the vein that trickles down his arm, the creamy smooth skin that glows against the fire light. Does he see you similarly when he observes you in waking hours? Does he, in turn, dream about your sighs, about how it may feel to run his fingers through your hair as you lie on that white sheet in the middle of nowhere, to touch your heat and feel your desire?

You’re unsure what flares hot in your stomach at the concept; you can’t find it in you to care.

I don’t mind some of my dreams either.

The voice is low, no more than a distant rumble of thunder in your mind, a decisive declaration; with a fuzzy stare you register that his lips don’t even move.

Your blink is syrupy as you watch him with intrigue, staring under lidded lashes.

You can't be bothered to move more than a crawl; your head pounds, but there is a warmth within you that spreads like wildfire in the summer when you move.

He watches you with a stare that sends a shiver of intrigue over you- a predator frozen, watching prey creep forward. It is not what you expect; you expect wide eyes or maybe a blush - his cheeks are already pink, though, and there is something dark and hungry below his hazy, inebriated stare.

"You got me drunk," You say suddenly, blinking down at him. He stares back at you, lips parting - lips that are plush, pink, stained with the red from the very wine he'd brought all the way from Caladan

"Did I?” he asks, skeptical as he watches you upside down. You nod but it feels sloppy. Truthfully, you've never been safe enough to be drunk before, but you feel more safe than you’ve been in a long time here, on this strange planet, with this strange boy.

He shakes his head, "I told you to slow down," He furrows his eyebrows like he always does, but it looks very peculiar from where you sit before him, "-you're the one who took it as a challenge instead of a warning."

You blink, eyelashes slow and syrupy; shaking your head, you shrug. He’s right, he did encourage you to slow down, and you did take it as a challenge. You can't help it.

His lips are glossy - bitten and swollen, "I had to try them all," You say breathlessly, face hot, "-who knows if I'll be able to afford it after this week." At your words, he scoffs gently; you can smell the wine on his breath as it hits your cheeks.

"My wealth will be yours in just a few weeks. As will my name." He argues, eyes cast onto yours. After all this time, you're still hit with the surrealness of it all when it's said out loud.

You wonder, briefly, how odd you must look from his perspective; perched back on your shins, one hand in your lap and the other holding the bottle you'd intended to give to him.

"If you want wine for every meal, you can have it." He promises; you imagine he'd intended for it to come out teasing, but it comes out deeper. "Whatever you want." He adds.

It tugs your heart in a way that makes your hair stand on end; you know what you'd do if your legs weren't cemented to the ground, if your lips weren't gravitating towards his own. You'd probably run, against your better judgement.

Or, perhaps that would be the better judgement.

Whatever you want.

"I don't know what I want." You admit, your lips parting as you stare at his beautiful, angled jaw; it clenches under your scrutiny before he whispers softly, "That's okay."

There is a magnetism that pulls you to him like a moth seeking a warm flame.

Your hand finds itself on his skin before you can think about it. Soft, slightly ingrained with the beginnings of stubble; over his jaw your thumb strokes, feeling the sharp edges that lie below the soft, porcelain skin. To your surprise, he lets you touch him, as if both of you are pulled by some strong force towards the other and cannot stop.

"Is it?" You ask, a whisper under the flickering light of the hearth. “You made it seem like a flaw.” you muse, watching in intent fixation as those very lips move under your finger’s manipulation.

His lips part when your thumb runs over the bottom one, tugging it down curiously.

“It’s not a flaw,” he mutters in a gentle motion against your thumb; a sensation that is as foreign as it is exciting. The breath that leaves him hits your own lips. When did you lean closer? When did he?

His eyes are sparkling from this angle and they focus on your lips. You almost voice your doubt, but there is something that is pulling you to him- you are tired of talking, and his face is so incredibly inviting in the firelight.

When your lips press to his, you have to angle your face; the plush bottom lip against your top one feels odd, foreign.

It’s chaste, short as you pull your head away slightly. Heat chases you as you back away, blinking away your surprise; he doesn’t let you get too far though, as his cold fingers slide around your neck to stop you from pulling away.

Your stomach flutters as he tugs you back against him with fervor; as if this moment was one of forbidden lovers embracing for the very last time.

Your hands cup his jaw and his hair tickles the goosebumps that run over the exposed flesh of your chest.

There’s nothing in the room but a heavy syrupy scent- did you knock over the dessert wine? Your lips slide against Paul’s and you’re surrounded by his smell, the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair.His lips are soft as he lets out a sigh in your mouth, tongue prodding your lip gently. Your sharp inhale keens your chest forward, coaxing your lips apart as he presses forward into you.

Everything slides off-kilter. Time starts to melt and warp with every slight movement you make, a low pounding in your head as you tilt your head to taste more of Paul.

The clock in the corner ticks, but the metronome is skewed and it starts to beat with your heart.

Pulling away for a moment, you let yourself gather a breath; His fingers are cold but you presently notice how warm the rest of him is- cheeks, jaw, shoulders, everything.

He’s moved upright on his mattress now; sitting up, he towers over where you perch on your knees, staring up at him with glossy eyes. A starved transgressant begging for salvation from the solemn preacher before you.

A hand soothes over your hair. Between his knees, your hands settle on his thighs; a heat rolls over in you and a yearning ignites. Paul stares down at you, eyes darkened and glossed over with the sheen of alcohol as he leans down, hand cupping your jaw.

What are we doing?

You think it gently, bewildered and surprised; but Paul stops just as his lips brush yours again. He gives you a look that sets unease- had you said that out loud?

It’s over as quick as it happens- Paul’s mouth has found purchase over your own and has taken the liberty of pushing against the plushness of your bottom lip.

Something flutters in your stomach; A need for more. His tongue slides against the seam of your lips with a drag of heat and you open for him, pressing further as your hands slide up and over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under your palms.

But even amidst the dizzying rush of sensations, you feel when Paul breaks the kiss, his warm breath lingering against your lips. The room is at a standstill, but you feel as if you're spinning.

“You should probably go to bed,” his words are barely audible over the pounding of your heart, the beating in your head. They flutter like the wings of an insect over your lips.

For a brief moment, clarity pierces through the haze of desire, and a flush of embarrassment washes over you; The arraignment tomorrow, the dreams, the Bene Gesserit, House Harkonnen - all of it hits you in a dizzy spell and you break away from Paul's grasp suddenly, eyes wide.

Trying to regain your composure you nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his low-lidded, slow gaze. You find your footing as you rise from the floor and to your chagrin, Paul follows; ever chivalrous.

"I should." You say quietly, righting your hair and dress awkwardly. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late." You grasp for anywhere to hold on to, lest you fall into the chasm that has opened below you. He shakes his head, "It was me who kept you up." He mumbles; laced with sleep and something else.

He fumbles to open the chamber door, but you're grateful he attempted it before your shaking fingers did. The walk back across the hall to your quarters is shorter than you remember, thankfully; only a few hiccups from you and a few heavy breaths from him before you're standing in front of the large door, a settling of doom clouding around you like a bad thunderhead.

His hand, having never dared touch you so boldly before tonight, cups your arm gently. Staring at it, your eyes skip over the blurry figure before you; you swear, there's something of a halo lighting up his curls. "It'll be over quick, and we can go home." He says. There's no need to elaborate what he's speaking of; he always knows what you're thinking.

Perhaps you're too tired to conceal your worries, or you've just finally found yourself capable of admitting it to him. "I'm scared." You mumble.

His eyes are on your lips - he doesn't kiss you again, but you wonder faintly if he wants to. You'd like him to, you realize. It's a disquieting thought, borne from weeks of tense conversation, long glances, and arguments. How odd to miss the lips of a near stranger.

He nods shortly, "I know." He says, and it does nothing to quell the raging sea of despair that has resided from its previous numbness. Wine and handsome men can only do so much, you suppose. "I'm going to be there tomorrow." He says, voice low and quiet, still bleeding together from the crimson wine you'd poured. "You may not see me, but I'll be there."

You can only nod, knowing that tears will come soon; you will be caught dead before Paul sees you cry. You bid him good-night and then lie on your mattress, tears leaking emotionlessly through the cracks in your lashes.

You are enveloped in fear, worry, hate; numb to whatever just happened in Paul’s chambers and even more numb to what is to come in the morning.

You're not sure how, but you sleep through the night without a single dream.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

#paul atreides x reader smut #paul atreides smut #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x you #paul x reader #dune smut #dune fanfiction

89 notes · View notes

magicalbats · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober Day 7: Stuck In Wall

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7468

Warnings: Afab! Reader, master/servant dynamic, stuck in wall, age difference, dubcon, reader is a rabbit illuminated beast, vaginal fingering, bareback, no protection lol no gendered terms but he does call us “little one” because that is what I am personally weak for

A/N: alright so I definitely got a little carried away with this one but in my defense … in my defense Zhongli is my favorite character. I started playing specifically FOR him. So I think my bias was going to show no matter what 😂

⭐

Peering out from your hiding place behind a wide, red painted column, you secretly observe your lord and master while he sips his afternoon tea in the sprawling manor garden. The Lord of Geo is a sight to behold even when at ease, and you can’t quite seem to decide what it was you were feeling flitter about inside your chest when you looked at him. Was it excitement, pure and headstrong adrenaline at the prospect of challenging him in the way the young test themselves against the old? Or was it something more personal and intimate — a crush, you’d heard human adolescents call it before. This strange feeling wasn’t exactly new but it was still as much of an unknown as it had been the first time you’d realized Morax was the cause of it.

You think you’re just eager to try out what you’ve learned since the last time you came here and sparred with him though. Had even spent some time with the five Yaksha between then and now, most notably with Alatus who had (begrudgingly) helped you work on your speed. Bonanus had even teased you about biting off more than you could chew when you’d told her why you were so keen on training like this, but she didn’t understand. None of them did. For as much as you looked up to and admired the Yaksha for their strength and commitment to Morax’s nation, nothing was held in quite so high regard as earning his approval the same way they had.

All you wanted was to prove yourself to him. To be looked at with the same fondness and mutual respect that he gave the others rather than the doting, indulgent smiles he always gave you. It was undeniably frustrating, the way he never seemed to take you seriously. It wasn’t your fault you were a bit too young to have stood beside him during the Archon War but you were determined to win his favor no matter the cost.

So you very quietly sneak out into the open, recalling what Alatus had told you about the importance of concealing your presence until you were ready to actually deliver the killing blow. Not that you were trying to kill him or anything — as if you even could. But considering that all of your previous encounters with the Geo Archon had ended in resounding failure, with you slinking off with your tail tucked between your legs and licking your wounds, it seemed like it was worth a shot. Somehow, you’d almost managed to convince yourself that sneaking up on him instead of clashing head on would net you a different result.

But of course it is not meant to be, and you barely make it within twenty feet of the powerful god when the earth abruptly shudders and gives way, exploding outward from the force of a glowing geo construct erupting out of nothing. You give a startled jerk and immediately fall into a defensive crouch, but they just keep appearing around you; one by one, tall, imposing monoliths springing up out of the ground to entrap you where you stood.

Realizing you have fallen for a trap and Alatus’ advice was no good against someone like the Lord of Geo, you make a hasty attempt to escape. Try to utilize his training to your advantage even though it’s done you little good up til’ now, but you don’t make it very far.

You’re hyper aware of the moment that a construct of Morax’s making bursts up underneath you, shooting right towards your middle. You lurch, too surprised to even breathe as you see it spearing straight through you and up into the very heavens themselves. For a split second you actually think he’s going to kill you — but to your great surprise it suddenly splits down the middle and branches off into two separate halves that fly up past you only to reconvene and become one at the top.

It’s like you’re watching it all happen in slow motion, painfully aware of what’s happening as it seals around you and stops your momentum mid fall. You jerk to a sudden, screeching halt that rattles your teeth, and you suck in a harsh gasp that seems to tear at your throat. You’re stuck. Just like that. In the blink of an eye you’ve been left dangling there, trapped inside the unrelenting prison of one of his geo spires, and you had no way out.

You’re still desperately clawing and kicking at the solid stone when he steps up beside you, long dark robes swaying softly as he comes into view. You go stock still, heart hammering wildly inside your chest even as you bring your head up to look at him. To your gobsmacked, stuttering surprise, he was smiling at you.

“M - m - my lord!”

“Hello, little one. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. A very grumpy bird told me you’ve been training with the Yaksha recently and I assumed that would continue to take up a significant amount of your time for at least a while longer.”

Heat floods your face in a sudden rush that leaves you sputtering, trying to work out what to say to that. Dammit, Alatus! He wasn’t supposed to go behind your back and tell Morax what you’ve been doing! No wonder his advice hadn’t worked.

“Forgive me, master.” You finally manage to say. “It was not my intention to displease you. I only wanted to - -“

“Oh, I’m well aware what it is you wanted. My attention, isn’t that right?” He tips his head to one side, ever so, his expression still serene and gentle, but that doesn’t stop you from flushing even hotter than before. Quickly, you avert your gaze and try not to look so guilty even though that seemed to be a losing battle in this situation. You felt so stupid, and all the more when Morax draws a patient breath at your continued silence. “Honestly, I'm a little surprised with you. I didn’t take you for the sort to sneak around like that. At first I assumed you were merely working up the courage to come over and ask to spar with me, but that was not the case … was it?”

You sorely wished you could wither away, right then and there, but the unrelenting geo construct made it impossible to even turn from him and hide your shame, let alone beat a hasty retreat. “No, master. It wasn’t.”

“Then why?”

His gloved fingers suddenly brush your chin and you jolt, choking on a very unbecoming squawk of surprise as he tips your face up. Left with no choice but to look at him, you make a desperate attempt to school your expression and hide your fluster from the piercing intensity of his gaze only to fail miserably on all fronts. You couldn’t even remember a time you’d embarrassed yourself so badly in front of him.

“W - well, I just — I thought …” You trail off in uncertainty, but he just nudges your chin with a soft little hum of encouragement. Whimpering faintly, you squeeze your eyes shut so you won’t have to see him looking at you, patient and expectant, while you’re forced to admit to your wrongdoings. “I’m sorry, master! I thought if I took you by surprise I might fare better this time. Alatus said - -“

“Alatus?” Morax’s fingers abruptly slip away. Blinking back the sting of humiliated tears, you cautiously glance up to find him lost in his own thoughts and a tiny little spark of hope flares to life inside you. Perhaps he would let you go and direct his displeasure at the one who had given you that bad advice in the first place!

“I see,” He says at last. “I wouldn’t say he was necessarily wrong to tell you that. Given your size and strength, it certainly does make sense to rely on concealment when approaching a potential threat. However,” The deep timber inflected in just that one word sends shivers racing down your spine as much as the hard edge in his golden eyes does. “You had to have known such tricks would not work against me, little one, and I very much doubt Alatus intended for you to utilize that particular strategy in such a way. If I was so easily taken by surprise then surely I would not be standing before you as I am now, would I? Frankly, I'm not sure if I find your underestimation of me cute or insulting.”

Your chest wrenches violently at that. “No … no, no, I'm sorry, master! Please don’t be displeased with me, I didn’t mean to offend you! I would never! I promise!”

Evidently unmoved by your pleas, Morax makes a casual show of folding his arms behind his back before shifting into motion. Slowly, he walks around the side of the monolith he’d conjured to trap you where he disappears from your line of sight. Even trying to twist around is useless and all you can make out is the hard column of stone and a thin, sideways glimpse of the lush garden foliage. You squirm and brace your hands on the faintly glowing rock, making an attempt to wriggle your way out, but then he appears on the other side and you go still again.

You realize, in a far off, distant kind of way, that he’s circling you like a predator and with that knowledge comes a silent reminder of who he is. What he is. You’d never been lucky or privileged enough to see Morax in his truest form, nor had you ever caught so much as a glimpse of it until now, but you’d heard tales of it. Whispers of his magnificent size and strength. How he was just as big, if not bigger, than most of the gods he fought in the war and equally deadly too. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that the kind and gentle individual before you now, with his doting smiles and easy company, was in fact hiding a beast under that disarming facade. A monstrous dragon.

And you, little more than a rabbit, were trapped in his lethal claws.

“You must forgive my mood today. It isn’t exactly that I am unhappy with you, or Alatus for that matter.” He says quietly. Much too quietly to do anything except further rattle your nerves and make you more anxious. “But I think there is something to be said for these times of peace, don’t you? Not only do the years wear away at the memory of the people but even my beloved adepti too, and it seems that everyone is slowly forgetting what this land looked like not that long ago.”

Pausing in front of you, Morax sends you a slow, unreadable look of consideration.

“The same cannot be said of me though. I can’t forget it. I won’t forget.”

With that, he resumes his pacing around the monolith and you just hang there, having no choice but to attentively listen in even when you want nothing more than to crawl inside a hole and bury yourself alive.

“I’ve not faced a real challenge in many, many centuries now,” He continues, sedate and almost leisurely. “Most save a select few don’t even bother to spar with me now, whether because they hold me in too high regard to even take up their weapons or because they already know what the outcome will be. I must confess though, I miss it sometimes. That is why I have enjoyed our little sessions so much. Even if you cannot truly stand against me, it was still nice … refreshing to see someone standing on the side of opposition with neither hesitation nor reverence on their face. You just wanted to prove yourself, isn’t that right,” His hand abruptly caresses over your leg, starting at the knee and trailing a sensuous path up the back of your thigh, over your buttocks and higher still to finally flick at your small, curved tail. “My helpless rabbit?”

Yelping and blushing profusely, you quickly slap your hands over your mouth to stop yourself from making any further noise. You had no idea what was happening, what he was talking about, and you knew even less how you felt about any of it. Your heart slams a wild, continuous beat against your chest, feeling like it was likely to explode out of you at any given moment, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or … excitement?

Either oblivious or unconcerned with your current predicament, Morax just keeps pacing around you at a steady canter. “That is also why I’m so disappointed in your behavior today. I thought you were better than that. I expected better from you than that. Using such strategy against a lesser foe would have been another matter entirely but me?” He barks a quick, mirthless laugh that seems to set your guts to vibrate. “The only ones foolish enough to use such a shameless tactic against me in the Archon War were beings so far beneath my concern that I didn’t even bother learning their name before I destroyed them. Any warrior with even an ounce of pride would never stoop to such a low, for both his own integrity as well as that of his opponents. Is it possible that I have been much too lenient with you?”

You suck in such a sharp, painful breath that it claws at your throat on the way down. “Master, please! That’s not it at all! I - I just thought … I thought you would be impressed with me if I could implement what I learned from the Yaksha and show you I’m serious. I d - didn’t …”

You trail off, not sure what else to say to defend yourself or your actions, and Morax halts in front of you again. Eyeing you for a moment longer, he finally reaches up to touch fingers to his chin in thought. “You were still small during the war, weren’t you? Only just ascended, if I remember correctly.” You give a miserable little nod, prompting him to slowly exhale through his nose. “I see. It’s not that you’ve forgotten, nor did you intentionally mean any disrespect. It’s just that you don’t know any better. All you’ve ever truly lived is peace, so a warrior's sense of pride is likely just some fanciful concept rather than a tangible thing to you. Still, there is something … a part of me doesn’t want to let it go even knowing this. I want — no, I need to show you that I am not someone such petty tricks will work on.”

“Wha - -“

His hand is suddenly under your chin again, nudging you to look up even as he bends close to put his face in yours. Veins turning to ice, you just stare at him in speechless disbelief. If you could have backed up at that moment you would have gone skittering in the opposite direction, but the geo construct keeps you rooted to the spot. All you can do is take it when he carefully curls those long, blocky fingers over your jaw and gives them a brief squeeze to make you wince. It was only a very small fraction of his power, you knew this, but you still issue a quiet whimper anyway, more from your bruised ego than any physical pain he was causing you.

“Do not misunderstand, little one. You are young and naive, while I am willing to forgive and as patient as the tallest mountain.” Morax intones, his voice dropped to such a low register it almost seems to carry with it a … growl. “But I am also still the Archon of this land. It is my duty to soundly guide all who inhabit Liyue, whether they be human or adepti, and that very much includes you. Forgive me for saying so, but I think it’s high time I teach you an important lesson. One that appears to be long overdue.”

“… my lord?” It’s barely more than a whisper.

“Oh, don’t look at me with such fear in your eyes.” Cooing softly, Morax releases your jaw in favor of reaching up to carefully brush some of the hair back from your face. Just like that, his mood seems to have returned to the calm you were used to and it only leaves you even more unnerved. Confused to see him acting like this. But if he notices any of the disconcert in your expression he doesn’t acknowledge it, instead dragging his hand lower to tenderly cup your cheek in his gloved palm. “I have no intention of harming you today, nor do I wish to scare you. But I think it’s important for you to understand what I am.”

You swallow your nerves. Almost choke on them. “What are you?” You prod, wanting to hear him say it out loud with his own voice, in his own words.

With a slow, almost unsettling blink of his eyes, Morax puts his head to one side. “A very territorial god.”

The shudder that tears through you is so powerful it leaves you outright gasping in shock. He merely smiles though, that same soft, vague smile he usually wears, except … there’s an edge in the gilted amber of his eyes that makes you run hot. Hotter than any bath or spring, or teakettle, and you can’t quite seem to get your breathing under control now as he straightens up, letting his hand fall away, and then moves to step behind you again.

Panicking, you slap your clammy palms against the lower half of the geo construct and desperately try to find some amount of leverage you could use to shimmy free but it is resoundingly useless. His control over the element was so great, so fine tuned and honed that there was barely even a seam between your midsection and the cool stone you were imprisoned in. You’d never be able to squeeze your hips through such a narrow opening, nor your shoulders — not without dislocating them and causing irreparable damage in the process. The reality of that truth slams into you mere seconds before you feel his fingers brush against your tiny tail again, and you can’t quite stop yourself from letting out a frightened squeak.

“Now, now,” He chides, a heavy note of laughter dancing in his voice. “You needn’t rile yourself so. I already told you I’ll be gentle … but there are things you need to understand about this world. The way you came here today was so lacking in manners and propriety that you’ve struck an old chord in me, I’m afraid. But I won’t treat you as I did those who tried such petty, simple tricks in the past,” His hand abandons your twitching tail in favor of skimming down lower to pet over the seat of your form-fitted shorts, startling another gasp out of you at the static jolts that race through your body. “But I think we can come up with an appropriate substitute that will get the point across just as well. I will show you what it truly means to bend the knee to a god and impart upon you the significance of not underestimating one’s elders.”

Your mouth drops open in shock but nothing comes out, every single hair on your body immediately standing on end. The thought that this was really happening seemed so distant, so implausible, that you almost don’t even believe it. Morax had never touched you like this, usually much too polite and proud to lay hands on you (or anyone, for that matter) more than what was strictly necessary, but he doesn’t hesitate to do it now. The glide of his fingers along the seam of your cunt is sure and confident, like he’s done this a million times before.

The weight of it slams into you all at once and you finally give a delayed little jerk as your stomach violently seizes. “M - master! Thats - -“

“Mine, is it not?”

You go stock still, halfway through the motion of trying to push against the stone again. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. “I … I don't understand.”

With a soft, vaguely condescending click of his tongue, Morax adjusts his hand to rub over the apex of your slit with a greater sense of purpose to make you twitch and seethe through your teeth. “Which is precisely why I would be remiss not to educate you, little one. You have truly lived a largely comfortable life and you do not grasp what would be apparent to you had you endured any of the hardships of the past. Respect, decorum, integrity … these are not just words without meaning. You must learn to maintain these principles even in your youth, or you won’t live to see the same old age I enjoy.”

Biting down on your bottom lip to stifle the embarrassing sounds trying to slip out, you frantically turn that over in your head. It was exceedingly hard to do when he was caressing you like that, gradually coaxing your body to bend to his will which it does with a horrifying lack of compulsion, but you desperately wanted to figure out what had set him off and why he was acting this way. You wanted to understand him … easier said than done, of course, when he always spoke in such a complicated and enigmatic manner. Yet a thought starts to slowly dawn on you, alighting inside your mind like the morning sun appearing over the horizon.

Was it possible that the lesson he wanted you to take from this boiled down to something as simple as a reestablishment of his dominance? Had you really stoked the mighty dragon in him enough that he now felt compelled to dominate you like he would any lesser foe who dared to disrespect his position and authority? He said you’d approached him without respect … had opined about the past and how he missed partaking in true battles, establishing his own superiority over others with fists rather than words. Said he’d enjoyed your sparring matches because of the way you’d looked at him with neither awe or reverence — but by sneaking around like an assassin you’d overstepped that understanding between you and your lord?

A sudden groan bursts out of you when your pussy eagerly flutters against the ministration of his hand, growing wet for him, and it quickly becomes that much harder for you to concentrate. But you frantically try to hold onto that string of thought, panting slightly where you hang from the geo construct. It felt like you were right on the brink of a solid idea … an epiphany.

You almost write it off completely when it finally comes to you, so absurd and implausible at first glance. But the longer he pets your cunt with sure, steady motions of his hand, as if he already knew exactly how to toy with you, the more you found yourself faltering. Could it really be that you had simply offended his greater sense of pride, his monstrous instincts, by suggesting (intentionally or not) that you didn’t consider him worth the effort of meeting face to face in the sparring ring anymore?

It’s not lost on you that Morax was well within his right to do as he pleased, however he so pleased, and he normally chose kind smiles, a soft hand to guide, friendly company and the grace to only show you a very small fraction of his great strength. The goodwill to let you think you ever stood any kind of fighting chance against him if you just trained enough, just stuck with it long enough. But now it seemed he was set on reminding you of your place in his world, bring you to heel, and let it be known in no uncertain terms where you stood. He had been nothing but tenderhearted and indulgent towards you until now, doting the way a father figure would be. Infinitely lenient, or so it had seemed.

That was not who was standing behind you any longer though. He’d been replaced by a king, a war general, a fierce draconian lord. Someone who took without asking and who claimed what was his by right, and that very much included you and your body, evidently.

Sucking in a sharp, wavering breath, you abruptly snap back into the moment when you feel him pinch at your clit through the thin fabric of your pants to get your attention again. His motions are self assured and confident as he gently teases the sensitive nub with a slow, rolling motion of his fingers before squarely pressing down on it. Your legs weakly kick out behind you at a series of awkward angles, torn between either balancing the distribution of your weight so there wasn’t quite so much pressure on your middle where the stone was holding you up or trying to close your thighs and keep him out. The latter was useless though. You were completely defenseless like this without even the privilege of being able to twist away, and you soon realize all you can do is accept your fate.

So you hang there, whimpering softly as he grinds mean little circles into your clit. He doesn’t stop until your hips start to judder and buck against the stimulation, a startling amount of sticky slick already bleeding into the fabric plastered to your cunt. You can’t help groaning in frazzled disappointment when he finally withdraws his hand some moments later, leaving your body thrumming with unspent kinetic energy, but he’s quick to smooth his hand over the curve of your ass and give it a brief, reassuring squeeze.

“There. That’s better isn’t it?” He rumbles behind you, that same hint of amusement making you tremble again. “Rest assured, little one. I will not be unfair or cruel to you. I’ll make sure this is as pleasant for you as myself, but I trust my greater intention will not be lost either. This is a symbolic act, so do pay attention.”

“M - master —!” Your voice warbles and catches, breaking off with a stilted little gasp when Morax redirects his hand to grasp at the material and tug at it. It takes him a prolonged beat to inch it down enough, between all your squirming and the position he’s got you stuck in, trapped within one of his monoliths, but soon he can slip his fingers inside the waist. Tugging your shorts down, pausing to untangle them from your twisting legs, he finally gets them pulled over your ankles and tossed aside.

You’re left naked from the waist down with only your socks and shoes allotted to you, and you’d never felt more exposed or vulnerable in all your life. Try as you might, you just couldn’t seem to find enough leverage to curl your legs up and it has you awkwardly writhing against either side of the stone spire. No matter what you do though you can still feel the waft of cool, pristine air against your bared cunt and, much to your mounting horror, even the clenched pucker of your ass. You were completely on display like this. He could see everything — and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it!

Was this how helpless his enemies had felt against him in the past? How weak, pathetic and unequivocally at his mercy they’d been?

“My,” He seems to pur, gently touching a fingertip to the meat of your cunt to make you jolt. “What a sweet little thing you are. Already so wet for me … I’m flattered.”

You momentarily forget how to breathe when he spreads your lips with a deliberate, savory slowness, and lets out a quiet huff at what he sees. Flushed so hot you think you might just pass out from the sharp, debilitating stabs of humiliation that slice into you, your hands blindly reach down to brace against the lower half of the construct and lift your weight up off your stomach a bit. You couldn’t process this. Couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he was not only touching you but even looking right at your most intimate of spots, completely unheeded.

The sting of burning, deeply embarrassed tears floods your eyes and you whimper, mewling a plaintive plea as he idly draws smooth, glove encased fingers through folds and petal-soft creases to further spread your slick around. Emphasizing how copious it is, and how very sticky you were. You try to brace yourself for what will come next — unsure what that would be, exactly, but knowing in some primal, animal part of your brain that your trial was far from over — but it still shocks you a great deal when Morax finds your entrance and applies just enough pressure to dip a finger inside.

Your whole body jerks with the sensation of him reaching into you, the sinuously smooth texture of his glove slipping and sliding indecently against your guts. Even when your pussy squeezes around the unexpected intrusion, even when your body aches in protest at being suddenly stretched, it does nothing to stop him from gliding in straight down to the knuckle. Heaving a gutted little noise, you lurch and almost lose your hold on the geo construct.

“Oh!”

“A tight fit.” He murmurs, more to himself than you. Which is good, because your head is spinning so fast you really aren’t confident in your ability to respond coherently right now. “I suppose I will have to take the time to properly prepare you first, then … I don’t think you’ll be able to take me like this.”

Take him?

The powerful god behind you doesn’t give you a chance to linger on that thought, gradually withdrawing his finger and then pushing back in to send you scrabbling at the surface of the stone. Slow and steady, he takes his time massaging along your inner sleeve with a level of patience you’d long since come to recognize in him but it drives you absolutely insane in this situation. Your pussy thrums eagerly around him, already so keen and sensitized from his earlier petting that it doesn’t take long at all for you to start feeling the muscles lock up in vibrating tension. Seething through your teeth, you try once again to bring your legs up even if only to brace against the sensation wracking through your lower body, but it’s futile. All you do is uselessly squirm in place, hips bucking slightly every time he reaches deep inside you.

But then — you choke on a haggard, frantic sound when he introduces a second finger to your soaked cunt, sliding in just as easily as before but the stretch was so much more intense this time that your eyes start to roll back. Hissing through your teeth, you can do nothing but endure it while he takes a moment to rub along your interior, caressing over every bump and ridge as if in careful consideration before he finally angles his fingertips down. Down. He curls them, crooks them in a come hither motion, and presses right into something that makes your heart catch in your throat. You start to wheeze, gasping and choking on the blinding pressure as he teases that spongy spot for a just moment and then sedately jabs into it again. Once, twice, and on the third time you shatter, falling into uncontrollable tremors while you wail in distress.

But no matter how hard you shake or judder your hips, he just keeps moving his fingers. Alternating between teasing at that insidious nerve cluster and casually working those long digits in and out of you at a tortuously slow, stilted pace. In a matter of moments he seems to milk your orgasm for everything it’s worth, leaving your cunt soft and pliant around the intrusion, and then immediately starts to build into the next. Your sensitive, post-climax twitching is very quickly replaced by the eager, needy roll of your shaking hips as you instinctively grind back on him, seeking out more like you were already addicted to it.

Your cheeks burn in excitement and shame alike, and another faltering groan slips out of you, unbidden, when you realize how stiff your nipples have become under your shirt. They seem to jut out in stiff, fine points, as if seeking out that same source of friction your cunt was getting, and that only humiliates you even further. You’d never felt like this before. Never known your body to turn on you so completely that your tits felt heavy with arousal where they were swaying softly each time you moved, nor had your pussy ever been so very responsive … either Morax was a very talented individual when it came to stroking another’s body to vibrating fever pitch or you were far weaker for him than you’d first thought.

Somehow you got the feeling it was a potent combination of the two. You also can’t quite shake the sense of being even more outmatched against him in this situation than you ever were in any of your martial sparring bouts, and that was certainly saying something.

“Master, p - please! I can’t take it …” You finally manage to hiss.

“Oh? Are you going to cum again already, my sweet little rabbit?”

Involuntarily, your pussy clamps down on his fingers hard, and he issues a low chuckle in response, still sedately fucking into your body at the same unhurried pace. It was like he had all the time in the world to do this, and he probably did. You can’t help but grimace at the sticky clicks and wet little slurps coming from the other side of the spire, as embarrassed that your cunt was making those kinds of noises as you were about Morax being the one to not only cause them but that he was hearing them too. That shame does very little to dissuade your arousal though and it seems like you’re wildly shaking again in just a matter of moments, your jaw clenched so tight it actually hurts. It was too much.

“My, this is a surprise.” He says over your high pitched, sensitive bleating. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so easily brought to climax, and in such a short amount of time too … perhaps I should retrieve a bucket to put under you if you’re going to keep cumming like this?”

You let out a long, keening groan as the tremors in your body finally start to ebb and fade but he merely chuckles at your reaction, clearly finding humor in it. If you’d been in any position to do so, you probably would have found the whole thing rather funny too. After all, it wasn’t every day one was able to witness the Lord of Geo laying claim to one of his Adepti with such ease and agility.

Distantly, you’re aware of him shifting behind you moments before his fingers pull out with a wet pop that leaves you shuddering anew while your pussy weakly squeezes around something that was no longer there. You try to catch your breath in that moment, having no idea how long it would last, but your body is so high strung and sore, a lingering ache settling deep within you in the aftermath of being stretched open, that you can’t seem to calm yourself.

“Master, please,” You beg, still wheezing harshly. “I did not mean to upset you … I only wanted to show you what I learned from the Yaksha, I swear it! I wouldn’t ever — ahhn!”

Your desperate pleas suddenly catch in your throat when you feel him brush against you, long robes fluttering around your bare, quaking thighs as something decidedly fleshy presses into you from behind. Warm and uncompromisingly rigid, it just touches your sticky labia and then pauses there, hovering. Waiting. The not so subtle threat has you wildly bucking against the stone structure, struggling just to breathe. You’d never wanted to turn and look at something so much in your entire life, but you can’t do that like this. Not with your front half dangling from one side of the construct while the lower - -

His hands abruptly squeeze around your hips, holding you still, and you let out a frazzled, helpless little mewl when he nudges into you enough you can feel your cunt lips parting under the stilted pressure. Weakly kicking your legs in an attempt to find something you could brace against, even if it was just by the tips of your toes, proves utterly useless. You were a bit too high off the ground, evidently level with his hips, and it forces you to experience the slow press of his cock in startling high definition.

You may not have been able to see it, but he felt big. Much bigger than you were prepared to take, and you loose a wild, high pitched squeal at the oppressive sensation of him poised and ready to lay claim to you.

“Do you remember what I said, little one?” Drawing a brief, savory breath, Morax gives another, barely there push, and just sinks into the give of your entrance before stilling again. Not quite breaching you yet but positioned to follow through at any moment, giving you plenty of time to process the full weight of your impending domination. “This is a symbolic act, first and foremost. You are inexperienced in the ways of this world so it is my duty to teach you … tell me, then. Do you know what the lesson is?”

It takes you a shamefully long moment to kickstart your brain enough to even realize he’s asked you a question. You were so overwhelmed by just his presence behind you, the impact of this innate claim he had on you and your body. For a long beat, you can’t even seem to find your voice.

“… I — I don’t know. I’m not sure.” You finally manage to warble.

“Hm? I don’t think I quite believe that. Why don’t you take a guess?”

He nudges you again, tauntingly sinking forward as if to finally penetrate you at long last, but never quite following through on it. Your pussy thrums in nervous anticipation, and he sighs very softly when your body seems to suckle at the tip of him with each shuddering clench of vibrating muscle. Arms trembling slightly from the effort, you awkwardly readjust their slipping hold on the spire and try to think. You needed to say something, preferably something other than mindless, overwrought gibberish.

“Is it that — you want me to feel what it’s like to be bested by you? To understand how weak I really am …?”

“Oh, precious thing. It’s not that you are weak, nor is that what I want you to take away from this.” Gently, almost affectionately, Morax smooths over the skin across your hips with blunt thumbs as if to comfort you. “Rather, this is but a symbolic representation of what can happen if you underestimate your foes. Even your god is not quite as immune to territorial displays as he would like to be. It’s been a long, long time since someone last challenged me in earnest … and you’ve awakened the beast in me today by presenting yourself as one.”

His strong fingers abruptly dig into you, hard enough to bruise, and you gasp at the pain. It is quickly overshadowed, however, by the sharp, splintering stretch of his tip pressing into you, forcing your guts to allow him entry one earth shuddering inch at a time. You abruptly understand then, realization lighting up within you in a far off, dreamy sort of way. This was a conquest. You’d been teasing the dragon in him this entire time — the way you looked at him, the way you challenged him and even the way you’d taken the word of one of his most loyal followers in a sea of many and tried to turn it back around on him. He wasn’t punishing you in the strictest sense, but giving in to his instinctive urge to dominate and claim. To quash opposition with his heavy fists and stand at the top, on his divine throne, where he rightfully belonged, to claim the spoils for himself and breed his powerful heirs.

A hollowed out, gutted groan tumbles from your mouth as he enters you from behind, his cock so big and heavy inside you the stretch of it seems to reverberate deep in your bones. You can barely even breathe around it, the way it seems to punch the air right out of your lungs, leaving you clawing at the monolith like a trapped animal. A hare, in a hunters noose. Inch by staggering inch, it feels like he’s breaking you in half and all you can do is woundedly bleat into the otherwise still garden. Morax was not just taking you for himself in the physical sense, he was subjugating your body to his rock solid will like a tyrant.

“My lesson to you is thus,” He growls, practically snarls behind you, as he sinks another tortuous fraction into your heaving guts. “Do not tempt fate and let sleeping gods lie. You never know what sort of mood they’ll wake up in.”

Keening frantically now, you arch so hard against your stone prison you feel the strain of it in your spine. But his hold on your hips is as good as iron and your lower body is practically immobilized like this, save the uncontrollable shake of your legs. You hear him grunt behind you, very softly, and then give his cock a stilted little push that has him sinking in even deeper, so deep you can practically taste him on the back of your tongue. The way he stretches your cunt so completely, so oppressive with the weight of him behind you, in you, against you, seems to overwhelm all your senses at once, and it takes you a prolonged beat to realize when he’s stilled again.

Panting harshly, you hang there for a moment as if in suspended animation, just trying to process his heavy presence inside your body, and then it occurs to you … his strong, narrow hips are pressed flush against your upturned ass. Seated in you straight down to the hilt. Your cunt had never felt so full, so stuffed right to the breaking point before, and you wheeze like some broken, wounded little thing.

“Hunger,” Morax intones, so abruptly it startles a low whine out of you. “For the flesh and blood of the illuminated beasts. Wrath, for those that dared disturb their slumber. Greed, to reclaim what was once theirs by any means necessary.” His fingers dig further into your hips and hold you in place as he carefully angles back just enough to drag at your guts. “Or, in some cases, you might even find yourself speared down the middle on a beastly cock that is much too big for your poor little body to take. You must tread carefully around the gods, little one. We are not quite as magnanimous as we may seem.”

Nudging himself forward again, he sinks back into you as far as he can reach. Your pussy throbs around him, weakly contracts with a warning tremor that makes fresh tears spring up in your eyes. You know you’re riding a dangerous line, just hanging on the precipice of some great, gaping abyss, and you’re helpless to stop it as he settles into a mind numbingly stilted rhythm. He fucks you like he could do this for hours and never tire, like he has all the stamina in the world to put his mark on you at his own pace, on his own time. Morax is not in any hurry to rush this, and it is that slow, halting motion of his hips and the blinding stretch that comes with it that soon shoves you over the edge.

You cum again, embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t so much as pause to let you catch your breath. Just keeps fucking you even when you wail in overstimulated distress and dire urgency, your jolting legs slowly losing their strength until you have no choice but to let them dangle loose in the air while he ruts into you. You were exhausted. Completely spent.

And Morax was not going to stop until he finished sating the draconic instinct to take whatsoever happened to catch his golden eye, even if that thing was but a helpless little rabbit.

⭐

Crossposted here

#genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #self insert bullshit

287 notes · View notes

pokechbi · 10 months ago

Text

Healing Simon (Chapter 2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Psychiatrist!femreader

MDNI !!

WC: 2.1k

enjoy lovies <3 I missed you all! pray to the writing gods that I get out of this funk lol

You stared at the email on your laptop, the cursor blinking on the empty reply line. You chew your nail as you think of a reply. You had given your email to Simon to contact you whenever he needed to talk outside of your office, but never expected him to actually use it considering how he was practically forced by Price to attend your sessions. Although something in you knew it wasn’t so forced anymore. It had been a week since your last session, the night before you’d see him again.

Having a hard time tonight. Can you talk?

-LSR

You typed your reply, hitting send without a second thought.

Absolutely, Simon. You have my number :)

Less than a minute later, your phone rang. You let it ring twice before picking it up.

“Hello?” You say, a slight shake in your voice. You definitely weren’t used to clients calling you personally. Especially this late.

“Up at this time?” He says smugly. You hear the smirk in his voice. You smile, scratching the skin behind your ear.

“Couldn’t sleep. What about you?” You reply.

“Same here. Don’t you have to be up early?”

You lick your lips, biting back a smile at his concern. His voice gruff, yet gentle and warm in your ears.

“I’ll be alright, Simon. What’s been on your mind?”

He takes a pause before speaking. The line is quiet, a stark contrast to your TV running in the background. You grab the remote, muting it.

“Just need to talk, love. That’s all.” His change of tone has you concerned, realizing you need to distract him. But nothing has you captivated more than his painfully British nickname for you. Love. It flows off his tongue so easily, so sweetly. Feels like sugar running through your veins, sweetening you.

“I’ve been gardening lately. Probably not the right time, considering how it's almost winter.” You chuckle. You replied on a whim, knowing he probably could not have cared less about your failed gardening experiments. You hear him chuckle on the other end, the sound shocking you as you haven’t heard his genuine laugh in the months he’d been seeing you.

“What are you growing? Or trying to, at least.” His sarcastic remark makes you smile wider, a small giggle leaving your lips. It was nice, being able to hear how he sounded outside of your office, talking about things that seem small and insignificant. Like a close friend.

“Well, I’ve managed to sprout a few tomato plants, some green onions too. Those things grow like crazy.” You respond.

The line goes quiet again. You fill the silence.

“I’ve got some nice indoor plants too, they’re less complicated to care for, you know?”

“What kind?” He asks.

“The easy kind” You reply, the smile evident in your voice. He chuckles. You feel good, knowing you’re helping him. Even if it’s the smallest bit.

“I can’t keep a plant alive to save my life. Just got no time for it.” He continues with a gentle sigh. You smirk to yourself, imagining Simon overwatering a plant, thinking he was helping it rather than killing it.

“I can show you a thing or two, if you want?” You ask. You don’t know what came over you, or why you thought he’d want to learn how to care for a plant by his psychiatrist. “I’m no expert, though.” You continue, not wanting to break the moment.

“I’d like that.” He seems to jump at the opportunity, not regarding the insinuation that he’d need to come to your apartment to do so. You lie down, turning on your side as you stare at the wall ahead of you.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll become good at it.” You say gently, a hint of hopefulness in your voice, fully knowing Simon was not the type of man to be good at gardening. It couldn’t hurt to try, though.

“I’m sure with a teacher like you love, I’d be good at anything.” He catches you off guard, your eyes widening and mouth hanging agape. You try to find the words, but he interrupts you.

“Thank you for taking my call.” He says, his voice sounding distant. “I needed it.”

You take your lip between your teeth, biting back a smile. “Of course, Simon. I’m here for you. Always.”

“Night, love.” He says, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Goodnight, Simon. See you tomorrow.” You hang up. Your mind races miles a minute, repeating his words in your head.

With a teacher like you, love, I’d be good at anything.

So you weren’t the only one feeling it.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You sat at your desk, the clock creeping to 2:00PM. Your appointment with Simon was in less than 10 minutes, and you were still strongly feeling the effects of what he said to you last night.

Am I overthinking this? Is he just being friendly? Is he naturally flirtatious?

The questions ran through your head and swarmed through your subconscious. There was no possible way he was actually into you. There were plenty of factors at play. You had been the only one picking at his brain for the past six months, the only one who seemed to care enough to know what was going through his head. Was it that? Or was it the fact that you had been the only consistent thing in his life, and it was taking a toll on him?

You got up, pacing behind your desk as you waited for him. Sure, you were attracted to him. You liked his presence, his strong, unwavering aura. He was a man who was sure of himself, and that was a guaranteed turn on for women who had only managed to attract the wrong types of attention from all the wrong kinds of men.

And yet, there you were: spraying extra perfume in all the most intimate places. Behind your ears, your upper forearms, your ankles. Today, your dress being shorter than the pencil skirts you usually wore, the v-cut just a tad bit deeper. Your heels just a bit higher and your legs just a smidge more shaved than usual.

A knock at the door brings you out of your head. You throw your hair behind your shoulders, walking over to the door. You pause for a moment, then swing it open. Simon stands there, in his usual attire. You notice his eyes shift under his balaclava, a glint of something different in him today. You take notice of this, stepping to the side as you let him in. You close the door behind you, directing him to the chair as if he hadn’t been sitting in it every week for months now. You walk to your desk, your strides slow and calculated.

“I like your dress. What’s the occasion?” He asks suddenly. You turn to him, noticing how his eyes slightly struggle to stay above your chest. You smile to yourself at him noticing your change in attire.

“No occasion, I just felt like looking nice today, that’s all.” He hums in response, nodding his head slightly.

“You always look nice.” You chuckle softly. You walk towards the chair across from him, sitting slowly, keeping your eyes on his. You notice his gaze flit to your legs, and back up to your eyes. The boldness of his glances made your heart leap in your chest.

“Well thank you, Simon. I’m glad you think so.” You fidget with your fingers, keeping eye contact with him. “Do you want to pick up where we left off last week?” You open your notepad and uncap your pen. “What’s on your mind today?”

“Not letting me forget why I’m here, huh.” He chuckles softly, resting his right ankle on his left knee. Simon was often hard to read. And he knew that. He only expressed what he wanted people to see, and it frustrated you. You were putting some serious elbow grease into picking at his brain, yet he kept his walls impenetrable, letting you in slowly but surely.

You capped your pen, setting your notepad aside. You looked at him and smiled gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned back in your chair, folding your leg over the other. You had a feeling this day would come, when Simon needed a break from the professional shrink-talk. He needed a friend, one that didn’t constantly remind him of his duties as a soldier. Someone to get away with. One that wasn’t legally obligated to share his thoughts and innermost secrets with his superiors.

You see a hint of amusement in his eyes as you continue to exchange looks to each other. The silence was growing, but not uncomfortable. He watched as you got up and walked over to the door where your jacket hung. He kept his eyes on you while you put it on, your dress rising slightly as you raised your arms.

“You like coffee?” You ask, grabbing your purse and opening the door. He chuckles, rising from his seat and following you out.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚

“They’re closed.” Simon says, bending down to read the cafe’s open hours. You peer inside, seeing nothing but chairs on the tables and the lights completely off.

“Well, shit.” You say, laughing to yourself. He looks down at you, and you swear you see a hint of a smile in his eyes. “What now?” You say shyly, the embarrassment evident on your face.

“Your offer for the gardening lesson. Does it still stand?” He says. You smile, hearing the smirk in his voice. Your breath catches in your throat, thoughts racing through your head. Surely it would be unprofessional. It was completely forbidden in the psychiatry world to allow a client into your home, much less a client who had unbearable tension with you. It scared you. The thought of being alone with him, in close quarters. What would happen? You’re sure Simon wasn’t stupid. He knew what was at play. The stolen glances, the slight flirting between you two over the months. It was obvious.

“Of course. We can have coffee at mine instead.” You say, breaking the silence. He nods, following you back to your car. As you walk back down the street, the wind picks up and your hair flies everywhere. You give up on trying to keep it in place, letting it flow wild. The wind blows your dress uncomfortably high, and you feel a breeze hit you in places that shouldn’t be hit. You look back to Simon, noticing how he watches you struggle to keep it down. You smile at him, smiling nervously. How embarrassing.

You reach your car, pulling your keys from your jacket pocket. Before you could pull the door open, you feel a strong hand wrap around your wrist. His touch on your skin feels comfortably warm, in contrast with the biting cold. You turn, meeting him eye to eye, your lips hanging agape. He takes a step towards you, your chests only inches apart.

“Thank you. For getting out with me.” He says, the look in his eyes sincere. You stare up at him, looking between his eyes. Oh how badly you wanted to reach up and kiss him. The urge settles deep in your stomach. You place your hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. He looks at your hand and places it over yours. He takes it in his, interlacing your fingers. The warmth from his hand spreads throughout your body, settling in your core. It was strong and big, his grip unwavering and protecting.

“Anytime, Simon.” You reply, the shake in your voice giving you away completely. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. You close your eyes, tightening your hold on his hand and wrapping your other arm around his neck instinctively.

What the hell has gotten into me? This can’t happen. It feels wrong. He’s my patient, for Christ's sake. But fuck, does it feel so good. He’s so warm. So..big.

You feel his hand rest on your hip, squeezing slightly. You relax into his touch, his body heat practically melting you. You open your eyes, and take a step back.

He wastes no time in lifting his mask, and pressing his lips to yours.

107 notes · View notes

painting-warhammer · 8 months ago

Text

Solitaire in the style of Vriska Serket (Homestuck)

Just in time for 4/13! Commentary under cut.

The Lessons Learned

#1: Learn As Much As You Can Before Letting Your Mini Anywhere Near A Brush

As first figures go, this was honestly not as bad as it could have been, but I am an outlier. (and the second figure would be much worse.) Since the proverbial canvas was so expensive, it was a lot of "measure twice, cut once."

youtube

This was the main thing I used, and save for the face looking like chewed-up bubblegum, it came out relatively okay for a first try. Overall, this guy's a legend and this would be far from the only video of his I would reference.

#2: It's Okay To Be Inspired

What really hooked me on Warhammer in general is that you can paint things in your style. This is appealing at first, but if you're not an artist, you're going to be exposed quickly in the worst way possible, and that's by the color wheel theory. If you don't understand contrast and coomplements, all the technique in the world won't save your figure from looking like an eyesore.

This is where "established" characters that you are mimicking end up being your saving grace. If canon material is your bag, that works: You certainly won't lack as far as exact guides then! But in my opinion, you learn a bit more by improvising and trying to make something similar to an established character. Chances are they're popular because they have an appealing color scheme. As it happens, Vriska's various blue motifs really complement her orange, which is something I never realized way back when.

Also, reinterpretation was inevitable. I had initially considered freehanding the sun symbol on her lapel, but when everything was smaller than my pinkie, I just settled for making her jewels yellow. The real masterstroke was taking the Harlequin's Kiss weapon and recoloring it as the Warhammer (oh hey) of Vrillyhoo.

I just took the general colors and used Spiritstone Red on the rounded bits, and made something analogous to it. It's still the neatest part, imo.

#3: The Best Way To Start

For every color, I had a swatch. I had one base color, which I then doused in a shade, and then added one layer paint as the main color and one shade lighter for highlights.

#4: How To Make A Shiny Figure

There's a special paint called Ardcoat that puts a glossy texture on, but something that's a little more muted that gives a shine is... shade paint! I didn't shake the paint pot enough and created a fun glossy texture that you can see on her knee. (I learned how I accidentally did this by asking at my local Warhammer shop, lol)

#5: Don't Be Afraid To Make Mistakes

I'm sure there's more than just this wrong with this figure, but the Solitaire is supposed to be leaping off that little rock there. There were glyphs where I was able to put in a glowing line of Baharroth Blue that was watery enough that it filled in the little gaps on its own. It looked fantastic once...

Unfortunately, I overfilled my brush and it sloughed over into the other creases and ruined the whole effect. I also slopped Mordant Earth onto the stones and made it too ugly.

But that's just it. As much prep work as I was going in with, there was always going to be a mistake, and on a personal psychic level it feels bad when you make it. It ruins a whole day of painting lol. And you can't really stop those emotions, but you should at least try.

#6: You're Not Married To Your Army

It's inevitable that getting your first figure leads you to think about a whole army of them, but I had this distaste in my mouth when I thought about making more than one Vriska. For one, I didn't like any of the other Harlequins or Aeldari, or more importantly, I couldn't think of fun color schemes for them. The thought came to mind to make the ships similar to the Batterwitch/Condesce, but they were too similar color-wise (and even in the symbology!) where it just felt redundant. I get a special kick out of making something different from the boxart, because that's the point in my opinion.

I coped for a while: Green stuff or 3D print horns for the other figures to make them trolls? Suck it up and just use Vriska's color scheme for the others? In the end, I just gave up and called this a practice run. This is still my favorite figure. I'm just happy the first one turned out so nicely, relatively speaking, so I don't really have a lump of paint surrounding what was once a figure like a lot of first-time painters.

But no worries. Because I'd definitely fuck up the next one. 😅 That's for a new post.

#Homestuck #Vriska Serket #painting warhammer #Games Workshop #Warhammer #Warhammer 40K #WarhammerCommunity #Warhammer 40000 #wh 40k #WH40K #Warhammer40K #WarhammerPainting #Miniature Painting #Painting miniatures #Mini Painting #Aeldari #craftworld eldar #harlequins

61 notes · View notes

lemonpils · 4 months ago

Text

You Can Take It - Scaramouche x Lumine +18 NSFW

Authors Note: THIS IS SCARAMOUCHE, NOT WANDERER LMAO, this is before he was redeemed n shit lol. no tickling this time, just smut!! enjoy dom!scara btw

Summary: The fatui had finally caught Lumine, whilst she was chained up, a certain harbinger finds her and has a little fun. MINORS DNI PLS

She had been chained down for what seemed like hours, her arms above her head, legs spread to each corner of the table. She was still in shock, wondering how this all had happened...

How did this happen?

Lumine, in short, bit off more than she could chew.

The adventurers guild had requested help in finding a missing person, a young boy, blonde. And no, it wasn't Aether. Lumine had went to speak with the person that posted the advert, it was a young girl, the boys sister.

So naturally she felt her pain, and wanted to help in any way she could, the young girl explained that her brother wandered off down a trail near Chinju Forrest, she told Lumine that there was a Fatui camp near that specific trail. Lumine cursed to herself, the fatui had always been up Lumine's ass when it came to helping the people of Teyvat, and the fact that it was a young boy who had gone missing only made her anger build.

So there she was, sword in hand, walking down said trail as she looked for any signs to what had happened. She followed the freshest footprints she could see, and saw that they veered off the trail, down to the water.

"Shit." She thought, could he have drowned?

She hurried down to the water, looking for blood, pieces of clothing, anything. It was then that she saw something, a person. He was small, blonde. A sigh of relief washed over her as she approached him, though the expression on the boys face wasn't anything to what she was expecting, it was a fearful look, he seemed to be looking right at her.

"Did you get lost? Your sister has been looking for you sweetie." She spoke kindly, though his face made her worry.

The boy didn't speak, his expression lingered once more, she studied his eyes, and at that moment she realized...

The boy wasn't looking at her.

He was looking behind her.

She swiftly turned around, making eye contact to who ever was standing behind her. She only caught a glimpse before a syringe was injected into her arm, causing her vision to grow fuzzy, and her knees to buckle. She fell onto the sand, able to make out the mask of a fatui pyro agent as her eyes closed.

Now, where were we? Ah, yes.

She had been struggling in the chains, using any elemental power she could, but there was no budge. It seemed they had been preparing for her, the chains were immune to her abilities, shit.

Her arms tried to yank down, but the chains kept her taught and spread as she squirmed. She was almost about to call for 'help' when she heard footsteps walking towards the doorway of the room.

"Fuck, oh god, who's coming..?" She thought.

A voiced pierced her ears as the stranger spoke, though, it was no stranger, she knew exactly who it was.

"Well, look what we have here." It was none other than Lumine's least favorite pain in the ass, Scaramouche. He walked over to the table where she was bound, her milky skin glistening under the one lightbulb that hung in the middle of the room. His fingers reached towards her, but before he could even make contact-

"Don't fucking touch me." She snipped.

He smiled, that sadistic little smile. "Don't act like you don't love it."

She gulped, a tint of pink hitting her cheeks as he called her out, for some reason, this guy always made her lose her cool, made her feel- smaller, did she like it?

Yea, probably.

And he knew that, all too well. Scaramouche was anything but stupid, he noticed whenever they had their disputes that she would fumble her words, and that she let her eyes wander. He knew that there was something more to it, maybe this was a good time to test that theory?

"I'd ask how you ended up getting caught, but I dont really care." He chuckled. "All I care about now, is what I'm going to do next." He flashed that signature smile, that smile that sent tingles up her spine.

"You're sick."

"And you adore it." He nipped back, making her blush in defeat.

"Let's state the facts Lumine, you're stuck, you lost. You cant be for sure that you'll get out, so why not accept it and join the winners?" His voiced was laced with something, something lustful.

It made her quiver as his breath hit her neck, since when did his face get so close?

"I wont submit to your little game." Her voice was shaky, oh how that turned him on.

He chuckled, "I knew you wouldn't back down so easily, maybe I need to convince you then." Lumines heart sank, thoughts raced through her mind as she kept her eyes on him.

She felt a hand grab just above her knee, where her boots ended and her bare skin began. She whimpered. "Scara- dont fucking touch me- nHh!" His hand moved up, taking a handful of her thigh.

"Lumine, you need to learn when to shut up." His eyes were drinking her figure up as he spoke. Something about his tone caused her to stop speaking, hmm, weird.

Lumine let a moan slip out as Scaramouche massaged her inner thighs, caressing her silky skin. "My, what embarrassing noises you're making, you dont like this do you?" He smirked as her face reddened, only proving his point more.

She liked it, fuck that, she loved it.

"S-Scara... wait-" She felt his hands travel under her dress, resting on her hips as his face was still lingering above hers, the eye contact was maddening. "Dont speak." He ordered.

It was if she was finally realizing her own fantasies, and how this man made her feel, she felt dirty, she felt sleazy, but yet so, so turned on.

Her mouth closed as she nodded, a smile appearing on his face. "Glad you understand your place." His hands traveled up her dress, tracing the undersides of her breasts, he admired the softness of her skin with his fingers, and how she reacted to the smallest of grazes.

"Mmhh! Nhh.." High pitched moans seeped out like smoke, echoing through the room. "Oh? Did I find a spot?" He smiled, bringing his fingers up to pinch her nipples, which were already hard. "GhH-!"

She arched her back, only for his hands to meet her hips and slam her back onto the table. "Keep still, dont fucking move."

She nodded, and dissolved into moans once more as he began pinching and tweaking her nipples from under her dress, watching as she fought the urge to arch and squirm. "Look at you, this must suck huh? Unable to move, unable to stop me, and I just get to play with you till my hearts content. But, who am I to say that you dont fucking love it?" He chuckled, a whimper seeped out as she knew he was right.

His hands pulled out from her dress, but were soon back on her as he ripped said dress apart, straight down the middle, revealing everything. She shuddered as the cold air met her skin, leaving tingles in its trace. The tingers were suddenly replaced with a warm wet sensation on her chest.

His mouth had met her right breast as he sucked on her nipple, while his hand toyed with her left one. Lumine moaned hard, she threw her head back to help process the sensations.

"That's it, writhe in pleasure." He said between sucks, pinching her left nipple a bit harder.

"Scara-! Please- fuck..!" She moaned, followed by a hand meeting her throat, not pressing too tight yet. "Please what?" He eyed her.

She gulped, tears pricking her eyes.

"P-Please... Dont make me wait..." She whimpered, she wanted to feel him.

He scoffed, tightening his grip on her neck as she choked in pleasure. "Who the fuck do you think you are, making demands?" His free hand moved down, tracing along the line of her panties. "You dont get to make the decisions, as long as you're on that table." He glared, his fingers traveling beneath her underwear as he spoke.

"Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes..."

She moaned as two fingers brushed against her wetness, tracing the outside of her folds as she moaned. "Hhh-!" She gasped, feeling them massage and toy with the outside, barely giving her what she craved so dearly. His eyes kept their gaze on her pussy, and how it quivered when he teased it so lightly.

"What a slut, you're already soaked, see?" He held up his two fingers, already coated in a layer of her juices. She looked to see, but it was too late as she inhaled sharply as the same two fingers slipped into her entrance, not moving just yet.

"GhH!"

"Hmm, you're looser than I'd thought you be, you must be really into this huh? What a pathetic slut."

Fuck that turned her on.

She moaned as his fingers began pumping slowly, he pulled them all the way out only for him to push them back in. He kept a smooth pace, watching for her reactions. "Mhh-! Ah..! Fuck-!" The slowness of the speed was killing her, she wanted him to make her cry, maybe she was a slut, she didn't mind if it was for him though.

His pace began quickening, he pumped faster as his slender fingers felt her walls, and how they let him in so easily. "Mm, you like that? You like me fucking you with my fingers? Tell me Lumine, tell me you crave my touch like a fucking drug." He sped up, placing his thumb onto her throbbing clit as he began massaging it.

"I love it-! Fuck! Your touch- mhh! I crave it! Please-!" She moaned through her words as she obeyed, she had never felt so defeated, but in the best way possible. Scaramouche smirked as she spoke, never letting up the pace.

His fingers curled, finding that soft spongey place that made her almost weep. "Scara-! Please- fuck!" She pleaded through her moans. His pace, the never ending feeling of his fingers pumping into her, massaging into that soft spot, his thumb vigorously flicking against her clit, it was all so much.

"Please what? Please go faster? Harder? Use your words whore."

He scoffed, the hand that held her throat finally let go as it traveled to her chest, tweaking her nipples once more.

"Nhg-! Please- fuck..! Break- please! I need a break!" She pleaded, though her moans and body language told a different story.

His gaze was cold but sadistic, the words he spoke after almost made her cum immediately.

"Hmm, nah. You can take it." He torturously massaged into her aching G-spot, watching the tears spill down her cheeks as his thumb kept its place on her clit. He watched as she whimpered, her body almost begging for release.

"Archons-! Fuck... I cant- hhh!" Her voice was shaky and full of pleasure, knowing full well that he wouldn't let her cum so easily. "What's wrong? Dont tell me you're already done." He smirked, his face closing down on hers as his fingers worked away. "Scara please- oh fuck..! I cant- Im gonna cum-" Her words were cut off as the hand that was on her chest slapped over her mouth.

"If you cum without my say, Ill make you orgasm so many times you wont even be able to fucking think. Am I understood, slut?" He spoke with a certainty that almost terrified her. She nodded as his fingers continued to pump into her, on the verge of becoming numb with pleasure. "Good." His hand pulled off of her mouth, allowing her to take a large inhale before moaning loudly once more.

All Lumine could feel was the overwhelming pleasure of Scaramouche's skilled hands, how they so effortlessly fingered her cunt and forced her to buck her hips, how his thumb only had to gently massage into her clit to make her cry in ecstasy. She was well aware he was turned on by her suffering, and that she was turned on from his torture.

He took in her expression, her cheeks were stained with tears and her eyes were puffy from crying. He loved it, though he thought he would strike a deal, not without him having some fun first.

He paused his hands for a moment, giving her a small breather. "How's this, if you can last without cumming for thirty seconds, I'll give you the orgasm you so desperately crave, sound good slut?" He smirked, he was planning something.

She nodded, unable to speak as her voice was only able to produce whines and whimpers.

"Alright, lets begin."

At first, he just began fingering her again, two inside, his thumb on her clit. She moaned hard, followed by a sharp inhale, she suddenly felt something strange, it seemed to come from his fingertips. Wait, was that...

....electricity?

Scaramouch chuckled as he began sending little shocks through the tips of his fingers, zapping her throbbing clit and her soft spongey insides. Lumine screamed in pleasure.

"Fuck-! Nhh! Ah-! Scara- please! Ahh!" At this point she was sobbing, the overstimulation was too much, her hips bucked and her back arched, the torturous sensations continued their onslaught.

"Twenty seconds left." He said bluntly.

A pained moan escaped her as she nodded, trying her hardest to keep the build up inside. She wailed in pleasure as he focused the shocks on her clit, the sadistic bastard...

He watched her fight through it, and how she looked so fucking hot writhing in agony.

"Ten seconds."

She moaned hard as he continued the onslaught, somewhat impressed with her ability to stay so strong. He increased the shocks during the last five seconds, watching her scream.

"Times up, now cum for me slut." He smiled devilishly.

And with that, Scaramouche fingered her cunt through her climax, watching it spew out between his fingers as he moaned in overstimulation.

She gasped for air as she felt his fingers finally pull out from her, dripping with her cum. "My, quite the mess you've made." He shoved his fingers into her mouth, making her taste herself.

"Better clean them up then."

Her mouth closed around his fingers, feeling her own essence drip down her throat. He pulled his fingers out, enjoying the messy sight before him.

"You did better than I thought." He smiled.

"...thanks." She said with a hoarse voice.

It was then that his lips met hers, a tender sloppy kiss ending the night.

He pulled back, walking to her wrists and unchaining them, as well as her legs, he watched her instinctively curl up into a ball, probably sore from being chained up for a few hours. He thew her a spare set of clothes from a chest in the corner, speaking more softly then before.

"The room is going to be unmonitored for another few hours, once you leave, I'm going to say you escaped, understood?" His hand cupped her face.

"...huh? You're letting me go?"

He scoffed, "What, surprised slut?"

She pushed her hair back, taking in his expression. "Somewhat, I didn't really think you would-" She was stopped as he kissed her again, pushing back onto the table.

"God you talk too much, are you going to fucking leave? Or am I going to have to make you orgasm again." He scowled, but his eyes were much sweeter than normal.

"I will, but..." She pulled him into another kiss.

"...in a bit."

#genshin impact #smut #genshin smut #dom!scara #sub!lumine #degredation kink #genshin fanfic #scaralumi #wanlumi #edging kink #overstim kink

43 notes · View notes