#referenced dearests

[alex-dontknow]

Soft Care.

Characters: Tabi (FnF: EX Boyfriend) and Gender-Neutral Reader.

Story type: Hurt/comfort —> Fluff

Relationship: can be seen as platonic or romantic.

Author's note: this was originally written as a romantic x Reader, but adjustments have been made to make it more versatile. The original is up on Ao3 under the same name.

@taterswithranch

"Any idea what ya want for dinner?" you called from the kitchen as you sorted plates and glasses into each respective cabinet. You winced as a plate made a particularly loud clang before adding, "I can order in if you'd like!"

"I do not care," Tabi's voice replied from the living room, just audible over the noise of you stacking dishes, "get whatever. I'm not fussy."

After tidying the last of the dishes into the cupboards, you went directly to the lounge to hopefully strike a conversation with the skull-headed man sat on your couch. He was sat back against the cushions with his arms folded, staring down at his lap with a deadpan expression. You internally sighed.

It was only a day after Tabi moved in with you. You has spent months to gain his trust after finding him battered and broken in an alleyway, freshly stripped of his career and body. The image of him shaking with tears and wrapped in that dusty, dirty blanket tugged at your heartstrings, and you never wanted to see him like that again.

Your friendship was rocky, but quite close. Tabi was tolerant of your gags and affection, but always pushed you off of him whenever you got a little too touchy. You respected that of course, considering what he had went through. When you finally offered for him to officially move in with you instead of bouncing across motels, he was understandably quite suspicious.

However, after you promised and swore up and down that you genuinely wanted him with you for the sake of giving him a home (it surprisingly took much less persuasion than anticipated,) he accepted!! You could even see his golden eyes glow a slight pinkish hue. The sight of his eyes gleaming with happiness and tears would always make you smile every time you remembered that heartfelt memory... although it was only yesterday.

Returning to the present, you casually dropped down onto the couch next to him, crossing your legs and leaning back onto the cushions. You looked down at the ex-musician next to you and go to place your hand on his shoulder. Unfortunately he saw your hand and flinched away, frowning a little. You also frowned, but in confusion.

"I just–" Tabi spoke up gruffly, relaxing again, "... don't really like to be touched anymore."

"Why not?" You asked gently, sitting up to look at Tabi in the eye. He shifted uncomfortably, tugging his hoodie zipper as he replied, shrugging.

"I never did after the uh..." his voice faltered.

"... that night."

Your heart sank. It was understandable in the long run that Tabi wouldn't like to get affectionate or super-close with anyone, especially in light of what that family had done to him. The Dearests. Simply hearing the name aloud or in your own head made your blood boil. How dare they do this to such a kind individual?

"I get that," you replied. Tabi only blinked at your response, averting his gaze slightly. Suddenly you get an idea– a somewhat risky one at that, but you hoped it would be worthwhile.

Slowly, you inched your hand towards Tabi's face. The skull-headed man instantly went to move away, but you interrupted him.

"Please, stay still... just trust me." You flashed him a gentle, reassuring smile as you moved closer and closer to the side of his skull.

Tabi squeezed his eyes shut in fearful anticipation, you could see the skull tremble ever so slightly as your hand drew nearer until it lightly cupped the side of his face. He squeaked a little once he felt your warm palm against his cheek, your thumb gently stroking the bone underneath his eyes.

"I'm not trying to do anything extreme or hurtful, Tabi," you reassured him, "I only wanted to try something."

Tabi sat there, processing the sensation on his left cheek for a solid ten seconds. You were unsure what he would do in response. Would he stay there, or would he push you away again and leave?

But, as luck would have it, the former occurred. Tabi actually leaned into your palm, the cold side of his nose resting against the heel of your thumb as he closed his eyes. His entire expression was so soft, much unlike the Tabi you talked to shy of one minute ago. You could feel his warm breath against your palm, making you smile as a sense of accomplishment bubbled up inside of you.

"I told'ya it would feel nice," you said quietly, chuckling softly as you watched a light amount of blush dust his cheeks as he melted into your hand.

Perhaps you both stayed like that for a minute, maybe two, but a quiet sniffle snapped you back into reality. Tabi's eyes were looking back up at you, brimming and sparkling with tears. His hand shakily rose upwards to hold your wrist, keeping your hand in place.

"... I, uh..." his voice was soft, trembling and cracking from holding in the tears, "... I-I didn't realize how much I needed this..."

Sympathy swelled inside your chest as you embraced the ex-musician, wrapping your arms around his torso and pulling him close to your chest. He shivered considerably at the sudden rush of feeling all over his body, but sunk into your arms and wrapped his own around your torso. Considering you were at least five inches taller than the skull man, hugging him was no difficult chore. You even felt triumphant that he allowed you to embrace him like this.

You rubbed tender circles into Tabi's back as you heard him begin to weep into your chest, quiet but pitiful sobs muffled by your shirt. No doubt the tears would stain the fabric, but that was the least of your concerns. All you cared about in the moment was making sure he felt safe, comforted and trusted. You didn't expect Tabi to be so starved of affection.

Starved of love.

Starved of... touch.

"... Listen to me, Tabi..." you spoke gently, lifting the ex-musician's face up with your hands and cupping both of his cheeks. "I promise, I swear that I will always stay with you. I want you to know that I will never repeat history. I will never do what she did. I love you, Tabi, and I will never let you get hurt like that ever again."

Tabi whimpered softly, his response coming out as a whisper.

"... Promise...?"

You nodded. "Promise."

Something repeatedly slapped into your thigh, prompting you to look down in curiosity. You exhaled in pleasant surprise as you saw a small, soft tail the same colour as his skull wag gently against your leg. Suppressing a wholesome squeal, you grinned and looked down at the short man in your arms.

"Several months of getting to know ya," you remarked playfully, "and I never knew you had a tail."

Tabi made a quiet noise and hugged you tighter, "Didn't feel it was necessary to tell."

You chuckled. "What urged the change of heart, then?"

"... trust you, now ... and you like it..."

"You're right," you smile and pat the back of his head gently, "I love it."

The little tail wagged even more at those last three words as Tabi made a happy squeak, cuddling into your chest. You giggled and gave him a gentle headpat.

An idea suddenly arose in your head.

"Hey, hear me out on this..."

You never anticipated that a vast majority of the snacks and fizzy sodas in the kitchen would be pulled out for one single night. However, in light of your current circumstances, you could not care less as you held Tabi close and watched the corny series play out on the TV. You both had already burnt through a two-litre bottle of cola and a shared bag of Doritos, but you were both warm and happy as you laid there on the couch, draped in a cozy blanket.

You briefly glanced down at Tabi, noticing how his eyes glowed a more vibrant pinkish hue. The man now laid in your arms, his skull nestled against the crook of your neck.

"Were your eyes always that pink?" you asked playfully, watching Tabi freeze up. He made an irritated grumble as he buried himself into your chest, pulling the blanket up further over his shoulders.

" N-No ..."

You giggled and lifted his face up, pressing a gentle, tender kiss to his forehead. Despite the blanket weighing it down, you could see his little tail begin to wag in happiness again.

"... Y/N...?"

"Hm..?"

"... I don't want this moment to end..."

"Neither do I, Tabi..."

"... please don't leave me..."

Those last few words made you feel incredible sympathy as Tabi's arms tightened around you, hearing him whine quietly. You reached a hand up to stroke the back of his head in smooth motions, whispering reassuring words into his ear.

"I'm not gonna leave ya, Tabs. I promise."

Both your words and the comforting strokes of your hand elicited a short, soft sound similar to a cat's purr from the ex-musician's throat as he snuggled into your chest, practically clinging to you like a baby koala. You chuckled and headpatted him even more, kissing his forehead once again. His tail wagged even harder, much to your delight.

"... I love you..." you heard him mumble. Smiling, you hold him close and give one last kiss on the forehead as you feel him slowly drift off to sleep against your neck, his breaths soft against your collar.

"Love ya too, Tabs."

[alexotls]

cosplaying akira again and i realized i've never actually posted any art of him so here's an ancient pic 🎸🎸🎸

[bazoonga-bazinga]

just might have to watch a matter of life and death now considering its been so oft referenced in my beloved media

[devdevlin]

I am deceased

[dearlyjun]

CALL OUT MY NAME ☆ c. seungcheol

☆ PAIRING: slightly possessive boyfriend!cheol x reader (f)

☆ GENRE: NSFW (18+ readers only!!)

☆ SUMMARY: your ex boyfriend can’t seem to stop texting you lately; wouldn’t want to make your current boyfriend angry would you?

☆ WORD COUNT: about 1.8k

☆ WARNINGS: cheol is possessive in a protective way, mentions of an ex boyfriend that won't leave you alone, ex boyfriend is min yoongi, cheol has a deep voice, mentions of cheol working out, cheol is tatted, he wants to fight her battles for her (king), unprotected sex, different sex positions (cowgirl, kneeling missionary), semi voyeurism, clitoral stimulation, spanking (like once), cumshot, foul language, cheolie is very sweet at the end!! lmk if i missed anything!!

☆ AUTHORS NOTE: posting this in honor of @miupow’s birthday!! happy birthday, lia!! you’re one of my dearest friends (and moots) on here. im so glad we met!! and also shout out to lia for beta-ing her own bday fic and correcting my half asleep writing. yeah even i don’t know what was going on there.

BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST HERE!

You were setting a bowl of food and a glass of iced tea down on your kitchen island, when your laptop started ringing.

“Ah, Cheol, give me a minute!” You spoke out loud to yourself, quickly grabbing a fork before tapping your keyboard to accept the video call coming through.

“Hi, Cheolie.” You greeted in a sing-songy voice as he -was filled up your screen with a smile on his face.

Your boyfriend was in Japan on a business trip for a few days; scheduled to come home tomorrow. You both made it a routine to have dinner together every night over video calls.

“You look pretty.” He answered, his gaze never leaving you.

You giggled at his compliment. “You see me everyday.”

Seungcheol smirked. “And? You’re always pretty.” He motioned at your bowl that was in the camera frame. “What’s for dinner today?”

“Oh, um, spicy pork bibimbap. You know; my favorite. What are you having?”

Seungcheol pointed to some things on the table he was sitting at. “Tuna and rice with some spicy sauce and vegetables, and chicken.” He let out a laugh. “Kind of boring.”

You smiled at him before taking a bite of your food. “Did you go to the gym today? I saw the workout notification on my watch.” You referenced your activity sharing feature on your Apple Watch.

“Yeah, of course the last day I'm here I find this really nice gym.” Seungcheol rolled his eyes and took a bite of his food before speaking again. “I was so excited that I actually almost did a 400 pound deadlift.”

“Oh my god…” You were just as excited for your boyfriend’s gym achievements as he was.

“Hang on, I think I took some pictures.” He picked up his phone and was scrolling through some pictures. “Yeah, see?” Seungcheol turned his phone screen towards his computer so that you could see. He scrolled through pictures of the scenery of the gym, and some pictures in the mirror.

“I like that one.” You suddenly spoke up with a smirk on your face.

“Which one?” Seungcheol questioned before looking at his phone to see the one of him completely shirtless In the mirror, showing off his back that was beautifully adorned with muscles and his tattoo that you loved so much. “Oh with the tattoo?” He smirked, knowing fully well how much you liked it.

“Yeah.” You smirked, cheeks flushing like this was the first time you saw him. Seungcheol always seemed to have that effect on you.

“I didn’t go to the gym today, I went shopping instead.” You slightly laughed.

“Yeah, I saw the Amex notification.”Seungcheol joked, setting his phone back down. “Buy anything nice?”

You gasped, dramatically covering your face. “See! That's why I don’t like using it all of the time.” Seungcheol always let you use his credit card to treat yourself however you pleased, and sometimes you would buy clothing pieces that he’d like on you. Unfortunately, the notifications always went to his phone.

Seungcheol looked at his phone again, laughing at your dramatics. “It’s not like it shows me what you bought. It just tells me the store.”

“Well you’ll be home by evening tomorrow, right?” You questioned. “I’ll show you then. It’s–“

Your voice trailed off as suddenly a notification of a text message popped up at the top of your laptop screen. It was your ex boyfriend, Min Yoongi. For some reason he has been non stop bothering you lately; asking how you’ve been, if he can “catch up” with you. You ignored every one of his advances thus far, but you hadn’t said anything to Seungcheol.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol instantly noticed the change in your tone and expression. “You got so quiet all of a sudden.”

You sighed. “Cheolie, I hate you fighting my battles for me.”

“It’s my job.” Seungcheol quickly retorted. “What’s going on?”

“My ex boyfriend. Do you remember Yoongi?” Seungcheol nodded. “For some reason he’s been trying to get a hold of me; texting me like he wants something between us again.”

Seungcheol got closer to his computer, the tone in his voice suddenly deepening. “Show me the texts.”

You picked up your phone, showing him the screen of multiple texts to all of which you did not respond to.

“And you didn’t respond?” He questioned, reading the texts on your phone as you swiped through.

“No, I haven’t responded to any of them.” You answered.

“Okay.” Seungcheol spoke, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in front of himself. “I can’t get an earlier flight out. But If this happens again, I’m dealing with him.”

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock just like that baby.” Seungcheol sighed, looking down at his lap to where his cock was disappearing inside of your wet cunt. “Fucking use it.”

Seungcheol brushed your hair off of your shoulders for access to your collarbones; sucking and biting at your skin. You whimpered In response, combing your fingers through his dark hair and giving it a slight tug. That only egged him on more; letting out a low grunt.

Seungcheol gripped onto your hips, angling them forwards so that when you slammed down onto him, his cockhead would be hitting a different spot.

“Cheol! Fuck!” You cried out, reaching to hold onto Seungcheol’s sturdy frame before falling into his chest.

“Yeah, gonna fucking cum?” Seungcheol’s grip moved to your thighs as you whimpered; your face buried in the crook of his neck. “Look at me, look at me.”

You pulled yourself up, still using him for stability. You couldn’t fight your orgasm right now if you tried to.

Until your phone starts ringing, lost somewhere in the tangled bed sheets.

You jump, clearly startled by the ringtone playing at almost full volume.

“The fuck….?” Seungcheol muttered, eyes fixated on his wet cock disappearing in between your legs.

“Ignore it.” You hissed, lifting yourself up off of him enough so just the tip was inside of you, only to slowly sink back down to feel every inch of Seungcheol’s cock.

Seungcheol knew that was on purpose, yet he still let out one of the hottest moans to ever come out of his mouth.

“Give me that fucking phone.” Seungcheol spat, putting one arm around you to keep you in place as he rummaged around the sheets to his right.

He managed to find it despite your whining, looking to see that the screen read a phone number across it and not any caller ID.

Seungcheol shot you a glance before swiping the green icon at the bottom of the screen to pick up the call. He then put it on speaker phone.

“Who is this?” The tone in his voice was deep and oddly steady considering that you were still perched up on his lap with his cock inside of you.

“Y/N?” The voice on the other side of the phone said your name, startling you. You froze. It was Min Yoongi of all people that could be calling you.

You saw Seungcheol’s jaw clench as he heard another man say your name, but with his free hand he still gave your ass a light smack to keep moving.

“Why are you calling my girlfriend’s phone? I know who this is.” Seungcheol used his free hand to pinch one of your nipples between your fingers, making you whimper.

“I just wanted to talk…” Yoongi’s voice trailed off and you didn’t know what he said only because Seungcheol whispered to you to lie down onto your back.

You followed directions, wincing at the empty feeling between your legs when you were on your back. Seungcheol immediately pushed your knees towards your shoulders and kneeled in front of you, aligning his cock with your entrance once again.

“We can talk.” Seungcheol spoke to the phone while he was teasing your folds with the tip of his cock. You grabbed a hold the comforter with your left hand, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Cheol, fucking put it in. Please.” You whined loud enough to be heard through the phone. Seungcheol had a satisfied look on his face, nodding as he finally pushed himself inside of you slowly enough so you felt everything; all of him.

You threw your head back; arching your back against the bed. Seungcheol put his hand onto your stomach to keep you still, then moved it down slightly to stimulate your clit with his thumb. Letting out a strained moan, you nearly wanted to scream.

“Awful quiet there, Yoongi. That’s your name right?” Seungcheol’s voice was so deep that your core clenched around him tight. “What happened to talking?” You were sure that the noises of his cock sliding in and out of you could be heard on the phone by now.

“I mean, obviously I’m a bit busy right now.”

“Cheol!” Your voice startled even you. Not quite a scream, but more like a whiny moan. Seungcheol’s body was quickly against yours within mere seconds; with his weight pressing into you.

“Mhm, call out my fucking name baby.” Seungcheol’s lips ghosted over yours as he lightly kissed you, then he found your right hand that was gripping onto the comforter and laced his fingers with yours. “Let him and everyone else hear it.”

The call either dropped or your phone died because it was silent, but neither of you were paying any attention.

“Cheol! fuck!” You swore, and just like that you were cumming all over his cock; shaking as he kissed you sweetly all over your face.

Seungcheol was on the brink of cumming, and you could tell. So naturally, you used his weakness to your advantage. He always gave in when you begged him to cum inside of you; he’d never tell you no.

“Cheolie, cum in me….please.” You gripped onto his thick arms as he supported himself above you; following your words exactly as his breathing became unsteady.

“Shit…fuck.” Seungcheol panted, dropping his head and making his hair fall into his face. You couldn’t help but let out a whimper at the feeling of him finishing inside of you.

The two of you were silent, and Seungcheol adjusted himself to not drop his entire weight onto you.

“I’m sorry, cheolie.” You muttered, running your fingers through his now messy hair.

He quickly had a concerned look on his face. “For what, princess? You didn’t do anything.”

You slightly laughed at the situation. “My ex is calling me, literally while we’re having sex.”

Seungcheol was smirking. “Yeah, but he’ll probably never call again.” He grabbed your hand, kissed the back of it, then kissed your face. “He should know that you’re mine.”

☆ TAGS: @lavnderwonu @dokyeomkyeom @https-yeonjun

[cyanwyrmy]

(Fan Art!) Edith Dearest and Sylvester Spectacular take to the stage in a stunning drag performance for the neighborhood!

I’ve wanted to draw Eddie and Sally’s drag personas again recently. The pose is referenced from Rose and Greg in Steven Universe. Also, I could totally see Eddie doing drag of Rose Quartz 👀

[blurredcolour]

I. "Do You Trust Me?"

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

A slight against one of your dearest friends causes you to act wildly out of character, and Bucky finds himself stepping up to save you as he realizes just what you mean to him after months of seemingly innocuous encounters.

Warnings: Language, Period Typical Sexism, References to Cheating, Reader Knees a Man in the Groin, Perceived Threats of Violence, Plenty of Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - T.

Author’s Note: Well here we are, watching me write for this show before it's fully aired. Blame/credit to @precious-little-scoundrel and her anon for infecting my brain. Reader has an unnamed brother for sake of plot, no descriptions or y/n used. Events of this fic take place a few days before the horrific Regensburg mission. Also I recognize that WACs did not arrive in the ETO until July of 1943, this fact does not seem to have influenced Hanks/Spielberg so I shan't let it influence me either. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 4217

-------------------------

The pub was crowded, as usual, and Bucky leaned back in his chair as Curt regaled their table with another one of his stories from Walla Walla. The press of uniform clad bodies, damp from the summer rain outside, created a humid atmosphere. But as he tipped the last few drops of Scotch whisky from his glass into his mouth, he was certain there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Buck had decided to sit this one out, wanting to catch up on his latest letter to Marge. His mouth ticked up at the corners as he reflected once again on how different he and his friend were from one another. Glancing at the bar while he contemplated fetching the next round, Bucky’s eyes widened as they fell on the last person he would ever expect to see in a pub. It took him a moment to recognize you in such an unusual environment, hair perfectly styled. He noted that you were even wearing makeup as your teeth sank into your brightly painted lower lip, wending your way through the crowd, clearly on a mission.

“Bucky are you even listening?” Curt chided with a sharp jab of his elbow into his upper arm.

“Yeah absolutely,” He nodded firmly, unable to take his eyes off you, “every word.” He tacked on as his gaze followed you across the room on your approach to the notorious flirt from 349th squadron, Arthur “Red” Jameson.

He was vaguely aware of the doubtful scoff his reply had earned as his eyes narrowed. Wasn’t your friend Mary rather serious about Red? Not that Red bothered limiting himself to any one woman, local or American – there were few limits that smug redhead put on his relations with the fairer sex. Perhaps that was why Bucky was feeling particularly annoyed with how close you had come to stand next to him at the bar. With the way you were smiling at him. You hardly ever smiled, had to be one of the most serious, reserved women he had ever encountered here in England or back home.

It was when you ducked your head to peer up at Red through your lashes that the realization hit him – you were fucking flirting with him. His fingers clenched tightly on his empty glass, fingertips blanched white as the strength of his grip drove the blood from the flesh there. A slow, knowing smile unfurled across Red’s face as he leaned in, his hand landing on your shoulder making Bucky’s teeth grind together almost painfully as he was flooded with proprietary rage.

The intensity of it startled him, made him take a sharp breath and relax his grip on the glass. Where in the hell had that come from?! The pair of you had spoken no more than a handful of times, simple interactions in the Operations Room of the Control Tower back when he was Air Exec, around the base, or most recently, that afternoon when you had lent him a copy of one of his favorite books, but it wasn’t like you were close. You were quiet, overshadowed by your boisterous friends Mary, Ruth, and that brunette whose name escaped him just then. They were always outgoing at dances while you did an excellent job of decorating the wall. It certainly was not like you were anything more than colleagues. Objectively that was the truth, however, as Bucky sat there watching you grin at that man…

The final straw came as your lips nearly brushed against Red’s ear, making that bastard’s eyes shoot wide, sending Bucky surging to his feet. He narrowly missed one of the low beams overhead as he glared across the crowded room at the cozy pair you and Red presented at the bar.

“Jesus Christ Bucky, did something jump up and bite your ass?!” Curt barked in surprise, the rest of the table laughing loudly in response.

Bucky barely heard them as his new vantage point allowed him a clear view of your knee colliding painfully with the apex of Red’s thighs, causing him to crumple against the bar as you bolted out the back door. Bucky stared after you, just as bewildered as Red’s friends, before they charged out the door in your wake.

“God dammit.” He muttered under his breath before climbing over his friends to make a dash for the front entrance of the pub, his cap clutched in his hand.

------------

Your Women’s Auxiliary Army Corp unit had arrived at Thorpe Abbots in late May, part of the first battalion of WAACs sent overseas. Assigned to the Eight Air Force, you had spent roughly a week with your British counterparts of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force observing missions on other bases before it had come time to establish the base for the 100th.

Fast, accurate typing skills and a calm, quiet temperament had seen you promptly assigned as a clerk in the Operations Room, one of the tensest and most chaotic places on the entire base. Upon your arrival at training camp in Fort Des Moines, you had been adopted by a trio of far more outgoing women – Mary from Miami, a sun-kissed blonde who managed to look that way no matter what the weather; Ruth from Pittsburgh, a black-haired beauty who was manufactured from the steel her hometown was known for; and Violet from Savannah, a brunette who elongated every vowel like the southern belle she was.

Why they chose to waste any of their precious time on you was as much as mystery to you in England as it had been in Iowa, and yet any time you tried to convince them you would be perfectly happy sitting out a dance in your barracks with a book instead, they were adamant you attend. Bodily removed you from your cot to join them – not that you were one for dancing, even with the most handsome of airmen. And that title would most certainly have to be bestowed upon Major John Egan. Perhaps a bit of a rogue and more-often-than-not a little too deep into his cups, there was something undeniably charming about him. A magnetism that drew every woman on the base, and from across all of East Anglia, to him. The handsome devil knew it, too. Of course he did, that was, alas, also part of his charm.

Your trio of outgoing friends had gravitated toward him immediately, traded their fair share of coy looks and dances with him while you looked on quietly from the sidelines. He never really seemed to form that deep a connection with any of them, with any woman for that matter, but that did not deter the female population from trying to be the one to catch his eye for a bit of fun. It was during the long hours of the 100th’s first mission, while he was still serving as Air Exec, that you’d had your first occasion to speak to the man directly.

In the middle of one of the tense periods of waiting for news, he had poked his head into the office to see if anything had come across the teletype or wireless and you had looked up, meeting his eye. He was wearing his sheepskin coat, a striking combination of ivory and cognac colored leather that would have honestly looked absurd on anyone else, yet on him just seemed to belong over his dress uniform.

“Can I help you, Major Egan?” You had asked, fingers poised above your typewriter as you paused your progress in typing up a report for Colonel Huglin.

He had looked at you, startled a moment. “I was convinced you might actually be unable to speak. Glad to know I was wrong. It’s Bucky by the way. Just checking if there were any updates?”

“We’ll be sure to get them to you as soon as we have them, sir.” You had replied professionally, trying to ignore the warmth unfurling beneath your breastbone at having his attention directly solely upon you.

“That’s all I can ask then, thank you.” He had winked before slipping out of the room and heading back towards the plotting map.

It had not taken long for a series of updates to arrive, both by radio and over the teletype and being the highest-ranking clerk in the office, third officer, it was your duty to run them out to him. Grabbing both sheets of paper, you had quickly made your way across the room, startled to find him striding towards you, meeting you halfway. “Here you are Major Egan.”

“Touchdown.” He had grinned and taken them over to review with the others as you had hurried back to your office, gnawing on the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.

You had been admittedly saddened when he had been demoted to squadron commander of the 418th after Colonel Harding assumed command of 100th. For selfish reasons, certainly – your interactions had become increasingly limited after this point – but also because it meant he was more frequently put into harm’s way. Every time he went up in a fort, you found focusing on the job at hand more and more difficult. Unlike the ground crews or the brass, it was not looked upon kindly for the WACs to go running outside to see which forts had come back. Which airmen were injured. Sometimes it would take hours for you to confirm that he was all right, and only then by way of hearsay.

You had still run into Major Egan from time to time, while walking with your group of friends to the WAC mess for dinner – by mid-July you were now serving in the Women’s Army Corp as a 2nd Lieutenant, or after meetings in the Operations Room when he was not flying missions. But the longest conversation you ever had was during one of your breaks earlier that very afternoon. It was an uncharacteristically sunny day, and with no mission in progress you had decided to take your coffee break outside, behind the control tower, sitting on one of the benches the ground crew had built out of scrap wood.

Before you had enlisted, your brother had bought you a copy of his favorite book, one he had never let you read before because you were ‘just a kid’ but now that you were old enough to sign up for the service yourself, he had decided you could have your own copy. With just two pages left, it seemed the perfect way to break up the morbid tallies you had been typing up in the grim office upstairs, and you had just finished the final sentence when a shadow fell over you.

“Now how did you get a copy of my favorite book?”

You had lifted your eyes quickly, squinting slightly into the bright sun that shone from behind him, to see Major Egan standing there.

“Major Egan. You like Guys and Dolls, sir?” You had asked, startled.

“How many times do I gotta tell you it’s Bucky.” He had stepped out of the sunlight to sit beside you carefully. “I love everything by Damon Runyon. Which story did you like the best?” He had leaned in curiously.

Pursing your lips to think over the collection of stories you had just finished, you smiled briefly as the answer came to you. “’Madame La Gimp.’ Where they pass off the bag lady –”

“As a society matron! Yes!” Major Egan chimed in, laughing as he nodded in agreement.

“What…about yours?” You had swallowed, unable to stop yourself.

“God, I haven’t read this book in forever…” he had reached out for it, and you had set it in his hands easily.

He had sucked his teeth in thought as he turned it over in his broad hands. “It’s gotta be a tie between ‘Blood Pressure’ and ‘Hold ‘Em Yale’…ah but ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ is excellent, too.” As he had spoken, he had begun to gesture with the book to emphasize his words, making you press your lips together fondly.

“You can borrow it if you’d like.” You had blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Give me a definitive answer once you’ve read it again.”

Major Egan had looked to you quickly. “Really? But what if…how will I know to get it back to you?” He had raised an eyebrow.

“My name’s on the front page.” You had nodded reassuringly but swallowed tightly as he opened the cover as if to confirm it for himself.

“‘Hey Sis,’” He had begun to read the inscription he found there, bringing your brother’s words to life, “‘lighten up, would you? You don’t have to be so damned serious all the time. See you on the other side.’” He had paused a moment before his eyes had met yours, caught you watching him, before you quickly looked down at the grass at your feet. “Where is he?” he had asked quietly.

“On a ship in the Pacific, somewhere.” You had replied softly, finding each blade of grass infinitely fascinating.

“Are you sure–” He had begun to ask before the sound of your name being called by your very impatient Captain, a woman even Major Egan knew not to waylay, interrupted the peaceful afternoon.

You had leapt to your feet. “You’ll get it back to me.” You had nodded and rushed back inside, believing every word of it.

You had seriously contemplated sharing your encounter with at least Ruth, the more level-headed of your friends, knowing she was the least likely to conflate the exchange with a marriage proposal. But as you returned to your barracks that night, you frowned deeply to find Mary in tears on her cot. After much soothing and rocking in your arms, she finally managed to open up, sharing what had gotten her so upset.

“It’s Red…I caught him out back necking with one of those doughnut truck girls…” She hiccupped and dabbed at her nose with her hanky.

“Oh Mary, I’m so sorry.” You frowned, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I let that creep talk me into sleeping with him!” She wailed, fresh tears boiling over onto her cheeks as she sagged onto your shoulder, sobbing anew.

Every muscle in your body tensed as her outburst sunk in, the depth of his betrayal fully registering as Vi and Ruth returned from the end of their shifts in the weather office and Mary launched herself into their arms to fill them in as well. The level of pure fury that seized your body was utterly foreign to you and, unlike the descriptions you had encountered in literature to date, felt utterly icy in your veins. As your friends gently coaxed Mary to the latrines to get herself cleaned up, you hung back, a plan formulating quickly in your mind. Your life without these women would have been lonely, all but intolerable, and this transgression against one of them could not go unanswered. You could not look at yourself in the mirror if you did nothing.

Digging quickly through Mary’s belongings, you found her most alluring shade of lipstick, carefully but efficiently applying it to your lips before unpinning and redoing your hair into a more fashionable shape rather than the more utilitarian style you normally wore. Lastly you added a flick of mascara to your eyelashes and rouge to your cheeks. All this was accomplished using the tiny mirror Vi had set up on the shelf beside her bed. Nodding once in satisfaction, for it was truly the best you could do in a solo effort, you darted out the door, lipstick tube in your pocket for reapplications, if necessary. The cad would never see it coming from you, you just needed to figure out a way to get close enough.

Fortunately, the years you had spent on the sidelines watching the three masters of feminine wiles at work had afforded you quite the education. It was only a matter of finding the perpetrator to enact your revenge. You located him in the second pub you visited, taking a slow breath as your eyes sought him out in the crowded, humid space. The rain had thankfully stopped before your foray out into the night, though the streets remained wet, and you had taken the time to refresh your lipstick and tidy your hair before stepping inside. Your heart began to race as your veins flooded with adrenaline.

‘Easy now. Slow and smooth like Mary, give him that flirty smile she’s famous for.’ You thought to yourself.

As his eyes met yours it was all you could do not to wince back in disgust – you were going to need to hide your dislike better.

‘Pretend he’s someone else. Who would you like him to be?’

You gulped shyly, teeth sinking into your lip at the thought of applying these skills to Major Egan, noting that Red seemed immediately more receptive as you slid up beside him where he stood at the bar.

“Evening, Red.” You smiled at him broadly, swallowing nervously as he echoed the expression warmly.

“Well good evening to you too. You escaped the base.” Red teased you.

You faked a giggle and tilted your head down before flicking your eyes to look up at him through your lashes, something Vi had weaponised to great effect on many an occasion. You tried not to shout in triumph as Red’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, leaning in closer.

“Can I buy you a drink, sugar?”

“Actually…” You smiled coyly before leaning in close to his ear, taking a slow breath before dropping all pretense from your tone. “Mess around with one of my friends again and I’ll cut it off.” You snarled into his ear before driving your knee into his groin as sharply as the straight lines of your uniform skirt would allow, slipping out of his grip as he slouched over the bar with a cry of pain.

You longed to bask in his suffering, in your triumph, but you also recognized you had to get out of there before the consequences of your actions found you. Spying a door propped open to a back alley over Red’s crumpled torso, you made a dash through the stunned corner of the pub and out into the night, pausing a moment before turning to the left, hoping it was the correct direction. You certainly wished you knew your way around town a little better.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were worried it might burst through the front of your WAC jacket as you neared the main street but there was an increasing ruckus behind you – surely Red’s friends in hot pursuit. Suddenly Major Egan appeared in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere, and grabbed your arm, pulling you around a corner and down a smaller alleyway.

“Do you trust me?” He asked quickly, glancing back towards the approaching sound of voices as he shuffled you backward, closer to the brick wall of the building behind you.

You nodded at him, speechless, breathing heavily from your flight. Your uniform cap felt precarious where it was perched on your rapidly falling hairstyle. Major Egan’s aftershave was flooding your senses due to his sheer proximity.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He whispered as his eyes met yours, his own cap at a dangerous angle atop his dark curls, defying gravity.

He shifted forward to crowd your space, your eyes shooting wide as his forearms lifted to press against the wall on either side of your face, body shielding you from view. He bowed his head to press his lips against yours softly, making your eyelids flutter closed, doing nothing to slow the erratic beating of your heart. He tasted a little bit like whiskey, which had reminded you of gasoline the few times you’d had the misfortune of sipping it, but on his plush lips, it was not so bad.

Your hands balled into fists in the olive drab fabric of your skirt, heat painting its way across your cheeks and down your neck as the coarse hair that decorated his upper lip brushed against your skin. It was all too tempting to lose yourself in the feeling of him surrounding you, protecting you, kissing you. Reality reared its ugly head, making you inhale sharply through your nose as you heard the crowd of men stampede right past you muttering angrily.

“That damn cold fish from operations…”

“Who the fuck does she think she is?!”

“No wonder she ain’t got nobody.”

Pulling back from his lips, you frowned down at your brown uniform shoes, still hidden within the cage of his arms.

“Hey…” He murmured, bowing his head to nudge your nose with his, drawing your gaze back up as you swallowed shyly at the tender gesture. “Don’t listen to ‘em.” He urged you, his blue eyes so very dazzling and disarming at this range, even in the dim light of black-out conditions.

“I…It’s ok,” you breathed as you shook your head. “I know I’ll never be…” you furrowed your brow, not even sure what word you were searching for.

“Anything other than perfect, doll?” His lopsided grin was devastating, made it hard to breathe, though that may have also been his continued proximity. He leaned in for another kiss, but you lifted a shaky hand to press against his shoulder.

“Th…they’re gone you don’t have to pretend…” You murmured sadly, shifting to stand, but he did not move an inch, his breath brushing against your cheeks.

“I’m going to kiss you now because I want to, doll.” He murmured, eyes tracing over your face while giving you a moment to respond.

You were, however, frozen, staring at him again and so he pressed his lips firmly to yours, making your fingers curl slightly around the lapel of his uniform jacket. He hummed softly in response, pressing you back against the wall as he slanted his mouth tighter to yours, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. Shivering at the heat of his palms against your skin, you slowly lifted your other hand from your skirt, stretching it towards him, letting it hover between you tentatively.

He dropped his right hand from your cheek to guide your arm around his waist before sliding his own hand to splay against your lower back, drawing a whimper from your throat as you arched slightly.

He pulled back from your lips, chest heaving. “Christ, doll, you have no idea what you do to me.”

“Bucky?” You whispered, confused by his statement, finding it difficult to think clearly.

Bucky groaned and kissed you fiercely, licking at the seam of your lips, sliding his tongue to yours the instant you parted your lips for him. Toes curling in your shoes, you found yourself mewling into his mouth wantonly until he wrenched back suddenly, hand cupping the back of your head as he hugged you tightly into his chest. The sound of voices eventually registered in your addled brain – Red’s friends returning from their failed attempt to find you.

“If I had known all I had to do was kiss you senseless to get you to use my name…” Bucky teased once the coast was clear, panting into your hair.

You giggled against his throat, your own chest heaving as he loosened his hold on you. Your cap tumbled to the ground, fully dislodged by his attentions.

“It’s a burden I’m willing to bear.” He smirked, pressing his lips to your exposed forehead. “Let’s get you back to your barracks. What are you doing out here all dolled up kneeing idiots like Red in the goods anyway?” He asked as he bent to retrieve your cap, dusting it off and placing it in your outstretched hand before turning to slide his arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the main road.

You huffed with a frown as you walked with him, putting your cover back into place snuggly, crushing your once-stylish hair. “I didn’t appreciate the way he treated Mary.”

Bucky smirked at you “Your brother is right you know, you really do need to lighten up…you can just call him a good-for-nothing and be done with it. No need to write a formal treatise on his behavior.”

His lips stretched into a grin as that pulled another laugh from you. You turned to look at him properly and gasped.

“Bucky you have lipstick all over –”

“Perfect” He nodded proudly, cocky grin on his lips, and made no move to clean up his face, while you quickly wiped at yours, knowing you would have to face your barrack-mates. “Next time you go on an attack mission you let me know, alright, doll? I’ll fly on your wing anytime.” He winked at you, and you bit your lip shyly.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You swallowed and stopped walking, leaning in to press your lips to his cheek softly.

As you pulled back, Bucky flexed the arm he still had slung about your shoulders, hauling you in for another heart-stopping kiss, your hands coming to rest against his chest. You had a feeling that the rather lengthy walk back to base was only going to become exponentially longer and found you really did not mind at all.

-------------------------

Read Part Two - "Just Had To Trust You."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙coz i cant sleep in hotel rooms | CL16˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: charles leclerc x singer y/n reader (she/her)

genre: social media au, established relationship, relationship on the rocks

warnings: mentions of substances, a sad one sorryy tehe

summary: in which break up rumours circulate during a rough patch in their relationship

a/n: hii i feel like i could do a part 2 to this coz i cant leave my y/n like this

song

fc: holly humberstone

my masterlist

part 2!!!

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by oliviarodrigo, arthur_leclerc, and 50,219 others

yourusername solitude 🧘‍♀️

view all 7,183 comments

user1 IS THAT SONG LYRICS?

user2 is everything ok at home y/n lol

arthur_leclerc ❤️

liked by yourusername

user3 where is charles 😭

lilymhe missing your pretty face

yourusername miss you so so much

user4 mom where's dad

twitter ->

instagram ->

ynupdates

liked by user5, user2, and 9,938 others

ynupdates following an instagram post and tweet from y/n's own accounts along with no sightings together for 2 weeks, it's rumoured that y/n and boyfriend of 2 years f1 driver charles leclerc have split. sources close to the couple speculate it is due to their conflicting schedules which has put a strain on the relationship. we are sending our y/n/n all the love in the world right now ❤️‍🩹

view all 4,583 comments

user8 there's no way

user9 well at least the album is going to slap..

user10 I AM A CHILD OF DIVORCE

user11 i wont believe it until it's confirmed. it is so disrespectful to speculate on ppls private lives like this

user12 i feel like if he really loved her then conflicting schedules wouldnt matter 😕

user13 hit me right in the parasocial relationship

user14 everybodys up and left & i can barely catch my breath 😭😭

user15 this city's fine but im eternally unsatisfied 😭😭

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, yourbff, and 42,839 others

yourusername a couple more tequilas n i'll tell u how im feelin

tagged: yourbff, lilymhe

view all 5,384 comments

lilymhe love having fun with u

yourusername ty for cheering me up🥹

user16 the overkill lyric im not crying u are

arthur_leclerc dont think u need any more tequila

lilymhe let my girl live!

yourusername leclerc men love telling me what to do !

user17 IS THAT SHADE

yourbff i love u my girl foreverrr ♾️

yourusername i love u more my dearest 💗

twitter ->

instagram ->

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, pierregasly, and 698,383 others

charles_leclerc ☔️

tagged: arthur_leclerc

view all 8,945 comments

pierregasly where have u been that it's raining

charles_leclerc well london of course

user20 LONDON?? visiting y/n??

arthur_leclerc very cool very aesthetic

charles_leclerc well of course this is my instagram isnt it

user21 good luck in the next race charles ❤️❤️

user22 where's y/n

user23 blink twice if u need help

yourusername posted a story

liked by yourbff, lilymhe, landonorris, and 4,385 others

yourbff is everything ok?

yourusername jus going thru something 🤔

yourbff i noticed

lilymhe u will be ok

yourusername i will but what about us

yourusername

liked by oliviarodrigo, billieeilish, and 76,385 others

yourusername my song ‘ghost me’ is available to stream now on all platforms. i hope u like it ❤️

view all 6,183 comments

lilymhe i would never ghost u 👻

liked by yourusername

yourbff this 1 hurt i cant lie

landonorris beautiful as ever

user24 lando shooting his shot

pierregasly you are so talented y/n 🤍

user25 if u try to ghost me & quit being in my life dont u dare 😭😭

user26 kinda thought that i could handle the distance 😭😭

user27 if this isnt referencing her & charles living in different countries then idk

charles_leclerc ❤️

comment deleted by charles_leclerc

user28 did anyone else see that

messages ->

instagram ->

ynupdates

liked by user18, charles_leclerc, and 3,102 others

ynupdates y/n spotted at the airport in the early hours of the morning!

tagged: yourusername

view all 895 comments

user29 omg do u think she could be travelling to monaco for the gp this weekend??

ynupdates 🤞🤞

user30 CHARLES LIKED????

user31 charles liking this oh she is definitely going to monaco to see him

user32 this gives me hope😭

user33 my parents are still together my parents are still together my parents are still together

user34 did anyone talk to her??

ynupdates apparently she was in a rush & had a covid mask covering most of her face

yourusername

liked by landonorris, lilymhe, and 35,538 others

yourusername ✈️ ...

tagged: lilymhe, yourbff

view all 2,471 comments

yourbff im so giddy

yourusername u love being dragged around the world by me

yourbff so fr i do

lilymhe my best girls in the world!!

yourusername i am so glad to have met u

user35 i love their friendship

user36 y/n are you in monaco for the gp🥹

user37 she would never miss charles' home race imo

user38 ur glowing y/n 🫶

f1wagupdates

liked by user12, user32, and 5,933 others

f1wagupdates ferrari driver charles leclerc & long term musician girlfriend y/n y/l/n seen outside a restaurant tonight arguing. their relationship has been rumoured to be on the rocks recently – is this the end for them? source says they couldn't hear the entire conversation but heard snippets, click the link in our bio for all information.

tagged: yourusername, charles_leclerc

view all 1,843 comments

user39 this is so disrespectful

oliviarodrigo give them some privacy jesus christ

user40 omg hi olivia

user41 y/n was overheard saying she cant do it anymore 😭😭

user42 my heart is breaking for y/n omg poor girl has always said in interviews that she didn't even want to date long distance but charles made her fall for him 😭😭

user43 omg dont remind me i feel so sick :((

twitter ->

instagram ->

f1updates

liked by user32, user21, and 5,495 others

f1updates ferrari driver charles leclerc has crashed during the monaco grand prix today and has been rushed to seek medical attention. unfortunately no updates at this time.

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all 2,953 comments

user48 WHAT OH MY GOD

user49 omg sending my thoughts & prayers :((

user50 😮 i wonder if y/n is with him

user51 it's not about her rn..

user52 poor charles he was racing so well too😭

user53 omg it looked soo terrifying

messages ->

instagram ->

f1wagupdates

liked by user16, user38, and 2,584 others

f1wagupdates y/n y/l/n seen fleeing paparazzi following (ex?) boyfriend charles leclerc's crash in the monaco grand prix. is this the final nail in the coffin for this relationship?

tagged: charles_leclerc, yourusername

comments have been limited on this post

THE END ❤️

[mithykster]

As promised, a happy Fantine with dearest darlingest Cosette. I tried to draw from the description of Fantine in the book. Aspects I mainly considered were a beautiful, but perhaps timid face. Hugo also describes her hair like:

"Her thick blond hair, which was inclined to wave, and which easily uncoiled, and which it was necessary to fasten up incessantly, seemed made for the flight of Galatea under the willows" For this, I referenced the hair of perhaps the most famous 'Triumph of Galatea artwork" by Rafael. I thought perhaps Hugo could be drawing from this image since it is pretty famous and probably was so in his time as well. However, there exist a number of artworks of the flight of Galatea and this one very obviously does not show any willows... so perhaps I have been too quick to try and draw it from any art historical piece and it could just be the general imagery of a woman with lucious locks that Hugo tried to provoke. Nevertheless, enjoy my own art historical reference then. (Also, from my very surface-research (looking at google images) I feel all artists seem to generally kind of reference Rafael, which is not very surprising considering how much everyone loves the classics.) Other things I tried to show were Fantine's curled yet reluctant smile. And I remember one passage mentioning she had a hat with white ribbon, but preferred to carry it in her hand instead. We wish she could have lived her life with Cosette like this. There is at the same time much and little to discuss about the women in Les Miserables. I feel when I shall restart the book from beginning to end i'll pay even more attention to the female characters, because I think you could probably make a very interesting feminist observation about the book. I have seen some people mention Hugo is a little misogynistic in his representation (which of course... the time spirit.) but I am not sure if i necessarily agree. There are some really interesting points to be made and lowkey, if I have time perhaps i'll write an essay. Does anyone have some nice readings on the feminine within les Miserables? I'd be interested to see them :) I realize I have perhaps a bit too much to say

[bunniekittiee]

Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

Bi-Han headcanons (idc if it’s ooc) because I cannot stand the characterization that people have created for him. Like he is not a crazy aggressive dominant man like seriously?? These are teeth-rotting soft so please enjoy. SFW and NSFW!

SFW-

Bi-Han may have a very rough exterior, and it was definitely hard to break the ice (haha).

But his wife is his life.

He adores you, and he loves you so very much.

He may have a difficult time trying to communicate this as he is not one for being ‘lovey dovey’ like Kuai Liang, but that does not mean he doesn’t try his very best.

Gifts, he loves giving you gifts. Sometimes they’re simple like flowers, sometimes they are extravagant.

Either way, he loves to see your smile when he gives you a gift, so it is a reward for him.

However, Bi-Han does have his moments where he can be a little rude.

If he is stressed from the Lin Kuei or feels as if he does not have the energy he should, he can be a little snappy.

He will never hurt you, it would wreck his soul if he hurt you physically.

He may hurt your feelings, but he doesn’t mean to do it on purpose. He can be a little blunt sometimes when he is in a mood.

So after he recovers from his mood, he will seek you out and apologize for his behavior. Yes, he will probably have a gift with him.

He does not like fighting with you. He feels that it is a waste of time, and also he hates to see you upset.

Absolutely loathes going to bed angry. He can be a bit of an overthinker.

If you both got into an argument that was not resolved and he goes to bed moody, he has fleeting thoughts of your possible demise if he went to bed without apologizing or discussing it further.

What if something happened and you died without knowing how much he loved you and how he was sorry? It seriously messes with Bi-Han.

Anything can happen, and he understands that.

So if he can, he will do his very best to make sure you resolve conflict before going to sleep.

Nicknames are: my wife, beloved, my dearest, firefly.

Firefly is definitely a unique one, but it is referencing the time you both watched the fireflies light up in the night around you both.

It was romantic, and your eyes were gleaming so bright, Bi-Han’s chest tightened and his heart yearned for your love.

“My firefly, for you light up my world in ways you do not understand.” He wrote one day to you. “My world will never go dark with you in it.”

He can have a hard time expressing his feelings with words as he has many layers to him, so sometimes he feels better writing it to you.

But that doesn’t mean Bi-Han cannot tell you sweet words.

He misses you very often, especially if it’s been quite some time since he has seen you. He is always thinking about you.

Sometimes he wished he could have a little less responsibilities as Grandmaster so he could spend more time with you.

NSFW-

He does not like to use his powers on you in the bedroom.

It is different if he slightly changes his body temperature, but full on using them, that is forbidden.

Bi-Han would suffer an eternity if he hurt you, so it is a huge no-no to him.

He can be dominant, but it is more so because he is a powerful leader.

However, he loves it when you take control as well. Again, he is the Grandmaster and sometimes he just wants you to take the wheel.

Does not like degradation. He loves you deeply, and he cannot stand to call you names or being so cruel.

Expect it to be very passionate and loving. You are Bi-Han’s world, and he likes to take his time.

Loves cuddling after.

Breathing in your scent makes him feel less stressed and he enjoys your body warmth.

Any scars, stretch marks, or marks, Bi-Han kisses.

He loves every part of you, and he makes it very known.

Bi-Han knows that your essence is sacred, so he takes sex very seriously.

He does not joke around during it (come to think of it, i dont think he jokes around ever).

He does not like to have angry sex, he thinks it does not accomplish much.

And he’s especially worried if he is too angry he will hurt you in a way.

The Grandmaster is traditional in many ways, so he does not speak of your sex life, let alone your lives together, to others.

He expects you to hold the same respect for your relationship.

Bi-Han is not one for kinky sex. He finds it difficult to enjoy the thought of it, and he personally hates to see you in certain scenarios that remind him of his anxieties.

If you do not feel up for sex, he will not pressure you. He will either take care of himself or fight the urge.

You are precious to him, he would rather die before making you do something you don’t want to do.

[hanafubukki]

Oh shoot let me add one more thing to the cane shenanigans: Lilia would use that cane to make you trip and fall into his (or Mal's) arms. Sneaky old man lol

[referencing this post]

Hello Anonie 💚💞🌺

With Malleus’ club card coming out and him having an umbrella, I thought this would be the perfect time to answer this. 😂💞

Ohhh that sneaky sneaky old man, he’s laying all the moves on you 😘😌 or he’s trying to get one of his boys lucky.

Lilia and you are dancing with the others while at the amusement park. Twirling your canes and jumping up to the music. Lilia can’t help it. He really can’t. He watched you dance and right before the song ends, he tilts his cane slightly to the side and whoops! Careful Dearest. He knows he’s charming but he doesn’t want you to hurt yourself. You know he did it on purpose, so you pull at his nose with a huff at him. Lilia giggles before kissing your cheek. At least he didn’t say some corny line such as you falling for him or something. Though you’ll never hear the end of it from Ace for tripping during the performance. It’s okay though, any teasing was worth it as long as you got to enjoy Lilia’s warmth.

Now Malleus, he has an umbrella. Lilia has taught him and the boys about courtship, so why isn’t Malleus doing anything??? Lilia spied you and him from the trees. Both none the wiser to him. He could shield both of you from the sun but Malleus just kept the umbrella closed. No matter. That’s why he was there. Lilia used his magic to conjure rain. He knows the boys will scold him later but he had no choice! The sudden pour had you shocked while Malleus stared in amusement at the sky. He opened his umbrella, pulling you close before lighting the area with wisps of fire to keep both of you warm. When you weren’t looking, Malleus sent a look at a particular tree. All he got was a kiss blown his way before a certain fae disappeared in a flash. Lilia was sometimes as worse as his grandmother when it came to his dating life.

[lukalnst]

Hey heyyy pls may I do a request for Alien Stage? Ivan with a reader who gets abused ( similar to Till ) by their alien owner ( sounds awful to say 😭 ) and he just tries to comfort maybe just similar to Till after that one scene. Just need some hurt n comfort 😭 thank you

IVAN X ABUSED!READER

Includes: Implied/referenced abuse, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, slight use of petnames

It hurts.

You never liked your owner. Hitting, and many things more that you didn't even want to think about. You couldn't stand being by your owner's side, not even for a moment.

Unfortunately, you were the subject of their abuse today.

You shivered on the cold floor, your hair disheveled, and tears dripping off your face. You were crying, but you didn't think anyone would care to even check on you. In fact, if anyone were to do so, they'd think you're pathetic.

... What would Ivan think if he saw you like that?

Honestly, you wished he could protect you from your owner. You wanted to be in his arms, to softly sob onto his chest as he assured you that everything would be fine.

You loved Ivan, loved him dearly. Still – your body felt weak. Despite already being onto the floor, you were trembling, and if you were to stand up, you'd most definitely collapse.

...

It had been a few minutes now, and you kept your eyes closed as tears ran down your face. You suddenly felt a light hit your eyes. Being too afraid to open your eyes again, you just kept them shut.

You recognized a familiar voice calling out your name before feeling a pair of arms wrap around you. "Oh dear, what happened?" Despite how pathetic you felt, someone who seemed to be Ivan embraced you in a warm, gentle hug.

You held onto his shoulders tightly, sobbing onto them softly as well. "Ivan — Ivan... I hate my life, I hate it–"

"Hush, hush, dearest... Don't say things like that." Your eyes slightly opened, and he gave you a warm, genuine smile. "I'll take care of you now, only if you want it."

Your eyes were red from crying, but you stifled a smile. "... Only if you want to."

Not even wasting one second, Ivan was extremely quick to pick you up in his arms bridal style and led you somewhere else.

It took a few minutes for Ivan to reach the desired place where he wanted to bring you, but it seemed to be a small room that had only one bed.

As he gently set you down, he was quick to start drying your tears with his thumb and even kissing some of them.

"I'm here for you now. I'll be there for you always, I'll be there to make you feel at least a bit better." Ivan continued, "I love you, dear." he murmured under his breath.

"I... I love you more, Ivan," You hesitated a bit before replying. Then, he gave you a small peck on your cheek as a response.

He moved so he could be sitting close to you now and gently embraced you until you placed your head on his lap.

Running his hands through your hair, you started to fall asleep.

... You wanted to stay like this forever.

Maybe life wasn't so bad, maybe life was better if Ivan was by your side.

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; vi

(not my gif)

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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!

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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

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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. 

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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. 

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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.  

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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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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[denndrawings]

My dearest Morgan from @camlannpod ! I’m enjoying it so much I can’t wait to have more!!

Maybe I leaned a liiiitle too much into the goth/alt part of the description and maybe a side cut would not be that easy to keep in the apocalypse but that’s projecting y’all. Also I made the staff up but in my head it sounded amazing having tarot card-style illustrations of the characters with elements that referenced the original names idk

[nemo-in-wonderland]

"Now we're standing here together At the crystal borderline All my memories are shattered Nothing's left of what was mine I'm tryin' to hold you But you slip away A candle cannot burn forever To whom am I to pray

Up we rise into the night We'll never die in the shadows We can break out of these days Darkness will blaze in the shadows Our kingdom will come When our dreams can grow wild Up we rise into the night We'll never die in the shadows

It's so hard to kill the demons When they live inside your heart Don't give up to find your fortune When you don't know where to start So come here and take me I'm already gone In a second life beside you Is where I want to belong"

"IN THE SHADOWS - Beyond the Black"

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HELLO HELLO, EVERYONE.

So, I have been brainrotting SO MUCH ever since yesterday night about this whole thing, and today I just had ANOTHER epiphany, and I had was therefore COMPELLED to draw Cambion!Jacob and Cleric!Dorothea together.

I was actually going for a comical kind of artwork initially, but then the brain took a turn to the left, and well, WE WENT DOWN SENSUALITY LANE, and I have to be honest, even if this is just a sketchy kinda things, I am actually so happy with how it turned out.

Like, I can totally see the familiarity between Mephisto and Jacob (homeboy has been pestering daddy dearest for advices lol), and I am so happy I had this epiphany yesterday, you have no idea.

Dottie can resist to him, but only for so long (and Lathander can help only so much lololol).

Also,I kinda slightly modified Jacob's whole design, giving him another set of smaller horns (I kinda hc that cambions' horns tend to grow bigger with age, so Jacob, being a relatively young cambion, has smaller horns - especially compared to his brother Raphael. You can imagine the teasing these two have going on. Raphael cannot complain if then Jacob breaks into his House of Hope every other day and thrash the place lolol) and I decided to give him two pairs of wings, one bat-like and one bird-like, pretty much referencing Pathfinder!Mephistopheles' design AND also reconnecting his normal status as Rook in Assassin's Creed. (I do headcanon that among Zaynab, Karim, Raphael and Jacob, he is the only one with feathery wings as well).

AND I WAS SO FREAKING HAPPY TO *FINALLY* BE ABLE TO USE THAT QUOTE, BECAUSE FML THAT WAS THE MEANING OF THE WHOLE "MORNING STAR" THINGY FOR DOROTHEA ALL ALONG.

You see, in my canonical AU for Jacob and Dottie, Dorothea is Jacob's own Lucifer, and I WAS SO FREAKING HAPPY TO FINALLY BE ABLE TO USE IT HERE PROPERLY. Fml, it feels like freaking validation after almost 5 years of working on her character *gives a huge pat on the back*

That being said, I hope you will like this as much as I loved working on it and as much as I love them <3

--Nemo

[heyyallitsbeth]

Could Estrogen Have Saved Her (and Her Series?)

The series Sword Art Online is often seen in a negative light by a large internet community. Due to issues with the anime adaptation as well as internet personalities backing hate bandwagons, the series as well as the characters are often flanderized and seen in a way that to fans of the series would seem more like parody than reality. However, there is also a large and vocal group of fans that adore the series, and within that group, a devoted sect that discusses the possibility that Kazuto “Kirito” Kirigaya is a transgender female. 

While this essay is not an attempt to claim that Kirito is infact textually transgender, various comments made on posts referencing this idea have had a similar sentiment: “If Kirito was transgender, it would have fixed the series for me”. If you look at a variety of comments and reposts on tumblr posts by niche vtuber HeyGuysItsBeth, this is a common opinion. So, would Kirito being transgender make a noticeable and positive impact on the story of Sword Art Online? 

Now there are various moments in the series that support the concept of Kirito being transfem, such as their appearance and the role they play within the Phantom Bullet arc, but the pieces are laid out immediately in the first drafts of the web novel, where Kirito is described as seeing no masculinity in their own face. But let us begin with volume 2 of the manga, in which we meet the character Silica. Silica is a young girl in the world of Sword Art Online, a loner trapped with nothing but her animal companion Pina, but upon our first meeting of her, Pina tragically is struck down by enemies saving Silica, before Kirito can help her escape from the attackers. Kirito provides Silica with new armor and promises to help her revive Pina, asking nothing in return, as in their words “[Silica] reminds them of their little sister Suguha.” Already, this adds in a lot of interesting information. Firstly, despite supposedly being a male player, Kirito already has female equipment, armor, and clothing ready to give out to Silica, with the light novel referring to them as Kirito’s “leftovers” implying that Kirito has already used them, and is passing them on. Then when it comes to the likeness of Silica and Suguha, we later discover that according to Kirito, them and Suguha used to be mistaken for twin girls, despite the fact Kirito is older and not a blood sibling to Suguha. From this, we can gather that Kirito when looking at Silica and saying she reminds them of Suguha, they are saying that Silica reminds them of themself. From Kirito’s perspective, they have just seen a loner, someone by themselves in a world foreign to them, lose the thing they hold dearest, and ready to give up on themselves before someone else comes in to save them. This is what happened only a few days prior to Kirito, as they were too a loner in this world, before being taken into a guild called the Moonlit Black Cats, and they had lost each and every one of them, including the one they held dearest, Sachi. And they were inconsolable and wanted nothing more than to fall as well, until Klein came to beg them to stay alive. Kirito had lost Sachi, their Moonlit Black Cat, and Silica had lost Pina, named for her real world cat. 

Silica and Kirito are clearly narrative parallels through this story, as they talk to eachother and bond during their journey to revive Pina. Kirito had lost their birth parents, and then felt alone and isolated again upon the discovery that they were adopted. Silica was an only child, whose parents were always busy with work, and they were left alone with just their cat. Both Silica and Kirito had no friends in the outside world, and in-game, people just wanted them for their looks and for their unique skills, not their genuine friendship. Kirito saw themself in Silica, and gave them their old armor, and did everything they could to help her revive her fallen friend, the thing Kirito was unable to do for Sachi. Silica ends up being Kirito’s hope during their trip, where they had previously been pessimistic on their relationship with Suguha, Silica is there to comfort them, and insist that Suguha must truly love and care for Kirito, and that they must care for her a lot too. Kirito insists that even though they helped Silica revive Pina, Silica helped them more, as they gave them hope, both in game and in the real world. To them, Silica is what they would be if the world was simply a bit kinder to them, which reveals the depressing core, that even in their greatest fantasy, Kirito cannot imagine their own life without tragedy.

When examining this story through the lens of a transgender Kirito seeing Silica as a version of themself, quite literally in their armor, the story goes from what many would write off as a fanservice harem-bait to one that reveals more of the inner struggles and pain of the characters, but also the hope that still exists, that they still have a future to look forward to where things do get better.

Kirito and Asuna, a ginger haired front-line fighter, eventually get married and settle in a cottage by a lake during their time stuck in Aincrad. It is there that they find and adopt a small girl named Yui, raising her as a daughter. Despite her being fully AI, they love her with all their hearts and truly become family with her. Within the Gameverse series of games, Kirito and Asuna elaborate on Yui further, noting that despite her not being their offspring, Yui notably takes a lot of the features of both Kirito and Asuna, but Asuna claims that she resembles Kirito more. And this is true, if you look at how Kirito looks with long hair in GunGale Online, as well as in real life, there is a strong resemblance there. Yui in the gameverse games also claims that Kirito is the one who cuts her hair and styles it every morning, which is a cute detail. However, it also comes with some questions. Kirito, according to themself, simply cuts their hair so that it is out of their face and not bothersome for fighting. This implies that Kirito doesn’t care for hair, so why would they know how to properly maintain it in others. Kirito’s adoptive parents were not home very frequently, as both worked heavily, and Kirito was often left with the responsibility of their younger sister, Suguha. We can infer that Kirito knows how to do hair because of taking care of Suguha’s. But Suguha also has her hair cut short, why? For kendo, as she practices it in real life as well. Given that both Kirito and Sugu practiced kendo, it could be inferred that Kirito and Sugu both used to have long hair, but upon starting kendo, they had it cut short. After all, they were near identical when they were younger. Within the light novel for the Phantom Bullet Arc, it is written that Kirito acts as if they have already had long hair, knowing how to take care of it, fight with it, and the proper ways to handle it when it is in your way. 

In this scenario, it is shown that Kirito is a loving and caring parent, helping their daughter like they used to help their sister and themself. Without taking this angle into account, many viewers may brush off Yui’s addition in SAO as mere trauma-bait, being as soon as she is introduced, she is killed. However, with the addition of Kirito’s past with long hair, and the implication that Kirito is almost living vicariously through Yui’s appearance, it adds to the story of both of them.

Speaking of Kirito’s long hair and girly features, let’s talk crossdressing. While the appearance of Kirito in GunGale Online is often seen as a trap trope, we need to further examine what exactly happens within GunGale, as well as outside of it. In GunGale Online, Kirito is presented with a rare male avatar that is incredibly feminine in nature, to the point that everyone assumes they are female. And thus, Kirito acts accordingly, pretending to be female to everyone, including flirting with men at the bar during the preshow for the Battle of Bullets. They don’t need to do this, they just do for fun. Infact, they seem to have more fun with their feminine appearance and attire, as they are more emotive, bubbly, and even have a distinct shine in their eyes that isn’t present anywhere else. But that is solely Sword Art Online II, in Sword Art Offline II, things escalate even further. Sword Art Offline II is an official mini-series in the blu ray and dvd releases of SAO II that is written by the original author, taking the form of a news / talk show discussing the events of the show. Within it, Kirito is referred to as “a cute girl named Kiriko” frequently. Very very frequently. Sinon alleges that Kirito may be secretly crossdressing in the real world, and that if they have a sister, they very well may be stealing her clothes to dress up in, a statement that Kirito is notably flustered by. Asuna also states that it seems like Kirito is enjoying themselves more as a girl than as a guy, and that she would love to dress her up in a bunch of cute clothes and “make her a proper woman”. 

By including all of this information, the appearance of GGO Kirito goes from a borderline problematic trap trope, to just an egg of a trans woman learning they are comfortable and enjoy having a female appearance, and just having a fun time with it. 

Within Sword Art Online Alicization, Kirito meets a boy named Eugeo and is struck with an unnerving revelation. Outside of the realization that Kirito may also like men, Kirito also realizes that they have been playing a role for most of their life. Kirito was forced into roleplaying a character in Sword Art Online, needing to assume the “beater” persona in order to help all other beta-testers escape the wrath of other players. They were forced into a hero role by the game’s creator, being chosen to help lead the fight against him, and be the one to ultimately face him at the game’s finale. Kirito had to play the role of hero again, saving those who were trapped in Alfheim after SAO shut down. Then, they needed to play hero again, saving people from DeathGun, while also needing to pretend to be a girl to everyone around them. But then they met Eugeo, and saw an actual hero. To Kirito, Eugeo was a hero, with a set goal of making the world better, and truly had the ambition and strength to make it reality. Kirito had been forced into strength, Eugeo was made for it. But Eugeo died in Kirito’s arms, leaving them broken. Someone so much stronger, so much better than them. They couldn’t live. How could Kirito, someone who was simply playing a role, manage to live when Eugeo couldn’t? But it was Eugeo who taught them how to be a real hero, not just a roleplay. And not just a copy of Eugeo, but a hero in their own way. Kirito took up Eugeo’s sword and helped save the Underworld, and brought peace between the realms. They had learned to stop playing a role for the world around them, and to fight as themself instead, and that is what gave them their strength.

In the end, is Kirito transgender? Well based upon the fact Sword Art Offline affirms that Kirito has a chosen female name with Kiriko, enjoys dressing as a girl, and enjoys acting like a girl, yes. But does it matter? Also yes. By examining the narratives present within Sword Art Online, the added characterization and motivations do genuinely provide more impact than just adding in representation. They add more heart and reasoning behind each small story. So yes, transition could have saved her.