#reverend lowe x reader

[mostlyghostlyy]

Please please just hear me out, PLEASE

[lxnarphase]

𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !

❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k

❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk

❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!

the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.

after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.

you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.

it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.

there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?

well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.

you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.

it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.

has...has he always looked that handsome?

he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.

"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.

"mm."

slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door

"good."

dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.

he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.

you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.

once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.

his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.

modest, yet sensual.

"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...

you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.

"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"

it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.

a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...

it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.

"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"

such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.

It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.

but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.

the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.

his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.

calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.

even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.

"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.

the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.

neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.

sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?

they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.

'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.

however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.

"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.

"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.

he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.

"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."

with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.

you were this aroused just from...talking?

the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.

you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!

you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.

but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!

a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.

if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.

no true man of god would do such a thing.

"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."

giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.

something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.

so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.

a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.

he's so fucked.

"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.

the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.

this is what it felt like?

this is what he waited for?

fuck, it felt...it felt so good.

too good.

for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.

little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.

his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.

no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.

the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.

meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.

the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.

the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.

"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.

“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.

but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.

nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.

look at her.

those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.

so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.

"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"

messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.

he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.

how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?

doesn't she know she's giving into lust?

doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?

"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.

nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.

but he's lying to himself.

he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.

the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.

"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."

he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.

his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.

you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.

“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”

be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.

the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.

fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.

but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.

breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.

with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.

this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.

"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.

"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.

his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."

a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,

"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.

if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.

"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."

he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.

"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.

nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.

"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."

that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.

it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.

no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.

the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.

"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.

he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.

"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."

with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.

the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.

your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.

not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.

"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.

you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.

"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.

no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—

"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.

"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"

with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.

it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.

a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.

oh.

you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...

his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.

it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.

"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."

but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.

"k-kento, that's nasty!"

all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.

clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.

but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.

"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.

his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?

"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."

may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[sytoran]

⁺‧ ₊ ཐི⋆ ♱ ❝GUILTY AS SIN?❞ ♱ w. maximoff !

pairing ★ older!nun!wanda x masc!fem!reverend!reader

synopsis ★ (based on this ask) a 1950s church au, set somewhere loosely in europe, in which a reverend and a nun serving at a cathedral harbour forbidden feelings for each other, where love intertwines with religion in a sacred romance.

warnings ★ explicit content (minors dni), pwp, reader has a cock, virgin!reader but not for long ;), you have a thing for older women, wanda is a tease, no daddy/mommy kink (sorry, it didn't really fit for wanda), but something else fit inside wanda (wink wink)

word count ★ 3.6k (serving) | main m.list

“The Lord be with you.”

“And with your spirit.”

Wanda stands for the final blessing, eyes shut in devout faithfulness. As the choral voices utter the hauntingly beautiful concluding hymn, she exhales softly, letting the singing resound around each panel of glass in the tall cathedral.

Harmonic minor chords echo from the organ, as the acolytes walk down the aisle. Voices rise in harmony. Little altar boys trip over their feet. The older wardens are grim with wrinkles set into aged skin.

And then there is you.

Illuminated by the tinted light is your set face, cloaked in your black vestments and as regal as ever. Wanda watches under her white veil, poised hands and craned neck. 

Wanda was not oblivious that her want for you was forbidden. A deep sin, for the two of you were devout servers of the church. It went against everything she had been taught since she was a first year at Westview Catholic High, but then again, you were the fount of her desires, and it was as simple as that.

As you walk past her solemnly, Wanda catches your eye. She can see you stiffen under her stare ablaze, swallowing a lump in the back of your throat, and victory glints in Wanda’s lowered gaze.

She had to be patient.

Once the mass proceedings were over, you stood outside the cathedral, all gentle smiles and warm hands. It was no secret that you were a crowd favourite amongst the pent-up housewives of Westview and repressed nuns of the church.

How could they not, after all, with the way your dark garments hugged your stately figure, broad and wide and lined with unspoken strength. You were polite, and respectful, and far too innocent for your own good. 

Wanda stands by the entrance of the church, watching you get swarmed by the ladies like a high school heartthrob. 

It was okay, she was content with waiting.

“Reverend L/N,” A middle-aged lady calls, clutching onto your forearm. You smile kindly at her, recognising Pepper, the suburban mom down at 5th and Street. “Yes, Miss Potts, how was today’s service?”

“Absolutely splendid,” She gushes shamelessly, clasping your hands and stepping in far too close. “Your gospel was so moving.”

The overt affection is cloying to Wanda’s senses, only heightened by her distaste for Pepper’s dress. There was simply no reason why her Beatnik dress had to be so low-cut.

Your other arm is not safe from the clutches of Sister Agatha. She was the most experienced of the nuns and had basically claimed her stake on you since you were assigned to the church. Suddenly, hands caress the dip of your tricep to your bicep.

“Excuse me, Miss Potts,” Agatha says snidely. “Reverend L/N has to get back to her duties, if you’ll allow us.” You swallow at the way her perfume scent overtakes your senses, only magnifying the heat under your robes. 

The mom is evidently put off by this, along with the other ladies of the church, some with babies on their hips and without their husbands.

You, on the other hand, stand awkwardly amongst the crowd of ladies, their eyes feasting upon you like a predator eagle.

Even then, Wanda could see the effect that it had on you, ever the innocent and inexperienced. With a pair of ample assets pressed up against your muscled forearm, and a feminine hand wrapped around your bicep, there was no hiding the flush in your face and the telltale tent in your robes.

“I- I have to go,” you say suddenly. You retract your arms, as if scorned, worry clouding your expression. You make your way through the crowd of women, embarrassed and ashamed, leaving many disappointed women in your wake.

A smile crawls up Wanda’s face as she watches you attempt to retreat back into your office. 

She ducks behind the wall of the corridor. As your hurried footsteps approach, Wanda steps out, as if walking in the opposite direction from you. 

“Oof!” The two of you collide comically (intentionally), as Wanda’s hands fly to your arms for support. She dramatically falls forward into your wide embrace, unnecessarily clumsy — but you don’t know any better, profusely apologising to Wanda.

“Sister Wanda!” You say breathlessly, gripping onto her hips unconsciously, unbeknownst to the effect it had on the older woman. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were just around the corner. Why, I seem to be out of sorts as of late.”

Wanda is more than content to run her gloved hands up your arms, shaking her head dutifully.

“I was looking for you, actually,” she says with a kind smile, noting the way your throat bobs as you hold her by her slim waist, entirely transfixed.

Sister Wanda was beautiful like the night, pale moonlight and soft silk. Dainty fingertips clutch the rosary beads, and you yearned to lift up her white veil to see the ethereality that lay beneath. 

It seemed like an eternity before you snapped out of your trance, stepping back and coughing into your hand. 

Wanda would think you were a fool if you believed she couldn’t see the issue in your pants, filling up quite a lot more space than it normally did. It excited Wanda to no end, as the fabric covering your body shifted across your planes of muscles as you moved back.

“Yes, I- uhm,” you clear your throat distractedly. “What queries did you have, again?”

“Ah,” Wanda says easily, tilting her head in amusement at your innocence. “Regarding mass, of course.”

Your brows furrow, terribly hiding your visible disappointment. Wanda could almost giggle at your dejectedness. It was no matter, that issue of yours would be remedied soon.

“I was wondering if I could visit your office tonight?” Wanda asks innocently.  “I’ve been having these… thoughts, and I would like to share them with someone I trust.”

“Someone you trust,” you echo, folding your arms and feeling your heart rate pick up exponentially at the sentiment that Sister Wanda trusted you. “Of course, Sister. As a preacher and a friend, I would gladly aid you in any troubles.”

“Any?” Wanda asks, and you swear you see a twinkling sparkle of mischief behind that white veil. “I guess only time will tell. Until then, Reverend, goodbye.”

Sister Wanda disappears down the lane of grey concrete, losing you in the corner wall of red brick, leaving you with a lot more to comprehend than just your hummingbird-esque thrumming heart.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⋆ ♱ ⋆ ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Ten o’clock strikes the clock tower at the Town Square, a dull and permeating sound that resurfaces you from your listless floating.

You hadn’t been able to focus on anything all day after your interaction with Wanda. Anticipation ate you up from the inside out, affecting the quality of your sermons, although your crowd of admirers never weaned.

There was only one woman you cared for, though.

“Reverend L/N?” A sweet voice asks from beyond the shut door, and you shoot up with vigour that could rival Elvis performing Hound Dog. (You’d seen a clip of it on the television the other day — that young man was a star in the making.)

When you finally manage to fumble open the door handle, all the breath gets stolen from your weeping heart, and you may as well be laying in your casket because it looks like it’s your funeral.

To your utter demise and beseeching joy, Wanda Maximoff stands before you looking like a Renaissance painting handcrafted by Michaelangelo himself. What with her white veil removed to expose the delicacy of her beautiful face you long to caress, and her hair let down to fall in soft curls, and a smile playing on her glossy lips — you’re gone, already, before she even steps inside.

Wanda lets herself in, brushes past you and leaves you dazed in her wake. 

“So, shall we begin with an opening prayer?”

Regretfully, you’re unable to devote your entire concentration upon the given task. You’d say you weren’t totally at fault, though — Wanda looked different today, a good kind of different, one that made you feel lighter than you ever had.

“Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” Wanda recites, hands clasped as she looks down. “Amen,” you close off, placing your beaded rosary back into your drawer. 

You look up to see the older woman regarding you with an unreadable expression, the reflection from your dim ceiling light flickering in her viridescent eyes. It lights a fire within you, a desire for something you can’t quite place.

The ticking of your Peter table-clock seems too loud, all of a sudden, and Wanda’s gaze overwhelms your very sentience. You get a premonition, somewhere in the back of your mind, that this scene is going to unfold in a way you wouldn’t be prepared for.

“It’s rather warm in here, isn’t it?” Wanda voices abruptly, breaking the tense silence that had settled above the two of you.

You shoot up too quickly, banging your knee on your desk, then clearing your throat. “Well, it is nearing summer, Sister,” you answer with a strained voice. You can feel Wanda’s eyes on you as you pace the room to switch on the ceiling fan.

When you turn back around after fumbling with the power switch, your jaw slackens at the sight of Wanda. Oh. 

She’s undressing before your very eyes, mumbling something about the irritatingly warm weather your brain doesn’t even begin to process, because you could swear up and down you’d never seen such beauty before.

“Well, I should get into it before the night drags on,” Wanda speaks, her voice a thousand miles away. Hopeless devotion swirls in your wandering gaze, focusing upon the silk black negligee that is revealed from under her robes — you don’t stop to think about the practicality of such clothing, foolish as you are — and the matching black high-rise stockings of hers do you in.

“Reverend L/N?” Sister Wanda asks, snapping you out of your fantastical trance, sending a sharp jolt to your growing member. A toying smile plays on her lips, one you don’t notice out of sheer embarrassment, her tone husking with a velvet lilt.

“Y-yes, Sister,” you say, sitting back down firmly in your seat and wishing you could scare your growing shaft into mellowing down, because you were certain you were already staining your undergarments. “Excuse my, uh, carelessness. Please, continue.”

“I’ve been having these…… thoughts, as of late,” Wanda begins, sitting forward, unhelpfully pronouncing her cleavage. “Sleepless nights, dreams in the morning. Fantasy, but not quite. Yearning would be a more apt description, wouldn’t it, for something that you crave so dearly when you know it’s impossible to attain.”

You’re lost, a little hazy between the lines, caught somewhere between comprehending Wanda’s speech and staring wide-eyed at her chest. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, suddenly breathless, choking under your stifling garments and feeling unbearably warm in the heat of your enclosed office.

Your big hands flex and release, toying with something, anything, to distract you, and the older nun is prone to gazing hungrily. 

“Sex,” Wanda finally states unabashedly, and you choke on stilled air and the scent of old books. 

Sex.

“S-sex?” You ask, heat rushing to your ears, praying that you’d misheard or something of the sort, but at the same time more alive than you’d ever been.

“Yes, Reverend L/N, sex. It’s dirty, and raw, and everything we’ve been taught not to pay heed to,” Wanda begins in a breathless rush of eagerness, and you’re swept along in her unstoppable hurricane, on the brink of something inexplicable.

“But oh, it feels so good, and I crave it more than anything. More than life itself, if that’s even possible, because this desire is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. And, mark my language and bless the Lord above, but Christ — I’ve never yearned for this object of my desires so deeply and intrinsically. Someone, to be specific.”

You listen with a distant look in your eyes, your brainwaves fusing somewhere between “dirty” and “raw”. Still, your heart lurches at the prospect of another competitor for your forbidden love.

“Someone?” you ask, leaning back into your armchair and folding your arms. Your faux composure juxtaposes your thundering heart, as you die in anticipation and perhaps something dirtier.

“Yes,” Wanda simply states. She tilts her head, furrows her brows as if contemplating something. Then she nods, self-assuredly, and before you can get another word out, the older nun seals your fate.

“That someone is you.”

You’d always been a believer, but in that moment your heart transcends the physical boundaries of life before death, and you ascend to heaven and see the pearly gates, before Lucifer strikes you down to an undeniable reality.

“You think of me…… indecently?” You ask, almost a whisper, as if fearful of waiting ears on this cathedral’s dead night.

“Once again, yes. Call me presumptuous, but I believe your rock-solid erection is telling of the mutual lust we share, Reverend.”

You splutter, just now realising your uncooperative dick is nearly at full-mast. 

“But,” you try, licking your lips in an anxious motion that has the older nun intently more aroused. “I’m— I’m not too experienced in that prospect, Sister. Not that I’m declining your request, definitely not, I— I simply fear I’m no good at satiating your needs.”

“You could never disappoint me,” Wanda responds in a sweet tone, and your heart explodes in some unexplored liking for older women’s approval. 

Wanda stands up, and your gaze follows your esteemed temptress. “Besides,” she adds, her voice carrying a lightness you’d never heard before. “Experimenting is half the fun, isn’t it?”

It feels as though no time passes before Wanda is standing before you, a light hand tilting your head up as you become still in your seat, her right thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

“Well, Sister, I suppose you’re right as always,” you answer breathlessly, a hand going to cup the smooth curve of her waist. 

Each breath feels like rarest air as your eyes flutter shut, waiting patiently for the slow dip of Wanda’s head, as she brings you into a fated, ceremonial sealing of warm lips.

Wanda moves in a controlled manner at first, clearly more experienced than you, methodically moving her lips in a rocking motion as you find your pace.

Gradually, as a simple kiss grows lacking in the face of your burning passion and Wanda’s tentativeness fades away, you deepen the kiss, slanting your mouth against the nun’s, almost like you’d done it a thousand times, like it was meant to be.

Two pairs of lips move in haunting remembrance, cascading like the ebb and flow of a wave, the tide that washes over you in saintly baptism, cloaking you with the gentleness of an angel’s wings.

“Oh,” Wanda murmurs against your lips, a tiny gasp slipping from her mouth as your hands eagerly slide over the curve of her ass, devotional, wanting.

She straddles your waist, comfortably sat in your lap. It takes Herculean self-restraint for you to not to moan at the expanse of soft skin pressed against your robes. 

“You’re certainly eager, aren’t you,” Wanda quips with a satisfied sigh, hands running up and over your arms and torso, certainly soaking in the new closeness that propriety once prevented.

“I am,” you utter dazedly, hands desperately palming at every inch of Wanda you can find, trying to memorise every curve and blemish. This moment, right here, was a sacred happening you’d only fantasised on the dirtiest nights, in some hopeless damnation of your unrequited love.

Requited indeed it was, and you’d never been more receptive to being proved wrong, as Wanda leisurely grinds on the bulge in your robes, controlling your pleasure like the puppeteer of a marionette. 

“Too many clothes,” she groans, as you helplessly begin bucking your hips into the rocking motions of her hips. Your acquiescence comes in the form of the frantic removal of your robes, Wanda nearly ripping off your pants underneath. It leaves you feeling awfully exposed in a tight-fitting white tee and grey boyshorts.

Uneven exhales resound in the space between the two of you, 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, embarrassment tainting the tips of your ears and a flush that races down your neck. 

“How could I not, my sweet,” Wanda answers in a sweet murmur, delicate lips trailing down the column of your neck as she shifts on your lap. “You’re perfect.”

Your eyes flutter shut as Wanda’s hand slips down the band of your boyshorts, pulling out your cock as it springs out of its confinement. It’s big, you know it is, and you watch in anticipation as Wanda’s eyes darken several shades.

“It’s alright?” You ask, albeit tentatively, gripping the base of your cock to stop yourself from climaxing right then and there. “I’ve never— you know.”

“More than alright, darling,” Wanda murmurs with crescented eyelids, tracing the winding vein on the left side, fingertips rubbing at your tip in some sort of wonderment.

The sheer size difference of her pale hand and your thick cock changes your brain on a chemical level, and you think that this is going to be embarrassingly quick.

“Wanda,” you pant into the open air, your voice hoarse and your gaze hungry. Her hand furiously jackhammers up and down the length of your thick shaft, from base to tip, spraying droplets of pre-cum all over the both of you.

You let out an almost-whine as you throw your head back, chasing that warm heat that’d only ever been a part of your most sinful dreams. Wanda must be an expert at this, you think, as her thumb rubs your sensitive tip with each hard thrust of her hand.

“I’m gonna— fuck, oh God,” you gasp, and Wanda quietens you by pulling you into a messy kiss. Tongues envelop one another, and it’s sloppy, and wet, but pleasure is coursing through your bloodstream, ferocious devotion in an excruciatingly fast hurdle to a preordained climax.

“Wanda, you have to stop, or I’m gonna—”

“Isn’t that the whole point, darling? Do it inside.”

Wanda lifts her hips, revealing her wet heat to your starry gaze. It looks like some delicate flower you’d find in a faraway field, except it was something you craved to feel, and suddenly the desire in your stomach is unbearable and you move with frantic urgency.

You groan as your tip brushes against her velvet wetness, finally, collecting trails of slick to make it even more damp than it was prior. Wanda sinks downward with a shaky exhale, and the soft heat that envelops your shaft is the holiest shrine you’d ever chanced upon.

“Wanda,” you say, swallowing, big hands moving to grip at her hips, slowly opening her up with each inch. 

Eventually, the slow pace drives you to the edge of insanity, and you begin your freefall with an abrupt change of heart. All too soon, the atmosphere surrounding the two of you becomes hot, rough, dirty — just like how Wanda explained it, fulfilling the filthiest fantasies of two wandering minds.

“Y/N!” Wanda calls out, panting, locks of hair falling out of place as you roughly manhandle her hips up and down your thick length.

Her delightful moans are heaven to your ears, as your fingers dig into plush skin, a sweetness naught would remove from your reach.

"I'm close," she whines into your ear, the fabric of her negligee clinging to flushed skin, your boyshorts all damp with your bodily fluids.

She slides down and up at a lightning-fast pace, both of you desperately chasing down each other's pleasure. Her pussy constricts your thick shaft in a tight hold, and your hands are none the better, palming at her ass.

"Oh, God," the older nun whines, when you increase the pace in a last-ditch attempt, the sound of bare skin meeting enveloping the room in a heady, aroused mess.

Your eyes find the crucifix across the room just before you tip over that edge one would view in reverence, hurtling downwards like Lucifer with his tainted lips, calling out Wanda's name in a breathless cry—

And there is devotion in your shared sin, breathless cries spilling from tainted lips, where grace is found in a mismatched harmony, and two sinners turn away from repentance.

"Oh!" Wanda cries out, thighs wrapping around your torso, head thrown back in a picture of evangelical reverence.

You think Wanda is the only altar you’d ever need, prayerless faithfulness in devout worship, a lowly pilgrim knelt before a holy shrine. “Fuck,” you breathe, as Wanda collapses above you, soft pants gradually becoming steady again.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” Sister Wanda — no, just Wanda — whispers, still straddling your lap with her palms pressed to the sides of your face in a gentle cradle. “Thank the heavens I found you.”

“What happens next?” You ask. There is a tremble in your voice, a fear of the unknown. There were prying eyes of religious watchers, where critical judgement of the queer community was prevalent in this time, where bravery did not always triumph over prejudice.

“What happens to us?”

Wanda’s lips brush against your forehead, her gentleness lulling you into utopia. “Only God knows, my love,” she whispers back.

It is then that you realise it didn’t matter, anyways, wherever you’d end up, as long as it was with your sacred, sanctimonial love.

so... how was that in all of its religious and horny imagery?? haven't written for wanda in forever omg. can yall spot the ttpd lyrics lol (side note: ttpd has some of the most profound lyrics i’ve ever heard, i can only aspire to achieve that level of literary greatness.) reblog please literally getting down on my knees atp main m.list

[nervoushottee]

With Want | Paul Atreides x Fem!Reader

Summary: Paul Atreides always had dreams. But from the very beginning, there was an invisible string pulling him to you.

Warnings: (MDNI 18+) Reader's secret name is Nuri, Set in Dune Part 2 , fingering, soulmate/destined pairing, shitty understanding of the Dune universe (only watched the first Dune move and only half of Dune part 2 whoopsie so I'm probably butchering some of the lore or whatever. Its fanfiction babes, I'm not writing this for accuracy),

Note: Hey hottees!! Y'all I'm not even finish watching Dune 2 and I started writing this. Timothee was doing something to me in this movieeee. Hope y'all enjoy!

*not edited at all babes*

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

Paul Atreides had dreams. Both enchanting and horrifying dreams that would eat away at his mind and soul. And from the very beginning, he had always felt this small pull of a feeling. 

It was weirder than his dreams because even when he woke, he still felt it. Like it was a small tether, a light string in his heart and soul that hummed so softly. A light that was so dim that you would have to squint to see. 

After everything that happened with his father and being forced out of his home. The Fremen people found him and his mother. And that feeling grew stronger. He thought it was about the sayings of what his mother, the Bene Gesserit, would tell him but it felt more than that. 

It was odd, he could never see what it was in his dreams, or hear whispers of it like a name. But it was always that same enchanting feeling. So when Paul followed the Fremens, it continued to grow. By the time they walked deeper into the caves, it went from a strong pull to an overwhelming presence. 

And that’s when he saw you. 

“Who is she?” Paul asks Chani. The young woman already knew who Paul was asking for before she turned her head. A small smile engulfs on her face. “Nuri.”

Nuri.

Paul repeats your name to understand the feeling on his tongue. He hadn’t seen you before. Or maybe he did, he wasn’t too sure. The Fremen people covered their faces from the desert and a lot from what he was learning.

‘She moves like the wind.’ Paul says to himself as he watches you glide through the crowded room. Paul’s eyes meet yours briefly. Yours blue from your sclera to your irises. You stop moving through the crowd to stare at him. 

That feeling buzzed around him, stronger than ever within Paul as his eyes never leaving  yours. Your lips slowly turn up into a smile. Your eyes move towards Chani who still stands next to him, nodding in acknowledgement. Chani repeats the same gesture with a smile on her face, your gaze lingers back on Paul before a group of people walk in front of Paul’s view of you. By the time the people separate. You were gone. And the feeling suddenly fades from a sharp intensity to a dull buzz. 

“You should be careful around her Outworlder.” Chani says to him in a low tone as the common area starts to get a bit busy with people. The two of them sit down on a blanket as other where for food. 

“Was she with the group when you found me and my mother?” Paul asks, dodging the statement his acquaintance gave him. 

Chani shakes her head, chewing her food before speaking, “No. She doesn’t come with us all the time.”That intrigued Paul. He turns himself fully towards Chani, his bowl of food mixed with spice long forgotten . “So is she not a fighter?” 

“She is.” Chani says between chews, ”But she also walks with the Sayyadina.”

The Sayyadina. The Fremen’s Reverend Mother. 

“From what I’ve been told, her family was killed just after she was born. Stilgar took it upon himself to look after her. As she grew, the Sayyadina felt something within her. So Stilgar gave them the authority to let her walk with them. She is truly a great fighter, so when we need good fighters she will come with us when necessary. If not, she stays.” Chani continues. 

“A fighter and one that walks with the Sayyadina? Is that possible?” Paul questions. 

“To a nonbeliever? No. But to those who do? Yes. Stilgar believes in the old ways and in the faith. The Lisan al Gaib.” She says to him in a taunting tone which causes Paul to avert his eyes. The moment they came in, some shouted hatred towards him and his mother but others screamed in rejoice, calling him The Lisan al Gaib.

“Our people follow behind him, he is a good leader and his judgment is almost always right and trustworthy.” Chani finishes. 

Paul sits with the information he tells her, his hands slowly dipping in his bowl to start eating the food that was cold to touch but warm against his tongue. The heat of the spice warms his insides as it goes down his throat. “And what about you? What do you believe?”

”I don’t believe that you’re the Lisan al Gaib, that's for sure.” She chuckles. Paul feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment but urges her to continue. “I believe in our people. And she is a part of our people. And if she plays some part in whatever faith stories then so be it. But she has never faltered in training. She has never failed in the dessert and she is a good friend. She believes in our people as much as I do.”

After the words Chani said, Paul felt that she was over talking about you, more hungry and interested in the spice beneath her fingers. So Paul didn’t ask anymore. He ate his food in silence but his mind was racing with the thoughts of you. 

—— —— —— ——

The day had turned into night. Stilgar showed him and his mother the small room for them to sleep in for the time being until their fate was decided. A lot of them didn’t trust him and his mother, and for that Paul understood. 

His dreams woke him in the late night. Lifting his head from the makeshift pillow, he looks over to his mother who is still sound asleep. Her hand was placed on her lower stomach. 

‘Rest easy sister, I will be back.’ He says in his head before getting up and quietly leaving the room.

The caves are quiet at night. Besides from the guards that linger within the open spaces to protect those who rest. Paul doesn’t think it’s necessary but he avoids walking around where they are. Just in case to not stir any trouble. The people were calm at the moment since their fates were going to be decided soon enough. 

He walks to the small body of water his mother had told him about. The scared waters of the Fremens. The waters they would never touch. He sat there for a while. Enjoying the stilllness in the air and the calm look of the water. It reminded him of home. “I miss you father. I will take care of mother and sister.” He says to himself quietly. 

He wants to cry but reminds himself to save his water. “Don’t waste your tears on the dead” from what Stilgar told his mother. 

Paul sat still for a moment longer before he felt that pull again. That invisible string strong and tight as it pulls him to his feet. He absentmindedly walks into a dimly let hallway, his pulse quickening against his neck. His heat beating erratically against his chest as he turns the corner to see you. “You’re Nuri.” Paul states.

“You shouldn’t be out at night Paul Atriedes.” You say to him, your back towards him but he can hear the teasing smile within your words.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Paul explains to you simply, “And I made sure to walk where the guards can not see me.” The feeling nearly suffocates him as he walks toward you. 

“Ah.” You turn towards him, you’re dressed in almost the same comfortable linens as him. His a tan brown color and yours an off white. “You and your dreams.”

How did you know about that? He questions in his head, unconsciously taking another step towards you. You both now at arms length.

“I see you in my dreams.” Paul lies. 

“Do you?” You ask back, your tone sounds as if you know he’s lying. 

“No but I can feel you. In my dreams and out. And I don’t know what it is or what it means.” He explains. 

You hum in satisfaction as you slowly walk around him. Like a beast or a predator trapping its prey. “And what do you feel now?” 

He feels like his body is vibrating, His skin tingling and his veins jumping. His fingers buzzing as if he wants to reach out and touch you. He does what to touch you, he wants to feel your skin on his. “What do you feel?” Paul asks the question back to you.

You stop walking to stand behind him. The hairs on his neck stick out as he feels your body heat near him. Your lips slowly grazing his ear making his eyes flutter close. 

What the hell is happening to him?

“I feel like the spice on my tongue. I feel like the sand beneath my feet. I feel like the beauty you see in your dreams. I can feel you.” You whisper against him. 

Paul turns around to you, your bodies closer than ever. His lips inches towards yours as his flickers between your eyes and your lips. 

“You speak in tongues.” Paul whispers to you desperately.

“Shall I tell you in a way you understand?” You whisper against his lips. 

“Yes please.” he begs softly. 

And you don’t hesitate to put your lips on his. Paul moving quickly as his hands clasp softly against your cheeks. Moaning in the delight as he feels your hands glide against his chest, gripping his shirt. 

He feels you everywhere, but it isn’t overwhelming anymore. Now that he’s holding you and tasting you, your tongue glides against his. He feels a wave of warmth wash over him as his body and soul settle into the feeling of you. 

So warm and inviting. So enticing and serene. 

You push him towards a dark hidden spot in the hallway. Your bodies are engulfed in darkness but when you break apart for air, you can see him all the same. Paul moves you toward the wall, his body trapping you in as he kisses your neck. 

“I’ve dreamt of you, Paul Atreides. I’ve seen you in my dreams, felt you lingering in my mind, heart and soul.” You say to him breathly. Moaning quietly as you feel his tongue glide against your neck. Your guide his hand to touch your breast, causing Paul to move away from your neck and look into your eyes. 

‘So beautiful.’ Paul thought. He brings his other hand on your cheek and kisses you hungrily. Squeezing your breast, feeling the weight of it in the palm of his hand.His hand glides to let your nipple slip in between his fingers as he squeezes.“I want to dream of you. I want to see you in my dreams, want to hear your voice call my name.” he mutters to you in between kisses.

When you break away from his kiss, Paul starts to ask what’s wrong until he feels your hand on his and glides it up to your lips. You kiss his fingers individually as he stares at you in adoration and desire. You slowly slip his middle and ring finger into your mouth causing Paul to groan. His hips shifting upwards against you as he feels the wetness of your warm tongue glide against his fingers. He watches as you pull his fingers out of your mouth, his digits glistening wet. Your hands glide his now wet ones down and underneath your linen pants.

“Touch me and you will see me.” 

He lets his hand glide against you as is greeted by your wetness, causing you both to moan out in pleasure. You are sinking deeper into the wall and Paul sinking deeper into you. His fingers continue to glide there experimentally as you pull him back for a kiss. “Help me see.” Paul mutters desperately against you

. 

Your hands reach down in your lines to move his hand into the position you need for him to make you feel good. You mimic a small circular rotation with your fingers on the back of his hand that was still against you. Once Paul understands, he begins to move his fingers in the motion you instructed, making you moan against his lips. 

He pulls away to watch you. You looked more ethereal than any other being or spirit that was believed in all of Arrakis. Your head back against the mountain wall, your lips slightly open as you moan. Your hips moving against his fingers as if you’re chasing for pressure. Paul dips his head in the corner of your neck and kisses it feverishly as he applies more pressure in his movements. Causing you to hold on to shoulder and call out his name. Oh how he wanted you to say his name again.

Feeling a little confident he glides his fingers down, but keeps his them pressed against your swollen bud. He pushes his middle finger inside of you causing you to gasp. You hold onto his shoulder gripping his shirt as you breathe heavily. You drag his head from your neck to kiss him. With his finger going in and out of you at an agonizing slow pace, you kiss him sloppily. But Paul doesn’t seem to mind, he enjoys it. Humming against you with a smile. 

When you feel his ring finger follow in for a second is when you lose it. “Paul!” you say loudly. 

His tongue mingles with yours as he silences your cries. With the slow circling of his thumb against your clit and the way he pushes his fingers into you makes you clench against him. “Fuck.” he moans. 

You whine as you feel your orgasm growing inside of you. The feeling you both shared with one another makes you feel even more on edge as you grip Paul in anyway you can. You rapidly as you feel yourself getting close. “Pau-Paul -” you begin to tell him as such but the building pleasure doesn’t get you far. Paul places his other hand against your cheek, tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes hooded and his cheeks flushed. You feel his thumb brush against your bottom lip. 

“Let me see you.” 

His words are the final push that sends you over the edge. Paul kissing you to silence your cries, you mewling against his lips as his fingers never stop their learned rhythm. You shiver against his fingers, your body tingly and warm. He kisses your face from your cheeks, to your eyelids and everywhere in between as he waits for you to come down from your high. He whispers your name, making you flutter your eyes open to see Paul stare at you with want. 

“Show me again.”

[lady-phasma]

Don't look away

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x F!Reader

Stand alone, cross posted on AO3, app 2,800 words

Warning: 18+, NSFW, others I should add but it's Feyd

Summary: Feyd lives rent free in my head now. I’m working on an unrelated piece with an ofc but I wanted to share a pwp because this man is essentially walking and talking sex. Enjoy. Please ignore typos. This was a rush job LoL

my gif

You hold your breath as Feyd-Rautha circles you, appraising. His head is tilted down and he looks at you from under his brows. Your chest is tight. He is almost exactly what you expected after watching him in the arena. Yet, not quite. He steps in front of you.

“She’s acceptable,” he says to the Reverend Mother without looking away from you. You begin to slowly exhale. His eyes slide down to your parted lips. He slowly licks his.

“Leave us,” he growls and the Reverend Mother, the younger Bene Gesserit sister, and his Harpies slip out of the room. You glance over your shoulder as the door slides closed behind them.

“No,” he whispers as he turns your head back toward him, guiding you with his hand on your chin. His blue eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth then back again. As he smiles, you see the tips of his blackened teeth for the first time and catch yourself staring.

“‘No’, my lord na-Baron?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He is standing close enough to hear you regardless. He nods once and drops his hand from your chin, grazing the backs of his fingers down your neck. He impertinently flicks the hood of your cloak off your head before dropping his hand to his side.

“You won’t look away from me. You will watch everything I do. No looking away, no closing your eyes.”

You swallow and attempt to nod but you feel like you cannot move. You want to move. You almost want to run for the door but you can imagine Feyd blocking your path with speed and stealth. You look at his mouth again, the lips curling, black teeth catching the light, and his tongue…

Feyd’s grip on your upper arm snaps your attention back. He undoes the clasp at your neck and slips the cloak off your shoulders, tossing it on the floor. You feel the goosebumps spread up your arms as the cool air of the room hits them. You are suddenly aware of the low neckline of your dress as you inhale. Your cleavage swells and you feel exposed, like prey out of cover.

He licks his lips, slowly. You fight conflicting urges to stare and to look away. You let your gaze travel up to his eyes. He isn’t looking at your face. He is stalking around you again, this time stoping behind you.

His hands are cool on your upper back and you shiver. Feyd makes a sound in response, a satisfied groan that is so low that you think you may have not heard it at all. His hands slip under your dress and are no longer gentle. He rips your dress down the back along the seam. He slings the shoulders of the dress down and you feel him step closer.

Feyd licks your neck, slowly, from the top of your shoulder to your ear. You bite the tip of your tongue to hold back a moan. You don’t want to like this, you don’t want to want him, but your nipples are hard and your body is a furnace.

“Let it out,” he growls in your ear, lips brushing against the lobe. “I want to hear you.”

You do. The sound comes out as a sigh and a moan. His reaction adds fuel to the fire in your core. Feyd growls next to your ear. His exhale tickles your cheek and you shiver again. Then you feel the fabric of his shirt press against your exposed back. Longing rolls over you as you realize you don’t want his shirt against your skin. You let the smallest groan escape your lips, a whining sound.

Feyd leans down and drags his lips over your shoulder. You almost relax into the feeling until you feel the pain as he bites down into the muscle. You gasp. It surprises you more than it hurts you. He releases his hold on you but his mouth stays against your skin.

Almost as unexpected as the bite, you feel the weight of his smooth head rest against your neck. He leans his weight in the crook of your neck and sighs. His hot breath makes you ache. His teeth are still grazing your shoulder. You want to relax into this feeling but he is too unpredictable.

Your mind races in an attempt to understand this man, to glean some insight. His sighs and groans make your core hot and tight. But the press of his teeth against your skin conflict with the gentleness of the press of his head against you. You can’t sort your thoughts and you can’t focus.

Suddenly, Feyd grunts and pushes away from you. Before you can decide to turn to look at him, he pulls your dress all the way off your arms and pushes it down your hips, leaving it in a puddle around your feet. You can’t think straight. You instinctively cross your arms over your breasts but it’s a fruitless action. He is behind you and you cannot cover the lower half of your body. You aren’t sure but you think the whimper you make is too quiet for him to hear.

“Stay,” Feyd growls. You do. You don’t move. You stare straight ahead at the wall opposite you and focus all your attention on listening, trying to decode the sounds Feyd is making behind you.

You hear cloth moving, one light thud, followed by another, then more cloth. Then you hear what is unmistakably bare feet on the stone floor. Then you feel him, not pressed against you (yet), but just behind you. He is still taller than you and though you cannot see him he feels like a monolith, looming and intimidating.

Feyd doesn’t speak as he runs his hands over your shoulders and down your biceps. He presses your arms against your sides and you acquiesce. Then his large hands cup your breasts as he steps forward into you, pressing the length of your bodies together. You feel lightheaded and sag slightly against him.

“Yes,” he hisses and somehow you can hear the smile in his voice. “Yes, my pet, that’s it.” His hands slide down the rises and hollows of your belly and hips. There is too much stimulus for you to focus on any one thing. The cool heat of his palms against your skin, the silkiness of his chest against your back, and the press of his erection against the curve of your buttocks.

This bliss is fleeting and you remind yourself of who he is, what you have seen him do. But the images of the arena can’t push the feeling of him on your skin out of your mind. You are almost powerless in his hands.

He guides you to turn and face him. You look up at him and involuntarily lick and bite your lower lip. For the first time you see hunger in his eyes. His head dips down and you fight the instinct to close your eyes as his lips press against yours. Not until you see his eyes close do you do the same. His mouth is bittersweet and gentle at first. Then his teeth nip and pull at your lip, his tongue pushes into your mouth, and he growls. You can’t stop yourself from pressing against his chest. Your hands find his arms as you try to get closer to him. As you pull him toward you the taste of blood crosses your tongue.

Feyd pulls his mouth back and you open your eyes immediately. The red on his lower lip is a stark line against the white skin. He slowly drags his finger across it. He gazes at the red on his fingertip as if he has never seen anything so entrancing before. Then he presses his finger against your lip and you pull the tip into your mouth. He moves before you can understand what is happening. His hand is in your hair, wrenching your head back. His other arm encircles your waste and he looks down at you, black teeth glinting in the pale light of the room.

His sneer is terrifying. Your fingernails dig into the flesh of his arms as you grip him. You don’t push him away; you can’t move. His eyes dart around your face searching for something. For defiance? He finds none and his mouth crashes against yours in a rough kiss that is mostly teeth and breath.

Something inside you gives way and you claw desperately at his arms. You kiss him back, finding his tongue with yours, inviting him into your mouth. His body is warm stone in your arms. You search for purchase, some place to anchor yourself, his chest, his arms, his neck. Then you push your hips forward, almost without thinking. His cock presses against your belly and he growls again. That sound draws wetness from between your legs and you moan back into his mouth. His hand begins to loosen its grip on your hair and you feel him smile against your lips. When you look at him you see it isn’t a kind smile.

“So that’s what you want, pet?” His smile is mocking, almost cruel. His voice is low and deep. His hand slides out of your hair to the side of your face. He caresses your cheek with his palm and rubs his thumb across your lips, lulling you with his touch.

“You want me to fuck you now?” Your response is the most undignified whimper. You are surprised by the desperation in the sound. As he straightens up to his full height you immediately miss the feeling of his skin. His smile softens briefly. Then he grips the back of your neck, hard, and walks you to the bed. Your heart pounds and you fear you won’t be able to keep your feet. If you trip you have no doubt he will drag you.

You look away from him, glance at the bed. He catches you and turns you to face him as you make the last few steps to the bed. It presses against the backs of your knees and you nearly fall. Feyd doesn’t let you. A brief flicker of understanding dawns on you: he doesn’t want anything to hurt you, only he can do that. It’s a perverse comfort, but his control is seductive. You don’t let yourself think “protective” but that’s the closest word. Then all words leave your mind as he lets go of you and you sink back into the bed.

Feyd kneels on the bed, spreading your legs with his knees. He isn’t gentle but his touch is soft. Every part of his hairless body is smooth and cool and graceful. His giant arms frame your field of vision as he props himself above you. His lower lip glistens and you want to risk defiance. You press yourself up to meet his mouth, to suck at that lip, bite and tease.

His reaction is quick. His hand presses you back onto the bed, wrapping almost entirely around your neck. You lick your lips and sneer up at him. His eyes flash with understanding. He grins. Using his hand on your neck and his legs to hold his weight he slips a hand between you and finds your slick center. He trails his fingers through your wetness and your last vestige of pride falls away. You actually whine as you raise your hips to find more of his fingers. He obliges for a moment and lets you press against them. Then he pulls his hand away.

The pressure on your neck is not yet uncomfortable. You let out panting breaths. Your mouth hangs open, eyes locked with his. Before you realize his hand is gone from your neck, you feel his wet fingers in your mouth and taste yourself. Without needing to be told you suck gently on them. You watch his face soften with pleasure. Barely opening his eyes, Feyd slides his fingers from your mouth, down your body, and under your thigh. He guides your leg onto his hip. As he leans his weight onto his other arm he guides his cock into your slick folds. You hold your breath. You don’t stop watching him and he notices. He looks at you, lewdly, as he strokes himself through your dripping cunt. You feel yourself blush, a bit too late for embarrassment, but there it is anyway. He groans as he presses the tip of his cock against your opening.

“Please, Feyd,” you groan. “Oh please.” His eyes widen at your words, at the sound of his name.

“Beg for my cock, pet. Tell me how much you need it,” he commands, his face only inches above yours.

“I need it so badly it hurts, na-Baron,” you watch for his reaction to the use of his title and you aren’t disappointed. “I need to feel you. Please.”

Feyd groans and his head dips lower, almost resting his forehead on yours as he begins to slide into you. The feeling is intense as he stretches you. You open your legs a bit wider, sliding your foot up the curve of his ass to his lower back. He presses deeper, harder, and you exhale his name. You don’t dare close your eyes yet but his are closed tight and his brow is furrowed. You gingerly slide your hands over his head and grip the back of his neck. You pull him to you slightly, giving him permission to rest his head against your neck. He rubs his head against you like a cat and you smile to yourself as you close your eyes.

Feyd’s hips press into yours, spreading you wide as he buries his face against you. He pulls out slowly and slides back in, so you can feel every inch of him. His free hand searches up your side to your breast and squeezes. His thumb grazes your nipple as he starts to pump into you. You gasp as he pinches your nipple, twists it slightly. You moan and press your lips against the smooth skin of his head.

“You take me so well,” Feyd mutters into your chest. “Such a good girl taking all of me.” The gravel in his voice makes you shiver and mewl. On his next stroke in, you slip your other leg over his hip and circle your legs around his waist. You pull him into you, as far as you can take him, the head of his cock pressing against your deepest core. He makes the most satisfied sound imaginable. You feel his lips, then his teeth against your collarbone. Your grip on his neck tightens as he slides out of you and rams back in, hard and quick.

With the next stroke, Feyd raises his head to look at you. You let your hands slide to his shoulders, still holding tight. There is no softness on his face now. His lust-blown pupils have swallowed the blue of his eyes and his brow is furrowed as he focuses on fucking you. He squeezes your breast quickly then moves his hand to your hair. He holds your head still and leans down to kiss you when he thrusts. You dig your fingernails into his skin and groan.

His control starts to falter and he exhales into your mouth. His hand in your hair gripping tighter as his strokes shorten and his pace quickens. You slide your hand down from his shoulder to touch yourself. His facial expression changes momentarily as he feels you grip tighter around his cock. You grin up at him.

“I need it, Feyd,” you whisper, holding his eye contact. You wait a beat and arch your back as your fingers and his cock bring you closer to your climax. “I need to feel you cum.” You groan. The wave of your pleasure begins to crest, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Then you feel his teeth clamp down on the flesh above your clavicle. Your orgasm overtakes you as the sharp sensation clashes with the low, throbbing pleasure between your legs. You murmur his name through clenched teeth.

Feyd pushes through your spasms around his cock. Growling and grunting but not releasing you from his bite. He fucks you through your orgasm. His rhythm stutters and his grip loosens. He lifts his head, a string of spit pulled from his bottom lip. He grabs your head with both his hands and, panting just above your mouth, he cums. The heat fills you and you moan his name again. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours as he presses into you one last time.

Then he stills, his forearms holding him up, but lets some of his weight press you together so he is almost lying on top of you, not pulling out yet. He exhales deeply and raises his head. He looks down at you.

You can’t catch your breath and your legs are heavy. You let them slide down his hips. Your neck throbs where his teeth marked you. You want to wrap your arms around him, pull him into you, stroking and soothing this wild animal. Instead, you grab the back of his head and pull him down to your mouth and kiss him until you taste red.

[shegatsby]

i'm aching for feyd rautha x fremen reader!!! perhaps soulmate situation where feyd has dreams about reader and is UTTERLY OBSESSED (please i yearn) ((im so normal about feyd rautha)) also pls drink water and its no rush :))

A/n; HIIIII! This is my first Feyd-Rautha fanfic so go easy on me. Thank you so much for this request, not me giggling and blushing as i was writing this. English isn't my first language so I'm so sorry for any typos.

Words; 5.315K (wow i out did myself lol)

Warnings; War, killing, abduction

He was running, he could feel the rain on his face but he kept running. Moist sand and wet mélange filled his nostrils, the damp sand stuck to his heavy boots, the sound they made was similar to walking on the fresh snow. He never thought he could smell things in his dreams, ‘’Find me.’’  A woman’s soft voice echoed in his ears, ‘’I dare you.’’ And there she was, standing in her stillsuit, hair long and wet, over the years her face was getting more and more clear. Before Feyd could reach and grab her he woke up. He was sweating and he wasn’t in Arrakis, he was in Giedi Prime, House Harkonnen. He could feel the cold satin of his sheets, ‘’Who are you?’’ he whispered into thin air, nothing moved or made a sound. His room was dark, as usual. He rose to his feet and walked to the large glass, his side of the castle over looked the volcanic wasteland that was Giedi Prime, heavly industrialized, low photosynthesis. Harkonnen’s kept the original forests but other than that everything was stone and building.

Feyd-Rautha was a rational man when it comes to these things, however, he kept having these dreams since he was a child. In his dreams he was either in his home planet or Arrakis, he wasn’t alone. The girl in his dreams had always been distant, over the years the girl kept coming closer and closer. Last few months he could see her face clearly. She was a beauty, none of his concubines could match it. Sometimes they would sit in silence or he would chase her… he was going to lose his mind. He needed answers to these dreams, with the arrival of Reverend Mother Helen Mohiam he hoped to get those answers he was looking for. He ordered his men to keep the Reverend Mother at greeting room, when he got ready he left his chambers in a hasty manner. He was a man of action and he didn’t like waiting or making his guest wait, he had a reputation to keep.

Reverend Mother was seated at one of the metal chairs, covered in black clothing, she fitted the room, the castle of Harkonnen was mostly black and grey, servants and soldiers had to wear the same colors as well.

At first Reverend Mother had to test him to see if he was human or not, he followed her instructions and put his hand in a box, he had to endure the pain which was something he got used to and he even enjoyed getting hurt but this was something else. He could feel his hand burn and freeze at the same time, visions ran at a fast speed in his mind’s eyes. He was eager to prove himself so he didn’t flinch, he could feel sweat running down his face, Reverend Mother didn’t not react at all.

‘’You have passed the test.’’ She announced in a flat tone but he knew she was impressed.

‘’My turn.’’  He said which confused the old woman, he was kneeling for this test so he bolted to his feet and took a step back. Hands clasped at his back, he seemed intimidating in his black tunic and pants. His boots made him look much taller than others and he was already a tall man.

‘’What do you know about dreams?’’

‘’Tell me yours and I shall reveal the truth.’’ His eyes searched her face, which was difficult to see through her thin scarf, ‘’I-‘’ he started, ‘’I see.. her.’’ He was hesitant. Reverend Mother noticed the way he said ‘’her’’ this woman must be of importance. ‘’Go on.’’ Old age made her curious for gossip and she thought she was about hear the juiciest one, she didn’t know she was going to discover something larger. Larger than anyone on this Universe.

‘’I’m usually in Arrakis, it rains, and I see her. She speaks to me. She wants me to find her in the desert. I believe she is a Fremen.’’ He shortly explains, Reverend Mother leaned in, ‘’What does he say exactly?’’ Feyd felt naked before this old witch. ‘’ ‘Find me.’ She says, I could hear her in my mind. She wants us to unite.’’ There was a silence, his patience running thin, was he going insaner than usual or these dreams meant something?

‘’Arrakis… rain.. a girl…’’ he heard Reverend Mother whisper to herself, ‘’How long have you been having these dreams?’’ she asked, she was the one who suppose to give answers to him and yet she was questioning him. ‘’Since my childhood.’’ And with that Reverend Mother quickly stood up, which was quicker than expected, considering her age. ‘’I must speak to your uncle Baron Vladimir. Wait us here.’’ He had no choice now, the Pandora’s box was opened. He would rather fight in the arena than waiting here. He was pacing in the large room that had black marble floors, his boots made distinctive sound son the cold floor, his head turned to the doors of the room when they were opened by the servants, his uncle came floating, next to him Reverend Mother followed, Baron was ear to ear smiling, ‘’Hearing these news on your name day is nothing but fate.’’ The old man announced, it was true. Today was Feyd-Rautha’s name day and a ceremony was waiting for him later. ‘’Congratulations, Reverend Mother here says you’ll be the one who raise Harkonnen to its glory.’’ He said with his raspy voice, he seemed joyful even, well, a joy that fit him, cold and calculating. Feyd’s snake like neck moved in questioning, ‘’What about Rabban?’’ his brother Rabban was in Arrakis, ruling in the name of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, mostly failing him and their family. ‘’He will be reassigned.’’ In their family this meant that it was his last chance, or he would be killed.

‘’Enjoy Arrakis.’’ A cunning smile made him look even more terrifying. He left them alone, Feyd was confused but also the idea of controlling spice made his body electric. ‘’To fulfill your destiny you have to find that Fremen and to secure your place you have to join your house with their kind. They shall be easier to control. I’m sure she is waiting for you to claim her.’’ Reverend Mother was testing the waters, she watched Feyd-Rautha’s expression change into predator mode after she spoke. Now it was a hunt for him and she knew that he won’t stop until he fulfilled his mission.

Feyd knew what Reverend Mother meant but to join with the barbarians?! His house’s reputation could be at stake. He was a psychotic killer but he had rules. He will not tolerate anything that might humiliate his family name. he didn’t want to think further about this so he found himself marching to the arena. After the games he was suppose to have his ceremony and be shipped to Arrakis, his new home.

His ‘’ascending’’ to the title of ‘’Na-Baron’’ was well organized. Rabban lost his rank so it was his time to shine, bring glory and fame to his name and his house. Among the loud cries and applauses Baron Vladimir held his nephew’s face in his sweaty palms and whispered into his ears, ‘’Do not fail me son.’’ It wasn’t coming from affection, it was a threat. He knew his missions;

‘’Control Rabban,

Take over the spice production and multiply the income,

Fulfill what Reverend Mother said.’’

First two were easy…

That night he was shipped to Arrakis with an army and his most loyaly men. As soon as he landed he had one thing in mind, ‘’make Rabban pay for his foolishness’’, ‘’My Na-Baron,’’ servants greeted him outside the castle of Arrakis, hot sun hit his face, he could smell the mélange. ‘’Lord Rabban is waiting for you.’’ As she walked to the Coordination Chambers he watched servants bow in fear and respect. He liked what he saw. Without waiting for servants to open the door for him he barged in. ‘’Rabban!’’ he yelled in animalistic anger. No one noticed the was Rabban flinched but him. ‘’You have humiliated our house,’’ he took a step towards him, ‘’you have humiliated me.’’ And another step. ‘’Kiss my foot.’’ He said cautiously, waiting for Rabban’s reaction and since none came Feyd pushed Rabban to the floor, ‘’Kiss or die.’’ Rabban  had no choice but to give in.

Following days were easy. Fremens didn’t know the change in command so first attack was successful. Spice production was slow but promising. Other houses started to send gifts and letters to him to gain his favor. ‘’He who controls the spice controls the entire galaxy.’’ his uncle used to say to him as a child and he was right.

Weeks passed and every time he launched an attack he was also at the front with his men. Main reason was his thirst for blood and gore, however a side of him was looking for something or rather someone. Ever since his arrival his dreams became more frequent and vivid.

The girl kept saying ‘’You’re close.’’

She must be near he could feel it, but among thousands of Fremen girls how was he suppose to find her?

Whenever they attacked he ordered his men to gather Fremen girls who were close to his age, after capturing them he would look at their faces and try to find her but his research was in vain, or so he thought.

Months passed, he was growing restless and Fremen knew how to fight. Disputes were bringing imbalance to the realm. He was refusing to sleep due to the fact that you were in his dreams and he was making plans, growing tactics to find you.  Also he didn’t have much time since the Padishah Emperor Shaddam sent him a letter;

‘’Find what you are looking for and bring stability.’’

It was a direct order otherwise he knew that Padishah Emperor would sent his soldiers, Sardaukars to take over what he had established so far.

After that letter his attacks grew more persistent.

‘’Na-Baron, Prisoners are here.’’ Without changing his blood dripping battle suit he marched to the room where the prisoners were kept. They were all on their knees, hands tied behind their backs. ‘’How many?’’ he asked to his general, removing his leather gloves, ‘’20 my Na-Baron.’’

Sleepless night had a toll on him, he was more on the edge than usual. It was going to be almost a year since he came to Arrakis. Fighting with Fremens put the spice production at risk and he couldn’t have that. ‘’I am looking for someone.’’ He began, Fremens knew by now that he was looking for a girl, old Fremens believed that it was a part of a prophecy long forgotten, most of the young ones thought it was a Benne Gesserit tactic to control them.

‘’Eyes up!’’ he yelled, and they looked up to meet his vicious gaze, at the corner one of the girls looked up and immediately lowered her gaze. ‘’You!’’ he pointed to the girl, ‘’Bring her to me.’’ He ordered and two of his men dragged her to him. His pale hand held her face to look deeply but it was false alarm, it wasn’t her. ‘’Why did she move her eyes though?’’ he thought. She seemed like she was holding something… information? Maybe.

‘’It seems like you know me.’’ He said quietly, ‘’I don’t know you.’’ He northerner accent filled his ears. Her voice was shaking and her fear gave it away, ‘’Ohh,’’ Feyd-Rautha loved to see fear in people’s eyes. ‘’You and I, we’re going to have a talk.’’ He moved his head slightly to the left and his men took the girl to a questioning room. Others moved in their places with an uneasy manner.

Feyd didn’t want to waste no time so he followed his men to the room. Inside the castle was kept at a mild temperature, outside was hell. He never thought he could get used to the heat but he adapted.

Feyd watched his men chain the girl to a metal chair and also watched the scared girl observe the room. Brown walls and floors were covered in blood, there were human parts here and there. ‘’What are you going to do to me?’’ she asked trying to stay calm. He wasn’t in the mood for torture since he just came from a battle, ‘’Nothing if you aid and abet. You might even have a luxurious life for your family in the city.’’ Rich Fremens lived in the city. He was actually being honest, she could tell. ‘’Tell me what do you know.’’ If one looked closer it could be seen that he was tired, after all he was human and human beings had their limits. ‘’Promise you won’t hurt her.’’

With the mention of you, his posture got straighter, ‘’I don’t intend to.’’

‘’And promise you let those women go to their homes.’’ Feyd felt generous today, ‘’Set them free.’’ He ordered which shocked his men, ‘’But my Na-Baron,’’ his solider’s sentence cut short since Feyd cut his throat. ‘’You heard me.’’ He warned his other soldiers. ‘’Now,’’ he looked at her, ‘’your turn.’’

The girl seemed cautious. ‘’I… I think I know who you’re looking for.’’ She started, ‘’I have a friend, since childhood. She keeps telling me her dreams of a man.. description fits you perfectly.’’ She finished as if an invisible burden lifted off of her shoulders. ‘’She is a respected soldier’s daughter, they live in a secluded cave, well guarded. It won’t be easy.’’ Feyd smiled in anticipation,

‘’I don’t want easy.’’

The girl gave the exact coordinates, as he was leaving he stopped in his tracks, ‘’What’s her name?’’

‘’Y/N.’’

He rested during the day, he wanted to attack to their Sietch when its late night. ‘’Y/N…’’ he whispered like praying to Gods. ‘’A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.’’

The sietch was in deep desert but his men were perfectly prepared. He positioned his men at the exists and entrances of the sietch.

They blasted the stone walls which were doors, Fremen knew how to be one with the desert. Fremen were ambushed, they didn’t expect the attack but they were brave, sietch was big with multiple floors. Since Y/N was a well respected soldier’s daughter she must be upstairs with other higher ranks. He moved past everyone, climbing the stone stairs, screams were music to his ears. He pushed and kicked everyone who was on his way. Upstairs the rooms had thin green curtains that were see-through. He didn’t bother with crying children and their mothers, his one and only mission was to find Y/N and leave with her. As he was walking carefully on the long hall which had rooms on his left and right he felt a presence at his back. His blade crashed with another. The woman was in her stillsuit just like others, her face and hair covered with a dirty beige scarf, only eyes could be seen. ‘’Move out of my way girl and you will live.’’ When the girl heard his voice he noticed the hand she was holding the blade go soft for a split second but gained strength once again.

Feyd’s suit was specifically designed for him, head to toe he was dipped in jet black, a mask covering his face yet his eyes were there like dark diamonds. Shining with thirst. She didn’t say anything and made her move. She was passionate, it didn’t go unnoticed by him, maybe she had a thirst for blood just like him. Feyd stepped back and her crysknife licked the air. ‘’I gave you chance.’’ Feyd said before he launched at her, he was swift but the girl answered every stroke. ‘’You are good…’’ he was out of breath, her stance was weak, ‘’but not that good.’’ And they danced. Feyd made her trip, Fremen girl wasn’t even making a sound while attacking, she was like the desert, silent. Her moves made him think of swans, elegant yet bold. Feyd could feel that tonight he was going to satisfy his need for blood. 

Fremen girl threw sand to his face to get advantage because she was unstable, ‘’Unfair.’’ She heard him say. He rubbed his eyes and had to remove his mask. She saw him under the orange glowglobe, her knife dropped and ran to the opposite direction.

Feyd-Rautha wasn’t a stupid man. This action of hers gave her true identity. Like a predator he began the chase, it was thrilling. It wasn’t easy to spot her among Fremens who wear the same colored suits but it made the chase more fun. Something in him told him to go to the nearest exit and he did.

He had fewer men outside since most of the action was inside the sietch, the sand was covered in blood and his man laying stiff on the ground. One of his men lost his weapon, maybe she took it?

He closed his eyes to listen to the desert, he could hear swift motions, he followed where the sound coming from, there were large rocks to his left and he moved. Someone jumped at him behind the rocks, he fell to the ground, smell of spice made him a bit dizzy but he composed himself quickly. Two small hands grabbed his throat, sitting on top of him. She was screaming in ecstasy, maybe she never killed someone and she thought this was going to be her first. Feyd thought it was cute that she thinks she could kill him. With all of his strength he moved to his side dragging her along with him. Now she was laying on the ground, with one of his hand he pinned her hands above her head, he didn’t forget to give all of his weight to make her stay put, her legs wrapped around his waist. With his other hand he found his knife and cut her scarf. Her pure face revealed under Arrakis’s two glowing moons. His animalistic smile grew, ‘’Found you.’’ She was struggling to get away, like an animal trapped in a cage. ‘’Sleep tight.’’ And he injected a sedative, in seconds her shiny eyes closed.

Arrakis has woken up to a new day, a new era one might say. Na-Baron was energetic, he woke up to a letter from Reverend Mother; ‘’Now that you got what you came for it won’t be hard to continue.’’

It was a simple message for an ordinary man’s eyes yet Feyd-Rautha wasn’t an ordinary man. It meant that ‘’Bring stability by uniting his house with the Fremens.’’ Last night’s events showed that he needed much time to break her to his liking. He had so many questions to ask her…

After a really long time Feyd had a boyish excitement. He was having his breakfast eagerly in his bed chambers when his door knocked and his Mentat walked in. ‘’How is she?’’ he asked eating his beef. ‘’My Na-Baron, she is creating chaos. Unstable.’’ He chuckled, sucked the juice off of his thumb, ‘’Take me to her.’’

She was kept in a guest room, probably biggest room she had ever had the luxury of staying, his Mentat went in first and Na-Baron heard the immediate screams from her, he also heard some metal clinging and barged in. She was chained at the end of the room, her hands and neck. ‘’What is the meaning of this?!’’ he yelled to his Mentat, ‘’Why is my bride chained to a wall?!’’ he could feel the rage in his veins. ‘’My Na-Baron, she is aggressive and killed a servant. We had no choice.’’

‘’Leave us.’’

When the door closed a thick silence occupied the room. She was standing in her stillsuit, hair a mess, and anger in her pretty eyes, eyes that were so familiar to him. He slowly approached, watched her move to the opposite direction, as he got close he could see the red marks on her wrists and neck. He came to a stop at a white line on the floor, his Mentat must have painted it.

‘’I’m not going to hurt you little dove.’’ His voice was calm which puzzled her, he was yelling at his Mentat seconds ago. His raspy tone which was inherited in his bloodline made her take a step back. ‘’Are you hungry?’’ she was shocked at his questioning. She only nodded, ‘’If you promise to not attack my servants they will bathe you and give you clean clothes, later you can have a fulfilling meal.’’ He tilted his head, his sharp jaw pointed like a blade, ‘’How does that sound?’’ Feyd could tell that she was tired and strangers made her uneasy, Fremens were a close-knit community, didn’t like strangers but they weren’t strangers, they haven’t been for a long time. Even though she didn’t let her guard down he could feel that she was less tense. ‘’I will be back.’’

After an hour or so Feyd was informed that she didn’t attack anyone, let the maids bathe her and dress her. Now she was eating, perfect timing.

Feyd-Rautha checked himself on the mirror, he had sleeveless black tunic and black pants, black boots. As usual. He left his chambers to visit her.

He opened the guest room door to see her eating, two maids waiting at her back. Y/N stopped eating when she saw her. She had a dark purple dress, showing her elegant shoulders, as he cautiously approached she smelled like a garden of roses, her hair brushed and braided. ‘’Leave us.’’ His eyes never leaving her. As the maids were leaving he didn’t forget to press the button on his chest, he had an invisible shield. Just in case.

‘’Please,’’ he said ‘’continue.’’ He sat next to her, grabbed an apple from the fruit basket. In the menu there was red wine, cooked fish and fruit. ‘’I’ve chosen the menu for you, is it to your liking?’’ she took a sip from her wine to clean her throat, half of the fish was eaten already. ‘’What is this?’’ she pointed at the fish, this was the first time Feyd heard her in real life. He had a victorious smile which Y/N found it odd. ‘’Fish. Have you ever seen a live one before?’’

‘’No.’’

‘’They live in the sea, lakes, rivers…’’ he stood up to move close to the wall to wall window, ‘’Imagine this desert filled with water. In that water animals like fish lives.’’ He turned to see her reaction, her eyes shone interest, ‘’I’m going to take you to planets that have sea.’’ He was speaking more to himself.

‘’What do you want?’’ she asked harshly, ‘’I want you.’’

Fremens were up front about their thoughts and feelings but seeing an outsider being that way shocked her. ‘’We have the same dreams since childhood. Am I mistaken?’’ he had to be sure. She nodded, ‘’Don’t you think this is.. fate?’’ yes, she was having the same dreams of him, last night when she saw his face her body was in fight or flight and she choose flight. All she wanted to do right now get the knife from the table and jab it to his pale neck, she thought nothing was stopping her so slowly her left hand went to the table, Feyd’s back was turn but he had pointy ears. She jumped from her seat to his back, like a monkey but an invisible energy was pushing the knife from his neck. Feyd’s laughter echoed in the room and with one move he pulled her from his back and made her stand in front of him, holding her hands behind her back, now they were glued. This was the first time they were this close without war gear, he could feel her breasts pressing his chest, up close she noticed how smooth his arms were, and how masculine he was. ‘’I didn’t expect the least from you.’’ He said smiling, he was mad, that’s for sure. She lost her temper.

‘’You murdered my kin! You killed my family, my friends! I would rather die!’’ the fire in her eyes intrigued him. Her eyes were getting blurry, she was fighting to escape but his grip was strong.

‘’If they gave me the spice willingly none of this would happen.’’ He said with a serious tone, ‘’Let go of me!’’ she screamed, ‘’I would rather be eaten by Shai Hulud than be your bride!’’ she was crying now, her vision was blurry and Feyd let her go. Y/N’s tired arms which held bruises from last night hitting his chest, ‘’I have no one-‘’ she was having an attack, ‘’because of you-‘’ Feyd felt a lump in his throat, it was strange to him, he never thought he would feel sadness but here he was. He achieved everything he ever wanted but why did he have a bitter taste in his mouth?

She was shaking violently, Feyd held her, the reality of the situation hit her like a sand storm. People that she called family were gone by the hands of this man who was holding her so delicately…

These hands that were brushing her hair committed atrocities…

Months of hiding and fighting made her fall to her knees, she lost to the outsider.

‘’You have me now.’’ She heard the Na-Baron say, ‘’Shh,’’ she felt his plump lips on her hair, ‘’you have me little dove.’’ Her body gave in and she fainted.

‘’It was a seizure due to stress my Na-Baron.’’ Feyd-Rautha was by her side, she was sleeping, when Mentat left he found himself holding her hand and climbing to bed. ‘’What if this doesn’t work out?’’

The pressure of keeping his family name at its glory kicked in. Feyd lived his life to be the perfect Harkonnen, could he loose it all?

Reverend Mother was suppose to come to Arrakis in a few days to see Y/N and question her, they only had few days to get to know each other. What would happen if Reverend Mother didn’t see Y/N as a right match for their breeding program? But the dreams… element of fate.. it was too much for him. He let his body relax next to Y/N’s, still holding her hand he fell asleep.

Y/N felt a presence next to her and her eyes opened immediately. It was night, and a glowglobe lit the room dimly, the night was silent. To her left she saw him, sleeping peacefully, her hand in his, she wondered how could someone commit murder day and night and then sleep like this. No care in the world, she thought, how wrong she was.

At first she thought her dreams to be simple imagination of children, later in life the dreams grew frequent. In her dreams she kept seeing him holding her hand and leading her to new planets, the first person she told about these dreams was her father who took her to an old lady, after having a mélange session the old woman started to scream ‘’So it’s written!’’ there was an old prophecy long forgotten, a Fremen girl was going to marry an outsider which would bring stability. For years her people had fought, hid in the shadows, she never believed the prophecy and moved on but her father and her close friend and that old woman believed religiously. She turned to observe him. He looked so pure she didn’t want to believe that this man was the man she fought back at home. ‘’Like what you see?’’ his raspy voice had amusement. She didn’t move or said nothing. He opened her blue eyes, his hand gently went up to trace the outlines of her face, ‘’Give me a chance to introduce myself.’’ And he kissed her hand, together they fallen asleep again.

The next morning they had breakfast in silence, ‘’I want to show you something today.’’ He announced and he took her to the garden inside the castle. Years ago his ancestors built a garden inside that well kept and full of flowers from different planets. Y/N had never seen these before, she read about plants because she was interested in them but seeing them in real life was something else. She found herself smelling every flower, Feyd noticed the huge smile on her face, they sat among the flowers, neither of them dared to utter a word. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, she was in awe of this place and Feyd was in awe of her. She looked divine in her orange dress, she looked positively care free.

All day they didn’t speak a word to each other, Feyd gave some orders, other than that he intend to keep the silence. In silence there was no rejection, no fighting. They had dinner together, and he watched her take off her clothes wear her night gown and lay on the bed. They were in his bed chambers so he also changed and went to bed. There was a space between them which Feyd didn’t like. He was discovering new things about himself such as desire to have physical contact. Her back was turned to him, he came close and hugged her from behind, she didn’t move.

The days that followed were the same. Slowly Feyd started to give her information about his life here and there, she listened intently but her heart was with the desert. So many times Feyd caught her staring out the window, Y/N also made comments to things he said or shared memories of her past. She had to make a decision but she wasn’t in hurry since the Harkonnen’s and Fremens stopped fighting since she was captured. That night she felt the cold side of the bed and woke up, Feyd was gone, yes they slept in the same bed for days but nothing happened. She rose to her feet and fell on her knees, the castle was under attack. Sirens could be heard everywhere. Out the window she saw Fremens attack the castle, she found a knife from Feyd’s closet and left the room. The halls were packed with Harkonnen soldiers, marching outside to meet the attack and they had heavy machines, also their numbers higher than Fremens. She had to find him and put an end to this.

Bare foot she was running, they all seemed the same, pale skin and black suits. When Y/N saw his Mentat she ran to him, ‘’Where is he?!’’ she yelled, it was chaos, chaose everywhere. ‘’My lady you shouldn’t be outside.’’ She didn’t care, ‘’Where is he?!’’ she demanded. ‘’At the entrance, greeting the Fremens.’’ And she ran. Mentat was right he was fighting and killing her kin, he was a skilled killing machine.  ‘’FEYD!’’ she screamed at the top of her lungs. Fremens that knew her stopped in their tracks, shocked to see her in a luxurious night gown, they were here to collect her. ‘’FEYD!’’ the Fremen he was fighting stopped when he saw her and it made Feyd stop too, among dust and falling men he turned to face her. He was covered in blood, holding knives in both of his hands, he slashed open the Fremen’s throat and walked to her. She could feel her blood run cold.

‘’How could you?!’’ she attacked, Feyd immediately held her hand that was holding the knife, her knife dropped.

‘’Mary me!’’ he screamed, ‘’Mary me and I’ll stop the war.’’

Y/N looked around, watching her people fall to the sand and lose it was too much to bear, it was high time someone put an end to this and if it was her then she had to fulfill her destiny.

She said nothing but held his face and kissed his plump lips.

[aviawrites]

the rage of a harkonnen (dune: part two)

pairings: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Fem!Reader

summary: The Emperor’s second born daughter, Harauna, has never been truly seen by her father; Her light always being dimmed by the shine of her older sister, Irulan. As Maud’Dib continues fighting on Arrakis and her father’s spot falls farther into jeopardy, Princess Harauna sees an opportunity to finally find her place in the Imperium…Wife of the possible Emperor, ruling alongside Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. (3.9k)

a/n: i’ve already seen this movie twice and i’m going again😛 austin’s performance is so compelling, i couldn’t take my eyes off of him whenever he was on screen. i hope you all liked feyd-rautha as much as i do…otherwise i may be crazy. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: blood, death, abuse

in this story, yn is: Harauna Corrino (Harkonnen)

10191 // month 1 // 📍kaitan 

“Paul Atreides is not our only prospect.” Reverend Mother Mohiam reveals, standing before you and your sister. “The Baron’s youngest nephew, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, will inherit Arrakis. He may be the answer.”

Your eyes open wide, the name itself sending shivers down your spine. You, along with all of your family, knew of Feyd-Rautha - Knew of the Sadistic Harkonnen, known for slaughtering anyone who challenges him, even his own people. 

“Feyd-Rautha?” Irulan furrows her brows, “He’s psychotic.”

“That’s irrelevant. The question is…can we control him?” 

You stare up at the Reverend Mother’s black veil, an idea striking you.  

Since a child, it’s always been Princess Irulan - The Emperor’s daughter. Irulan will inherit the thrones, Irulan will marry Paul Atreides, Irulan will rule the empire. Never once has your father taken the time to look at you. Never once has he asked the Reverend Mother how you are as a Bene Gesserit. If he did, he’d come to learn that you’re just as equipped to take on the role of Empress as your sister. 

You know what you know - You know how impossible it is to ever be worthy of attention in your father’s eyes. The sound of marrying the prince, possibly the future Emperor, doesn’t seem distasteful. Is he a terrible man, yes. May he turn out to be a worse husband, yes. But God forgive you if you choose being the possible ruler of the empire over being second best. 

“I will marry Feyd-Rautha…” You suggest, coming out as more of a squeak. 

Their eyes dart to yours, Irulan’s gaze feeling more like knives piercing your head.

“Young Harauna-“

“No.” Your sister interjects, turning your body toward hers. “Are you crazy? Feyd-Rautha is the last man you need to marry.”

“Irulan, I want to.” You push back, your voice low. “He may be Emperor one day, we need to secure that opportunity. Do we not, Reverend Mother?”

“We absolutely do, Harauna.”

Irulan’s jaw hangs open, looking between the two of you.

“Are you serious? Reverend Mother, you know Feyd-Rautha. You’ve seen him with your own eyes - You want Hara anywhere near that?”

“She’s thinking of the Imperium, Irulan. Should Paul Atreides be alive, he will want the throne.”

“Feyd-Rautha won’t go down without a fight…” You finish for her.

“Precisely. If he loses, Paul will have a bride awaiting him.” She gestures to your sister. “But if he reigns supreme, he’ll have a Corrino by his side.”

Irulan only shakes her head, disbelief glossing in her eyes. 

“Hara…”

“Sister, I need to do this.” You whisper, softly squeezing her hands. “I can’t make decisions like you…I’m not you.”

“W- What does that mean, Hara? I don’t understand-“

“If I get in line for the throne…” You begin. “If I secure a spot for myself in the Empire, I will be nearly equal to you in father’s eyes. I’ll mean something to someone.”

A tear threatens to fall as she struggles to find words. 

“You mean something to me.” She shrugs, now wondering if that holds any value to you. “If I lose you to the Harkonnens…If I have to stay here alone while you’re on Giedi Prime I don’t know how I’ll-“ She quickly wipes her eyes, taking a breath. “I don’t know how I’ll survive this impending war without you, Hara.”

You tilt your head, bringing your hand to Irulan’s cheek. 

“Write to me, Irulan.” You smile, forcing back your own tears as you solidify this departure in your head. “Send messages to Giedi Prime, will you? Write them like you do your entries and I swear to you I’ll read each one. No matter what happens with the Harkonnen’s, I’ll always have my sister back home on my side, right?”  

A thick silence falls upon the three of you, Irulan fighting between perplex and terror as her hands began to quiver in yours.

“I’ll alert the Emperor.” Reverend Mother says, leaving the two of you.

Alone, your sister pulls you into an embrace, one of the tighter ones. She allows her tears to land on your garments, her shoulders trembling as small whimpers escape her lips.

“Don’t do this, Hara.”

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

“On your birthday of all days. The Baron should know better than to jeopardize his soon to be Planetary Governor in such a public manner. You could’ve died.” 

“I would not have died.” Your husband fiddles with his blade.

“All slaves should be drugged, should they not?” You remind him. “It’d have taken only one swift slash of the Atreides’ blade and The Baron would’ve lost his heir. He’s insane.”

“Careful, wife.” He warns, “The Baron is flawed but his promises are rich.”

“What could he possibly promise you that’s more important than the entirety of this planet?”

He stares, his eyes scanning you up and down as a small smirk grows on his face. 

“The entirety of Arrakis.” 

Creases form on your forehead, your words coming out as stammers.

“…He promises you…Arrakis?”

“If I manage to control spice production.” He explains, reveling in your dumbfounded expression. 

Your mind immediately imagines your life on Arrakis, a fate you’ve never considered. The plan was to marry Feyd-Rautha, be by his side when he defeats his opponents, have your father kneel to him, and rule the Imperium from the planet of the Harkonnens. But now, thoughts of working from the dune covered planet makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. 

“But-“ You clear your throat, “Um - Is that not Rabban’s job?”

“Rabban failed.” He seethes. “He humiliates house Harkonnen with each Fremen attack he allows. With me ruling the mission, there will be no more.”

“What’s the plan? Once you’re on Arrakis who’s to say my father won’t order you out? What if he doesn’t like how you handle-“

“The Emperor has a set fate too, Harauna. If we were to expose what he did to the Atreides’, the houses would explode. A rise against the Emperor would ensue.” He nears you, looking down at your wide eyes as he bares his blackened mouth. “The throne would be ours to take.”

You don’t know if he meant to admit to what he’s admitted to. Though, you have no doubt he’d tell you his plans to kill your father to your face, indifferent to what you might think. But even Feyd-Rautha should have some sort of limit, shouldn’t he?

“Feyd…” You murmur, “What will happen to him? What will happen to my house? My Reverend Mother, my sisters? They’re innocent they don’t deserve-“

He rolls his eyes, turning away in the midst of your oration. “Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He returns to his spot across the room. “If you want to sit next to me as Empress, I suggest you straighten out a bit, hm?”

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

14 hours later 

Feyd-Rautha’s room reeks of deceased Harkonnen bodies and dried blood as you storm in, a scowl on your face. 

Inside, you see your husband squatted by a dead servant, one that if you look too close you may realize is an acquaintance of yours. 

‘FEYD-RAUTHA RABBA HARKO-‘ He’s carved into her pale white skin, his letters bleeding into each other.

The Princess Harauna 3 months ago would scream at the sight. She’d turn and run, alerting her Reverend Mother and father that a cold blooded murderer has gotten into your home. Only…this is home. The man carving names into bodies isn’t a stranger, not an intruder, but the man you married. 

Though you’re not sure he knows it, seeing as you can practically taste the Bene Gesserit on him.

You shove, hard, knocking Feyd-Rautha off balance and onto the concrete floor.

“What the-“

“Seriously!?” You shout, watching his bewildered expression looking back at you. “You’ve not been of age for one whole day and you’ve already betrayed me!”

“You watch yourself, woman.” He warns you, spite in his eyes. 

“I can smell her on you.” You say, knowing all of the signs of a Bene Gesserit’s work, and a sexually vulnerable Feyd-Rautha. “She could be carrying your child!”

Your husband quickly calms himself, seemingly deciding not to waste energy on someone like you. On someone like his wife.

“Would you stop that yelling?” He mumbles, turning and beginning to smear the blood across the mutilated arm.

“How dare you.” You scoff. “I’m meant to be your princess. I’m meant to be your queen Feyd-Rautha! Not some girl who was on a mission. A Bene Gesserit who was here to test you and didn’t want you for more than one night-“

“You’re not any better!” He rises, his demeanor changing like night and day in a split second. 

The minute he gets angry, his energy dominates the room. “Don’t you ever think you’re a better woman for being a power hungry leech who called dibs on the heir before anyone else.” He jabs, lowering until he’s in your face. 

Your jaw hangs open, offense quickly overpowering the fear that you often feel in the presence of an angry Feyd-Rautha. Or any Feyd-Rautha, at that. 

“I don’t need you.” Your eyes pierce his, flames igniting in yours. “I’m the Emperor’s daughter, I was second in line for the throne. If anything, you needed me to get to where you-“

The wind is knocked out of you as your husband grabs your neck, instantly cutting off your words. He grins, nearly frothing at the mouth as he always does at the slightest hint of violence. He feeds off of violence, in the face of which most people quiver he greets it with a big smile, he yearns for violence, he is violence.

“I needed you, huh?” His face about brushes yours, his saliva dripping onto you. “I wasn’t at home being neglected by daddy, Harauna. I wasn’t the second choice. I didn’t need to marry to get power. I wasn’t worthless.” 

He’s entranced, his hand on your throat tightening with each sentence until you’re sure it’ll snap. You claw at his stained hands, collecting the blood of his servants under your nails.

“Husband-“ You croak, feeling the pressure in your head increase.

Feyd-Rautha only smiles, adrenaline rushing throughout him as he contemplates letting this be the end of you. Maybe he should rid himself of this royal burden before she sits with him at the top.

“Know your place, princess.” He whispers before letting you go with a shove. 

You drop to the floor, crashing into the bloody bodies on the ground and fighting for your pipes to reopen. You frantically heave as he looks down at you once more, evil in his eyes, before he leaves you where you are. 

Weeps escape you, feeling selfish as you cry in the presence of women who got it much worse. 

But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you. Nevertheless, in times like this, the possibility of being ruler of the Imperium outweighs the possibility of dying due to your attempts. 

“Be the worst position in the highest room.” Your father used to tell you, “For some never make it to the room.”

10191 // month 4 // 📍starship 

The low hum of the frigate gives the cold ambience some character. Rabban lounges across the kitchen table, his feet up on the marble. Your husband sits a few chairs down from you, sheathing and unsheathing his blade, creating a repetitive sound for the two of you to suffer through.

“Princess Harauna.” You hear as the grand doors within the starship open. A servant enters, seemingly a younger version of the Baron, with a thin metal tube in his hand. 

The big man hands it to you, bowing slightly before shuffling away.

“Say thanks to the piggy.” Feyd-Rautha teases, a devilish grin on his face.

Rabban slightly chuckles as you eye your husband, sighing before opening the letter.

“To my sister, Hara.” 

Your eyes gleam, seeming to scan faster and faster the more and more you read. The two men in the room with you don’t seem to notice, mindlessly engaging in their own boredom as the ship heats up in the weather of Arrakis. 

You shut the tube with a click, looking down at it as you weakly attempt to process what you’ve just read.  

“Paul Atreides…is coming.” You reveal, catching the attention of Rabban and Feyd-Rautha. “He makes his way from the south.”

“Paul Atreides is dead.” Rabban corrects you. 

“He didn’t die in the attack-“

“I know that, woman!” He abruptly shouts, banging the table. “I saw to it myself, him and his mother died in the-“

“Sandstorm.” You finish, much quieter than he began. “But he didn’t.”

Your husband has turned his body toward you, now intently listening.

“They live - And they challenge my father now.” You look up at the two of them, “Him. He must be this Maud’Dib, this Lisan-Al-Gaib. Who else would it be?”

“Wait,” Feyd speaks up, “Challenge your father for what, exactly?”

You meet his gaze before reopening the letter, searching for the Irulan’s line on the challenge:

Paul Atreides will arrive unannounced when we land in Arrakis in a challenge for the throne.

Rabban shakes his head. “There’s no longer a need for the Emperor on Arrakis.” He misses the point, “We’ve got the spice production under control. The old bastard can stay home.”

Feyd-Rautha leans his elbows in his knees, looking up at you with that same evil look he gets whenever a dangerous plan arises.

“Atreides’,” He thinks aloud, “They’re little rats. Insects that keep popping up no matter how many times you exterminate.”

“Should I alert the Baron?” Rabban asks, speaking quicker than his acute brain can think. 

“You will do no such thing.” Feyd demands, conjuring up his plan in his much more suitable brain. “Since the Emperor is deciding to pay us a visit despite the work l've done here…Maybe the Atreides' will do the bloody work for us. Keep us in the good graces of the Great Houses."

Bloody work, he says. The exposure and diminishing of your father’s name he means. 

“Brother.” Rabban counters, “The Atreides’ - The Fremen - They’ll have us outnumbered. Uncle should be aware-“

“You will do no such thing.” His brother orders, now loosely pointing his blade toward Rabban. “The throne is mine therefore the throne is yours. The Baron won’t make Harkonnen the greatest house, brother. I will.” He leers.

“Husband,” You voice reason, seeing all of the ways you could lose your promised spot to this scheme. “If it comes to a fight and Paul beats you-“

“He won’t beat me.”

“But if this challenge doesn’t go our way,” You hypothesize, “We could lose everything. Paul Atreides won’t let my father live, not after what he’s done. My family will hold no power, my sister will be-“

"I will remain unharmed, will I not? As will my brother.” He redirects. “Are we not your biggest concern anymore? Are we not your family, Harauna?" 

…

The ship gets hotter and hotter as you near Arrakeen. Feyd-Rautha meddles with his torso buttons on the opposite side of the room as you stare at the screen in your bedroom, broadcasting the sandy terrain of the new planet.

“What would your plans be as Emperor, Feyd-Rautha?” You query, eyes locked on the family owned land.

He sighs as he always does when you open your mouth, as if nothing his wife says is worthwhile. 

“Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He repeats.

“Just answer me…Please.” You urge, the question having appeared in your mind minutes ago and hasn’t stopped nagging since. 

“What do you think my plans are, princess?” He turns toward you, his dark and threatening eyes seeming to dim the entire room. “I’m going to make the entire Imperium Harkonnen. Our family will be the most powerful spice harvesters anyone’s ever seen.” He begins, “I’ll give my Empress a child, grow our empire, and teach my princeling how to rule.”

You listen intently, trying your hardest to envision your life going from Princess of Kaitan, to wife of the heir, to Empress of the Imperium beside Feyd-Rautha, of all men.

Be the worst position in the highest room.

Your husband goes on. “Caladan will be a thing of the past. Atreides will be a thing of the past. Harkonnen will be the great house and any others will just be…Maud’Dib.” He chuckles.

“‘Your Empress’...” You point out, never having heard your name. You only wish to hear where you and your family stand in his master plan. “Would it be me?”

He gives you his undivided attention, letting go of his leather vest. “Why must you talk so much about things that don’t matter?” He asks, true indifference and apathy in his tone.

For some never make it to the room.

“…Is it me or no one?” You speak up, your voice frantically running before your mind can catch up. “Is it me or death, Feyd-Rautha?”

Your attitude shifts in the middle of your sentence as you realize where you’ve heard these exact words before.

“You or no one, Irulan.” Your father would say, stroking your sister’s hair while the rest of you sat and waited for nothing. 

Never in your life did you plan to sit in a Harkonnen’s bedroom and beg for his approval. For his confirmation that you were his. 

But here you are, begging the worst of men to love you the way The Emperor never did. The way he never will. 

“In two moons I will be Emperor.” Feyd-Rautha strides toward you, holding your hands in his as he bores. “Harauna Harkonnen will be next to me.”

A smile grows wide on your face; An odd, yet full, feeling of acceptance spiraling throughout you.

His eyes suddenly seem to get even darker as his grip on your hands morphs into a crushing clutch. “For as long as she knows her place, she will remain.”

Ice replaces the once warm feeling in your veins. Your smile fades as his grows, watching the fear in you rise with each squeeze of your fingers. Tears form in your eyes as the reality of your situation sets in once more as it has over and over since you step foot on Giedi Prime.

But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you.

10191 // month 4 // 📍arrakeen

two days later

You all stand completely still, your heartbeat seeming to be louder than the atomics outside of the Emperor’s structure. Inside the ring of Sardukaur lies your family; Irulan hiding behind your father as Maud’Dib, in front of your eyes, holds a blade over the Baron.

You and Feyd-Rautha stand alone across the walkway, your husband seemingly hypnotized by Paul Atreides as he plunges it into his uncles neck. Your hand resting on Feyd’s lower back vibrates as his breathing heavies, being just as amazed by Paul as you are. 

The both of your mouths hang open, and for once, you and your husband seem to be on the same page. Paul begins barking orders at your father as you bring your lips to Feyd’s ear, speaking in a hushed whisper to not interfere with the daring Paul Maud’Dib.

“In the event of your death…” You begin. He slightly cocks his head toward you, listening. “Would you have me marry him?”

Paul gives one last daring look at the sea of people standing against him, though, he seems as fearless as your husband as his expression never wavers from stone. 

“Is he worthy?”

Feyd-Rautha doesn’t so much as flinch at your comment, new, for a man like him. You can’t help but believe it’s because you’re right. The na-Baron recognizes that the viciousness that is Paul Atreides, no matter how unexpected, is a perfect match for him. A perfect match for his wife. 

Is he wrong to admit that if not him, Paul may be the closest thing to fit to be Emperor of the universe?

…

You’ve never laid eyes on a fight so glorious. The two most powerful and ferocious men on Arrakis clinking their blades again and again in a battle for the throne. 

The room falls silent as your husband lodges his sword into Paul, holding him close as one of the two release an animalistic roar. His mother stands, his Fremen’s mouths hang agape, your husband just hardly smiles at you over his shoulder. 

You can’t help but feel a sense of dread boiling in your stomach. Yes - You want Feyd-Rautha to reign supreme. Yes, you want to be Empress. But as you watch the devilish sneer on his face fill out as Paul’s blood stains his pasty hand, your heart seems to be pulling you in another direction. You’ve always been quite talented at telling good from bad; But Maud’Dib, you can’t seem to figure out. He lays in the gray area in between the two, you determine. 

Your reflection is quickly halted as the squelching sound of an edge piercing skin fills the room. You sway to the side, eyes wide as you see Paul’s hand gripping the handle, the rest buried into your husband’s heart. 

A gasp escapes many in the room, you included as a hand flies to your mouth. You and your father very well may be the only people in the room who are rooting for Feyd-Rautha. Knowing this, the smiles that sprinkle themselves on attendants throughout the room quickly after the inhale isn’t unanticipated. 

“You…” His raspy voice is almost too quiet for you to catch as he fights for each breath. “You fought well…Atreides.”

He slowly turns his head just far enough to have you in his sight. Even in death, Feyd-Rautha remains as menacing as the day you first met him. 

He has no words for you. He only bares that stupid, prideful, blackened smile that got him stabbed in the first place. 

You seem in a trance as you watch his body thud to the floor, looking as lifeless as the women on his bedroom floor back home. 

“Lisan-Al-Gaib!” A Fremen leader calls, breaking the silence as his people repeat after him.

Paul Atreides, Feyd-Rautha’s murderer, rises. He limps toward you and your family, prompting your sister to swiftly grab your free hand as the other slowly lowers from your lips. 

You had no love for Feyd-Rautha, nothing real. For him you experienced nothing that you should feel for a husband. Nevertheless, the tears flow all the same. 

"The life debt has been paid.” Irulan blurts, squeezing your hand as Paul nears you. “Spare my father and I will be your willing bride. The throne will be yours."

Her words snap you out of your haze, throwing you into the face of reality as it strikes you in the heart. 

"I'll take the hand of your daughter. She will remain safe and we will rule together over the empire." Paul declared.

In the span of seconds you imagine the moment a trillion different ways. If only he had nodded toward you, not Irulan.

‘Where is integrity?’ You wonder. 

Where is honor in sacrifice when you've given all you know to give and you still don't win. You can never seem to come out on top. You can never seem to be first…But your sister can, as she always does.

You snatch your hand away from your Irulan’s; Your eyes glued to your father, now kneeling, as rage grows within you. The rage of all of the rejection you've faced, the rage of all you have given to get to where you are, the rage of now wishing Feyd-Rautha had stuck Paul Atreides' head on a spike for all of Arrakis to see.

The rage of a Harkonnen.

[sebastianswallows]

Dreamed of you

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit sister is sent to kill Feyd. She hesitates as she watches him sleep, all the way until he wakes up and catches her.

— WARNINGS: none, just reader simping for one cute boy

— WORDCOUNT: 1k

— A/N: First of all, this isn't necessarily movie!Feyd, it's more based on the books, but I love him in all his forms. I wrote this in a bout of madness this evening, and it's just a love letter to how beautiful and soft and sad Feyd canonically is. That is all.

A shadow in the corner moved. The door shut behind her with a hiss. Outside, the chanting of his name resounded like a distant wave. Feyd. A myriad of emotions raged inside the way that sylphic syllable was said. So mangled and intense were they that she could hardly tell, even after weeks of being on Giedi Prime, if the feeling in their voices was that of fear, or love.

He had won another battle in the arena tonight. Half-fight, half-play, all a spectacle of violence kept elegant and grim with the flourished motions of his blades in inky black and white. The celebrations were kept modest afterwards. This was no birthday.

His chambers smelled of sweet sweat and bitter blood. It filled her lungs as soon as she stepped in. He slept now, quietly, in a surprisingly small bed. As she approached him, dagger in hand, she realised it was not so small — he just took little space on it.

He slept huddled to one side, his body curled within the black sheets as if he were in a womb.

The na-Baron was an arresting sight, like a work of art left interrupted. His marble-white arms hugged a pillow to his chest, and from beneath a curve of silk draped over him, the corner of a knee peeked through. The soft line of his eyes revealed a dour bend in sleep, delicate dark lashes resting like butterfly wings on his cheeks. His full lips, decadent and lustful, were pulled into a pout. She wondered what he was dreaming of.

Beneath this impressive amalgam of his features, from the dainty to the sultry to the broad shoulders and strong arms, he was just a little boy. Motherless and far from home, preyed on by his uncle, worshipped by a distant crowd. Useless, now that the Atreides line had ended and a child had been secured from him by Lady Fenring.

The Kwisatz Haderach would have to be reached through other means, and from a bloodline less volatile than that of the Harkonnens. They had proved uncooperative, hostile — the Baron, his nephews, even Lady Jessica. Born to be an asset, they made themselves a threat. That was why Feyd-Rautha had to die.

She stood over his black bed.

The guards outside were dealt with, the courtiers were asleep, and the drunk and maddened crowd outside would not realise what happened until it was too late. This was the result of years of planning, months of preparation, and weeks spent on that polluted planet pretending to be one of the new interrogation trainers.

Torturing was not her forté, but there were worse fates than cutting men’s tendons clean or gouging out their eyeballs. All the “noble” prisoners were already long dead before she got there. Failed Harkonnens was all that was left. And all men bled the same.

She stood over his black bed with a knife.

“He must die,” she thought to herself, an angry frown blooming on her brow. Her body was already rebelling. “The Reverend Mother demands it. He must die.”

She stood over his black bed with a knife. And faltered.

The blade shone silver in the low electric light, hanging like a teardrop from her fist. Her body refused to move.

Should she really kill him now? Perhaps she should wait for him to turn on his back. What would it hurt to look at him a second more, just another, and another…? He was a good fighter, no matter the arrangements of the arena. Would it not be ignoble to slay him this way? Generations of genetic planning had culminated in him, and to let it all go now...

Her mind’s motions, the fleshy resistance, it all came to nothing in an instant, blown away like snowflakes on the sand. There was a change in the air all around them, a stillness where unconsciousness was before, a presence, like a horn blown through a storm in the lighthouses of old, sounds swallowed by sounds, an impact of cells in the air blooming into a single point of light. Feyd-Rautha opened his eyes.

She only caught the hint of an impish smile before she backed away as quickly as an indrawn breath. Her back hit the door and her hand scrambled for the handle, but he was upon her with the same speed he applied in his gladiatorial fights.

How could she have missed the signs that he had woken? Had his breathing even changed?

“Got you now,” he purred against her cheek, “Bene Gesserit.”

She bit back a scream, her skull pressed against the metal door, and with clenched teeth, she began a sharp command — the Voice. But her anger overwhelmed her and Feyd’s lips swallowed the words she hadn’t even finished speaking.

“Let me g—”

He kissed her like a lover. There was a passion in him that his ostentations of brutality had not yet killed and she found herself moaning, instinctively pleased with the full and masculine presence that swallowed her being — as if it wasn’t a murderer who had caught her just now.

His breathing was steady, as if he had planned all of that. From beyond the thick folds of her dress, she could feel his naked flesh. They clung to him, her clothes, as if they wanted to embrace him. His left hand held her fist, the blade trapped within their entangled grip. The other held her jaw, tilting her face high enough for his lips.

“I knew you’d come,” he breathed, pausing to rest his mouth on hers. She could taste ink on her tongue — the final traces from the coating on his teeth. “I dreamed of you.”

So that was how he knew. That was why he pouted in his sleep.

“Will you kill me?” he whispered.

She could feel it on her cheeks when that boyish smile of his grew.

“I have to,” she said, and her own voice betrayed her, sounding terribly broken.

“Try,” Feyd grinned.

[midnighvtm4ss]

Rosemary

Summary: Kidnapped in the middle of the night you’re dragged far away from camp by the ruthless Lemoyne Raiders. Your disappearance a painful wound for Arthur who has to, quite literally, fight for your love back.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: angst, hurt/comfort (finallyyy !!!) description of gun fight, kidnapping, heavy themes

wc: 5k

a/n: so we’ve finally come to the end of this silly little story. The comfort is finally here woohoo !! I’m actually kinda proud of this chapter because I tried a different approach to writing and idk,, i like it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to every single one of you who liked Rosemary and filled my days with love, I’ll forever be grateful to all of you. A slightly better version of Rosemary will be posted on my ao3 account along with a new series im writing following John Marston and the reader. The plot for it will be revealed in a few days. As always let me know what you think of this chapter <33 (gif from pinterest)

Pain.

The very first thing you noticed was the pain—a sharp, throbbing agony spreading from the back of your head to the front. You winced as you tried to move your hands to support your head but your limbs felt heavy, almost as if you were trying to lift one of Pearson’s flour bags.

Everything was dark. A muffled piercing sound rang through your skull. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, but failing as the pitch darkness of the thick woods clouded your vision. Trying your hardest to get out of your dream-like state you decided to focus your mind on what exactly was happening, the last thing you remembered was your fight with Arthur and taking a walk into the woods outside camp. And then the pain. Oh, the pain was killing you.

You had to go back to camp and ask Reverend Swanson for some medicine.

You once again tried to raise your hands to your head to check for blood but your action, unfortunately, was unsuccessful. And then you felt it. The rough, scratching sensation of rope digging into your wrists. Your arms were bound tightly behind your back, the coarse braided fibers of the rope biting into your skin with every slight movement. Panic flooded your mind, its freezing tide rushing down on you as you realized that you were tied up.

“She’s comin’ to. We better hurry up before she starts and give us trouble,” A low, hoarse voice cut through your panic haze.

From your lying position, what seemed like the figure of a large man could be made out approaching you in the darkness. You felt yourself being hoisted roughly into the air, before you were slung harshly like a sack of potatoes, across something hard. A horse, you judged by the pungent smell of hay that invaded your nostrils. The saddle dug painfully into your side as the animal began to move forward under the command of its rider. The sudden movement made you almost throw up, your head pounding rhythmically with each rapid beat of hooves on the woods ground. You wanted to scream but no sound escaped your throat, the pain in your body too intense. As the horse rode further and further into the woods you could feel your consciousness slowly slip away,

‘Arthur,’ you managed to utter before darkness took over you.

The second time you awoke, it was due to the biting cold of dawn. The sky above was just starting to lighten, the first rays of sunrise penetrating through the dense treetops, coloring everything in pale hues. You were lying on the ground again, your body stiff and muscles aching. You shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering together, your dress doing a poor job at keeping you warm, as you tried your best to gather your scattered thoughts. The men were still nearby, the sound of their hushed voices mixing with the rustling of leaves blowing in the wind. Despite the overwhelming pain and tiredness you felt washing all over your body you forced yourself to stay awake.

You rolled to the side as best as you could, mud staining the soft colored fabric of your dress and cheeks, trying to find out where they had taken you. You knew you had to think clearly, to find a way out of this nightmare. Your eyes, although blurred, scanned the area in front of you. You were in the Bayou area, the shadow of tall trees and surrounding swamp a dead giveaway of the location and judging by the various bottles of moonshine all over the place, your kidnappers probably took you to an old moonshine distillery camp.

“You sure she’s worth all this trouble?” a high pitched voice asked.

“What, a beauty like her ? Absolutely partner,” another man responded, his tone cruel. “Just keep her quiet until the boss comes back, then we’ll have ourselves a real party,” he added laughing.

Fear gripped your chest like a vise—you could hear footsteps approaching, quick and heavy. Rough hands grabbed you by the shoulders, flipping you over onto your back, your eyes focusing just enough to see the blurred outline of a man’s face looming above you, the bitter smell of liquor and tobacco taking over your senses, the end of his yellow scarf tied around his neck dangling down in front of you. Lemoyne raiders.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mockery as he smiled down at you. He took out a small pocket knife from his satchel leaning in closer. The blade flashed in front of your eyes as he lowered it down to your cheek, slowly moving it down towards your neck without breaching your skin.

Your breath caught up in your throat, your chest rising and falling rapidly making you lightheaded as the blade touched the sensitive skin of your neck. Your heart pounded so violently in your chest that it made you physically sick. A strained whimper left your lips as tears welled up in your eyes blurring your vision. You were completely frozen in place, terrified under the man’s knife. The man menacingly laughed at the sound you let out, flashing his yellow teeth at you, satisfaction evident in his cold eyes.

He roughly manhandled you up by your arm, his tight grip leaving dark bruises on your skin as your feet dragged in the mud. The man pushed you inside a decaying wooden cabin, its interior surprisingly worse than the exterior, you noted as you were sat down on a small chair positioned in the corner of the entrance room, far away from the door.

Another man, much smaller than the previous one, grabbed you by your hair lifting your face towards his making you wince.

“You’re gonna stay nice ‘nd quiet Miss,” he said before stuffing your mouth with a dirty piece of cloth, the bitter taste of dirt making you gag.

The two men spared you one last glance, a satisfied expression painting their faces, before leaving the cabin to join their other men outside, locking you in.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The usual cheerful chirping of birds coming from the trees surrounding Clemens Point camp acted as a morning alarm for Arthur. The chill morning air biting at his exposed ankles, his blanket messily tangled up his torso as a result of the restless night he spent tossing and turning, waiting for you to come back. He knew that following you was the wrong choice. You wanted some space from him and he respected that, but his heart couldn’t help but ache at the missing warmth of your body in his bed. He waited and waited for you, his eyes growing heavy as he rehearsed in his mind all the ways he could make it up to you, until his body succumbed to its tiredness and fell asleep.

Putting on his hat he lazily walked towards the coffee brewer on the campfire near the ladies’ tents, his mind replaying the events of the night. The way you looked at him as if he had just shoved a knife into your chest, your pretty eyes bloodshot and puffy from the constant crying. Your trembling form making its way out of your shared tent hunting his mind like a vengeful ghost. He loathed himself for that. It was his damn fault. He had to make it right and he’d do anything to take all the pain he caused away.

Sure you had slept with the girls since you never made it back to your tent last night, he expected to find you chatting away with Tilly as the both of you usually prefered to start early on your morning chores, his steps carrying him with a determined aura, but once he made it in front of the ladies’ tents you were not there. His face scrunched up in confusion as a small glimmer of concern planted its root in his head. That same glimmer grew rapidly as he darted his eyes around camp seeing no signs of your presence.

“Arthur,” the gentle sound of Abigail’s voice snapped him out of his turmoil.

“Abigail, hi.” he answered absently, eyes still scanning the camp’s grounds in hope of catching a glimpse of you.

“Look, I don’t want to be nosy but is everything alrigh’ between you two ? I heard you two yelling last night, she was pretty shaken up before you arrived”

“Yes, no—I don’t know. We had an argument, and she didn’t sleep in our bed last night. Can't blame her really, but I can’t seem to find her,” he explained, concern radiating out of every fiber in his body “Have you seen her ?”

“No, not since last night. Maybe she just needs some time alone” she reassured, placing her hand on his shoulder. The gesture soothing his worried thoughts.

“Yeah maybe you’re righ—“ Arthur didn’t get to finish his sentence as the cutting voice of Leopold Strauss interrupted him.

“Herr Morgan, Herr Morgan. Busy, my friend ?” The Austrian man approached him, a folded piece of paper in hand.

Arthur's shoulders dropped. He dreaded working for Strauss, but the older man was persistent, always ready with another fella to squeeze dry for some cash. Sure, the money helped keep the gang afloat, put food on the table, and clothes on the backs of the women and children, but the work, well, the work was dirty. It was the kind of work that gnawed at a man’s conscience.

“What is it now,” Arthur turned to face him, Abigail excusing herself, patting his back before leaving to wake Jack up. Strauss handed him the piece of paper, fortunately for Arthur only one name was scribbled down. ‘Gwyn Hughes’

“He’s an undertaker in Rhodes, he shouldn’t be giving you any trouble but he’s a slippery fellow. Just scare him and collect the debt” he explained. Arthur sighed accepting the job, wondering when all this loan sharking business would come to an end. You always hated when he’d go out dealing with Strauss’ business, saying how the gang should steal from the rich to help the poor and not steal from the poor to help the poor. He knew deep down inside of him you were right, but unfortunately money is money and with the gang’s situation looking far from good, every single cent counted.

He put the paper in his satchel before walking towards the hitching post, his gaze falling on your Tennessee Walker before mounting his horse.

“Oi english!” Sean called out from his lookout post “you look like shit this mornin’”

“Yeah well, don’t I always,” Arthur groaned before signaling his horse to move forward.

The collection of the debt turned out stranger than Arthur ever imagined. As it turned out Gwyn Hughes, the debtor, planned to pay back his debt by robbing a woman’s grave and as if that wasn’t enough he tasked Arthur to clear the cemetery and eventually stop the people from coming in. By noon, Arthur left Rhodes with a diamond brooch, a few bruises on his face and a confused conscience.

He returned to camp exhausted, his body and mind heavy, the dirty work weighed heavily on him as he hitched his horse near camp. All he wanted now was to see you, hear the sweet sound of your voice, even if you’d yell at him. He just wanted to see you. But as he ventured inside the camp, the usual hum of chatter was gone, the atmosphere heavy. Something was off. Abigail and Sadie were the first to come up to him, Abigail face pale while Sadie scanned around camp anxiously.

“Arthur,” the brunette called out, her voice rising with an edge of worry as they hurried towards him. “She ain’t been back”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat “Wha—What do you mean she ain’t been back ? Nobody’s seen her ?”

“Last time I saw her was last night, I was on lookout and saw her headin’ out towards the woods, thought she was goin’ for a walk” Sadie explained, her expression filled with worry. “I asked ‘round camp and no one has seen her today”

His stomach dropped as numerous possibilities of what could’ve happened to you flashed through his mind. Without muttering a word to the two women, Arthur stormed over to Dutch’s tent, the latter standing outside talking to Hosea about the recent developments on the Gray-Braithwaite situation. The moment they saw Arthur approaching their conversation dissolved, the look on his face signaling them that something was off.

“What’s the matter Arthur ?” Dutch asked, concern dancing in his eyes.

“It’s about her, she went out last night and no one has seen her since” he explained, his voice strained. Dutch expression hardened

“You think something happened to her ?”

“I do, yeah”

“Alright then better move quickly, Charles! Bill !” Dutch called, his voice reverberating across the camp calling out the two men. “Arthur’s Miss is missing. I want you two to go out with him, see if you can track her down. The others, I want all eyes on the perimeters of camp, if she comes back you holler. Nobody moves from camp.”

Charles, who had been crafting some poisonous arrows near by the campfire, quickly dropped his task as he listened to what happened. He quickly gathered all his gear and began to move towards the horses, Bill just a few paces behind him.

“We’ll find her, Arthur. She’s gonna be okay” Hosea consoled him, but the older man's words did little to calm Arthur’s racing heart.

Within minutes, the three men were mounted on their horses and heading into the woods where Sadie had last seen you. Arthur’s mind was racing, a dangerous storm of fear and anger bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. Not after everything that happened.

The woods were dense, the tall trees casting deep shadows that made it difficult to see much of anything, but luckily Charles was an expert tracker, the hunter’s keen eyes scanning every inch of the ground for any sign of you.

After what felt like an eternity for Arthur, Charles held up his hand, signaling the other two men to stop. He dismounted Taima and crouched down, examining something on the ground. Arthur quickly joined him, his breath catching in his throat as he saw what his friend had found.

It was her bracelet, the golden one he had gifted you for your first anniversary. The small wristlet laid in the dirt, the delicate chain now broken. Arthur felt the whole world crashing down on him as he picked it up, his hands shaking in a mix of anger and fear.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

As the hours dragged on, you struggled to stay alert. The pain in your head had dulled to a persistent ache, but every muscle in your body screamed in protest with every small movement. Your wrist burned, blood dripping down your hands as you tried to wriggle them out of your ropes, the process slow and agonizing, but you could feel the ropes loosening further and further. You just needed to grit your teeth through the pain. The men had become less concerned about you, talking and drunkenly laughing amongst themselves, making you nauseous at their inhumanity.

Then a man entered the cabin, followed by two others behind him. He was tall and well built, his hairline receding leaving his hair to hang awkwardly on the sides. By the way he dragged himself around you deduced he was their leader. He crouched down beside you, his face dangerously close to yours, his breath fanning in your face making you scrunch your nose at the rancid smell of his breath. He reached out to check your ropes, tightening them furthermore, the action causing bolts of pain to shoot through your body.

“What was a pretty lady like yourself doing all alone in the woods mh?” He took out the now drenched piece of cloth out of your mouth. You swallowed, feeling your dry throat burning at the action.

You couldn’t muster the strength to respond. Your head lolled to the side as the man stepped back, a sinister grin plastered on his face. Then a harsh, stinging sensation hit your cheek.

“I said what were you doing all alone in the woods, slut” Tears welled in your eyes, both from the pain and the hopelessness of your situation. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Arthur. You had to hold on, had to find a way to escape, if not for yourself, then for him. He would come for you—you knew it deep down in your heart, but you needed to survive until then.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

Arthur’s eyes burned with anger and fear. He clenched his fists around the bracelet, his mind racing. “She was here,” Charles said quietly, his voice grim. “And she wasn’t alone. Look at these tracks, it seems like there was a struggle. She was taken.”

“By who?” asked Bill.

Charles pointed his finger to the ground, where the faint outline of various boot prints led away from their spot. “Judging by the tracks, it looks like a group of men. Three, maybe four. Could be Lemoyne Raiders. They must’ve grabbed her and taken her somewhere nearby. At this point the only place near is the old moonshine distillery.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold at the thought of you in the hands of the Raiders. The Lemoyne Raiders were known for their brutality, his encounter a few weeks prior with Sadie confirmed their reputation. The thought of what they could be doing to you filled him with a rage so intense it nearly consumed him.

“We find their hideout, and we get her out,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, already mounting up on his horse “I’m gonna kill all them goddamned bastards. I don’t care what it takes.”

Mounting their horses they followed the tracks, the three men riding fast through the woods. Thankfully it hadn’t rained so the trail was still clearly visible. It led them deeper into the Bayou region, the trees growing thicker and the air heavier with humidity and tension.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they spotted the moonshine distillery through the trees. It was a crumbling mess of buildings, half-hidden by the vegetation in the shadows, but there was no mistaking it. A few horses were tethered outside, and faint light flickered from the windows of an old cabin.

Arthur’s heart pounded as he dismounted. Charles and Bill followed him as they hid behind a crumbled stone wall, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. Their eyes scanned the area, there was a man guarding the horses while a group of five others were sitting near by the campfire, drinking and laughing with each other. He exchanged a quick glance with Bill and Charles. This was it. They’d kill those bastards outside, storm the cabin, take out anyone who stood in their way, and get you out of there.

“Let’s go, I’ll take that guard near the horses out” Bill whispered, his voice steady with resolve. He made quick work of killing the guard, his knife glimmering just a second in the light before settling into the man’s neck. Charles and Arthur joined Bill in action. Arthur was the first to shoot his gun, the bullet piercing clean through one of the men’s chest. Then all hell broke loose.

Bullets went flying as the Lemoyne Raiders spotted them, the air filled with smoke and gunpowder as both sides fought violently. Their position didn’t offer too much cover, the Lemoyne Raiders, although drunk, fought hard, their guns never stopping. A stray bullet scraped Arthur’s arm but that didn’t stop him as he barely registered it. His mind was singularly focused on one thing—getting to you before it was too late. And in just a few minutes Arthur, Charles and Bill managed to take down all five men outside. Moving quickly out of their cover they reached the front of the cabin, and with a nod from Arthur, they burst through the door.

Chaos erupted as they stormed inside. The few Lemoyne Raiders inside the cabin barely had time to react before Bill and Charles opened fire, cutting them down where they stood. Arthur moved with deadly precision, his eyes scanning the room for any sign ofyou. And then he saw you, tied to a chair in the corner of the room, your face bruised, wrist bloody but alive. You were alive

The last of the Raiders fell as Arthur rushed to your side, his hands quickly working to untie the ropes that bound you so tightly. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, you thought this was just your mind playing tricks but tears welled up in your eyes falling rapidly down your face when you realized it wasn’t your mind playing tricks, it was really him. Arthur had found you.

“Arthur,” you barely whispered, your voice hoarse and weak.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmured, his voice shaking as he finally freed you from the chair. He quickly checked you for more injuries before pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’d never let go. “I’ve got you sweetheart. You’re safe now.” You were still in shock from the whole ordeal, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions—fear from the attack, but also a deep, undeniable relief that Arthur was there with you. In this moment you both forgot your fight, your mixed feelings and both held each other, the intensity of the moment washing over you. You held each other for a few seconds longer before separating. A strange turmoil of emotion took over you as you looked around the room seeing the body of your kidnappers unmoving on the ground. Unable to look at them a second more you diverted your attention back to the group of outlaws in front of you.

The first who broke the silence that fell around you was Bill, awkwardly clearing his throat before adding “We need to get movin’ all this gunfight definitely caught someone’s attention”

Arthur offered his hand to you and you took it, using it as leverage to get yourself up to your feet. Your vision spotting for a second before coming back. You didn’t find in your heart to let go of his hand, his warm skin offering you peace. They escorted you out towards the horses. Arthur helping you up on his before sitting behind you, his strong arms holding you tightly to his chest giving you support. The last thing you felt was Arthur chaste kiss on your temple before you let yourself fall asleep.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the camp as the day slowly faded into night. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding your tent. Inside the tent, the air was still, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

You were finally out of the cot after three days of recovery. The girls had come to check up on you in the morning, bringing you a mug of coffee and a pack of chocolate biscuits Mary Beth had managed to steal from the general store. The pain had dulled, your wounds were slowly healing, but the ache in your heart was still fresh, raw from everything that had happened. Arthur had barely left your side the entire time, his presence a constant, quiet comfort, but the words exchanged between you could count on your fingers. The silence between you two was loaded, filled with everything unsaid, with everything that had been tearing at you long before the kidnapping.

The both of you were now in your shared tent, you sat on the edge of the bed absently tracing the edge of an empty tin cup of peaches with your fingers. The room felt suffocating, but you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding this conversation any longer. The memory of those letters, the sight of Arthur and Mary together in Rhodes, his lies. it all still stung, a wound that hadn’t yet healed.

Arthur was seated on the small chair at the foot of the bed, his head hung low, hands toying with the rope that wrapped around his worn hat, face brim as if bracing himself for what was to come. He had watched over you, cared for you, over the past three days but there was a palpable distance between you two now that neither of you could ignore. You could see the lines of worry etched into his face, the guilt that had been gnawing at him for days.

Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice barely above a whisper “Arthur, we need to talk.��

He looked up at you, his aqua eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something else, something that made your heart ache more at his sight. “I know,” he replied quietly, his voice rough and tired from the last couple sleepless nights. “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what happened, before all this mess.”

You took a deep breath, gathering the strength you needed to confront him, to confront the hurt that had been tearing at your heart. “You lied to me, Arthur. About the letters, about Mary. About everything.”

He winced at your words, the truth of them hitting him hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I thought—I thought if I didn’t tell you, it would hurt less. That it wouldn’t matter, ‘cause it was supposed to be nothin’. But it was a mistake. I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the pain of those memories sharp like the ghost of the tip of the Lemoyne Raider’s knife on your neck. “I saw you two together, Arthur. In Rhodes. You both looked so happy. It felt like, like my worst fears were coming true. Like I was losing you.”

Arthur stood up slowly, taking a tentative step in front of you. His hand reached out, but he stopped mid air, hesitating as if he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “Mary, she just needed help after the passing of her husband. She didn’t have anyone else to turn to and I didn’t have the guts to shut her down. So I helped her. I didn’t want to drag you into it ‘cause I didn’t want you to worry.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for the truth. “But you lied, Arthur. And that hurt more than anything.”

He nodded, his expression pained. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to make things worse between us. But I can see now that I did that anyway by not bein’ honest.” A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, trying to keep your composure. “I love you, Arthur. But I can’t live like this, I can’t live wondering if there’s something you’re not telling me, if there’s a part of you that’s still with her.”

Arthur’s face scrunched with regret. “There ain’t. I swear to you, there ain’t. She’s from another life, a life I walked away from a long time ago. Jt’s you I love darlin’. It’s always been you.”

You looked down at the tin cup in your hands the juice residue sloshing as you toyed with the cup, your fingers trembling with the heavy weight of your next decision. “I don’t know if I can just forget what happened Arthur, it hurt too much.”

He stepped closer, this time his hand gently cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “I don’t expect you to forget. All I’m askin’ you is to try. Try give us another chance. I’ll do better, I swear it. I’ll be honest with you, about everything. No more secrets.”

His touch was warm as his thumb stroked your cheek, comforting you and despite the hurt, you couldn’t deny that bright flame of love that still burned inside of you for him. You met his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the sheer desperation in them. He made a stupid mistake of thinking for you, but he was now acknowledging his mistake, he was willing to try and be a better man for you, a man you could see your future into.

You let your tears fall freely now as you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I want to try, Arthur. I want to believe in you, in us again.”

He kneeled down to your height and held you into his arms, holding you close as you cried against his chest, the tension of the past days finally breaking down. His hand gently stroked your hair, his voice a low murmur of comfort in your ear.

“We’ll make it work, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 10

dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

"𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦,"

summary: joel need to take you away

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 10

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 9

next | chapter 11

The church was filled with the low hum of whispered conversations, the soft rustling of fabric, and the faint creak of wooden pews as everyone settled into their seats. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and the distant, lingering notes of the organ that had played earlier in the evening. The Millers had arrived early, securing their usual spot near the back. Tommy sat at the edge of the row, closest to the aisle, with Maria beside him, cradling little Luke in her arms. Ellie sat next, her gaze darting nervously between the people around her and the silent figure of Joel at the far end.

Joel’s eyes were fixed ahead, but they saw nothing. He was lost in the labyrinth of his own mind, where the echoes of the past few days reverberated endlessly. The shower had done little to wash away the stain of his actions, the memory of the blood, the bodies buried deep in the place that only Joel who knows. He had done it all for you—to protect you, to keep you safe—but now the weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating, as if the very walls of the church were closing in.

Ellie, sensing the tension radiating from him, leaned closer. “Are you alright, Joel?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s reply was curt, clipped. “Yes,” he muttered, though his tone was distant, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Ellie hesitated, then ventured another question, her concern for you evident. “How is uh...how is she?”

Joel nodded stiffly, his gaze still locked forward. “She’s getting better,” he said, though the words felt hollow, as if he were trying to convince himself more than Ellie.

"Is she going to perform?" Ellie ask again.

Joel nodded, Ellie frowned, her brow furrowing in worry. “And you’re gonna let her? She’s…”

Before she could finish, Joel cut her off, his voice a low growl. “Ellie, that’s what she wants.”

Ellie fell silent, her lips pressing into a thin line. She nodded, but the unease lingered in her eyes. She knew something was wrong, something beyond what Joel was willing to admit.

Meanwhile, Tommy and Maria exchanged puzzled glances. The opening prayers were supposed to have started by now, yet the pulpit remained empty, the service delayed. Tommy craned his neck, scanning the room, before catching sight of Joe, one of the church officials, passing by.

“Joe, what’s going on?” Tommy asked in a hushed tone. “Why hasn’t the prayer started?”

Joe leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial. “The prayer was supposed to be led by Pastor Ben, but no one’s seen him since last night.”

At the mention of Ben’s name, Joel’s heart skipped a beat. The blood drained from his face as a cold dread washed over him, the weight of his deeds crashing down on him anew.

Tommy frowned. “So who’s going to lead?”

“Reverend Gibson,” Joe replied. “He’s on his way.”

Tommy nodded, then turned back to Joel, his expression curious. But Joel was already lost in his thoughts, his mind racing. He should have known better than to kill Pastor Ben. He should have known that Ben’s absence wouldn’t go unnoticed, that people would start asking questions, that suspicion would inevitably follow. But what choice did he have? If he hadn’t silenced Ben, you would have been taken from him. They would have torn you away, locked him up, or worse. The thought was unbearable, a dark void that threatened to swallow him whole.

His mind spiraled, chaotic thoughts twisting and turning, each more desperate than the last. The church felt like a cage, the air thick and suffocating. The walls seemed to close in, the eyes of the congregation boring into him, as if they knew, as if they could see the blood on his hands, the bodies buried in the floor, hidden beneath layers of cement. Every creak of the pew, every whisper felt like an accusation, a judgment passed down by the very God he no longer believed would forgive him.

A sudden movement broke through his thoughts. Your father emerged from the shadows behind the pulpit, his presence commanding the room. Joel watched him with a cold detachment. As Joel scanned the room, searching for you, his eyes fell on your mother instead. She sat across the aisle, her head bowed low, a wide-brimmed flowered hat obscuring her face, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders in a way that seemed… off. It was as if she were hiding, trying to shield herself from prying eyes. But you were nowhere to be seen.

Something's wrong...

A knot of unease tightened in Joel’s chest. As your father began to speak, calling the congregation to rise for the opening prayer, Joel’s gaze flicked back to your mother. She seemed fragile, almost broken, her posture slumped, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. And still, you were not there. The absence of your presence gnawed at him, fueling the growing fear that something was very, very wrong.

The congregation rose, a sea of bodies moving in unison as your father’s voice echoed through the church, strong and commanding. But beneath the surface of his words, there was something else—a venomous undercurrent, a cold, sharp edge that sent a shiver down Joel’s spine.

As your father began the prayer, his eyes locked onto Joel’s, a dark, knowing gaze that chilled him to the bone. The words of the prayer dripped with sanctimony, each phrase a thinly veiled condemnation, as if the prayer was a weapon aimed directly at him.

“Lord,” your father began, his voice resonating through the sacred space, “we ask for Your divine mercy on this day, for those who have strayed from Your path. For those who have allowed sin to corrupt their hearts, who have tainted the innocent with their filth.”

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, each word a blow that landed squarely on his conscience. He felt the weight of your father’s gaze, the burning intensity of it, as if your father knew, as if he could see right through him, into the dark, hidden places where Joel’s secrets festered.

“Grant us the strength, O Lord,” your father continued, his voice rising, “to cleanse ourselves of the impurity that has seeped into our lives. To protect the pure from those who seek to defile them, who seek to drag them down into the mire of sin.”

Joel’s breath caught in his throat. His mind raced, a whirlwind of fear and guilt. The congregation around him bowed their heads, their voices murmuring in unison, lost in prayer. But Joel couldn’t focus on the words, couldn’t find any solace in them. All he could do was scan the room, searching for you, his eyes darting from face to face, desperately trying to find you. But you weren’t there. Where were you?

As the gospel music swelled, your father’s voice grew louder, more forceful, the words taking on an almost sinister tone. “Lord, forgive those who have fallen into darkness,” he chanted, his eyes never leaving Joel’s. “Forgive those who have allowed the Devil to take hold of their hearts, who have corrupted the pure souls entrusted to their care.”

The words cut deep, slicing through Joel’s defenses, each one a dagger of guilt and shame. He felt trapped, as if the very walls of the church were closing in on him, as if the pews themselves were rising up to choke him.

“Lord,” your father’s voice was a roar now, a righteous fury that echoed through the sanctuary, “cleanse us of this filth! Burn away the sin that has corrupted the pure! Purge us of those who would defile Your children, who would drag them down into Hell!”

Joel’s head spun, a cacophony of voices swirling around him, all merging into one oppressive sound.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Something was wrong.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

You were not there. And the fear that gripped him was unlike anything he had ever known.

He looked up, his eyes finding your mother across the aisle. She sat with her head bowed, her blonde hair spilling out from beneath a wide-brimmed hat, her shoulders trembling. Something was different about her, something was off.

And then Joel saw it—the bruise on her hand, the way she seemed to be hiding, shrinking into herself, as if trying to disappear.

It hit him like a freight train.

He knew

Your father knew about him and you.

Without a doubt, that your father knew. He knew about you and Joel, about the darkness that had crept into your lives. And he was using this moment, this prayer, to condemn Joel for it, to cast him out, to damn him in the eyes of God and man.

And he realize your father must had done something to you.

He must had discovered the truth and taken his rage out on you. The thought of you, hurt, suffering, because of him, because of what he had done, was too much to bear.

Joel’s blood ran cold as he realized why you weren’t there, why your mother looked so broken. He should have known. He should have never let it come to this. He should have protected you from this.

Suddenly, the world seemed to slow, your father’s voice droning on, filled with fire and brimstone. “GOD WILL BURN YOU IN HELL FOR YOUR SINS!” he thundered, his eyes piercing through the crowd, locking onto Joel’s.

The truth was clear now—your father knew everything. And he was punishing you for it.

Panic surged through him, and he bolted from the pew, his heart pounding in his ears.

He had to get to you. He had to save you.

As he moved, a ripple of shock spread through the congregation, heads turning, whispers rising. Tommy called after him, “Joel, wait!”

But Joel didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He was almost to the doors when your father’s voice rang out, echoing off the stone walls with a terrible finality.

“JOEL MILLER, YOU WILL BURN IN HELL AND WILL NEVER SEE THAT PATHETIC LITTLE GIRL AGAIN!”

The words hit Joel like a physical blow, stopping him dead in his tracks. He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto your father, who stood at the pulpit, his face twisted with righteous fury.

“What did you do to her?” Joel’s voice was low, dangerous, as he took a step toward your father, his fists clenched at his sides.

Your father sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “She’s been corrupted by the likes of you. But no more. You’ll never see her again.”

Joel’s vision blurred with rage, his body trembling with barely controlled fury. “What did you do to her?” he demanded, louder this time, his voice reverberating through the church.

The room was deathly silent now, all eyes on Joel and your father. Tommy stood frozen, while Maria held Ellie close, shielding her from the escalating confrontation. Ellie’s eyes were wide with fear, her hands shaking as she gripped Maria’s arm.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!" Joel's voice thundered and echoed through the church, sending a wave of fear rippling through everyone inside.

Your father, undeterred, raised his Bible high, his voice booming through the sacred space as he pointed at Joel. "This man is a predator! He has corrupted my daughter’s soul, defiled her innocence! He is the Devil’s servant, sent to drag her down into the depths of Hell!"

The words sliced through the air like a blade, each one a sharp, stinging cut. Joel’s heart raced, his mind a storm of fear and fury. He had to find you. He had to get to you before it was too late.

“Where is she?” Joel’s voice was cold now, deadly, as he took another step forward, his eyes never leaving your father’s.

Your father’s expression was one of righteous satisfaction, a sickening smirk curling his lips. “You’ll never see her again,” he repeated, his voice a cruel taunt.

Joel snapped. With a growl of pure rage, he turned and bolted for the doors, shoving his way through the shocked congregation. He had to get to you. He had to save you.

“Don’t you dare, Joel!” your father’s voice thundered after him, but Joel was already gone, bursting through the church doors and into the day.

The truck was parked a few yards away, and Joel sprinted to it, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He yanked the door open, jumped in, and slammed it shut, the engine roaring to life as he floored the gas pedal. The tires screeched as the truck tore down the road, heading straight for your house.

His mind was a maelstrom of fear and rage. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t lose you. The thought of what your father might have done to you was unbearable, a black hole of terror that threatened to swallow him whole. He couldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t let it happen.

The truck careened around the corner, the tires skidding on the pavement as Joel pushed it to its limits. The house came into view, and Joel’s heart leaped into his throat. The lights were off, the windows dark, but there was no time to hesitate.

Joel slammed the truck into park and jumped out, sprinting to the front door. His fist pounded against the wood, the sound echoing through the empty street. As he shouted your name, his voice raw with desperation.

There was no answer. The silence was deafening, the fear clawing at his insides. He had to find you. He had to get to you.

With a growl, Joel threw his shoulder against the door, the wood splintering under the force. The door burst open, and Joel stormed inside, his eyes scanning the darkened rooms. He called your name again, his voice breaking with fear as he kept calling your name.

He moved through the house, tearing open doors, searching every room, every corner. But you were nowhere to be found. Panic gripped him, a cold, suffocating terror that made it hard to breathe. What had your father done? Where are you?

He shouted your name again, his voice echoing off the walls. And then, faintly, he heard it—a weak, broken whisper, calling his name.

“J-joel…”

The sound was coming from above. Joel’s heart leaped into his throat as he looked up, his eyes landing on the attic door. It was slightly ajar, a faint light spilling out from the crack.

Without a second thought, Joel grabbed a broom and slammed it against the attic hatch. The door creaked open, and the stairs unfolded, descending slowly to the floor. Joel was up them in an instant, his heart pounding in his ears as he reached the top.

And there you are.

You are huddled in a corner, your body battered and bruised, your clothes torn and soaked. You were shivering, your arms wrapped around yourself, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Joel…” your voice was a broken whisper, filled with so much pain and fear that it nearly brought Joel to his knees.

He crossed the room in three strides, falling to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. “… oh God, baby…”

You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as a sob shook your fragile frame. “J-joel, h-he knew...h-he knew,"

Joel’s heart shattered into a million pieces as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he dared. “It's okay, it's okay, babygirl,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry… I’m here now, I’ve got you… I’ve got you…”

You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shirt as if you were afraid he might disappear. “Please… please don’t leave me…”

“Never,” Joel swore, his voice rough with determination. “I’m never leaving you."

“We’re getting out of here, right now,” Joel said as he cupped your face, "We're getting out of here," he said again with his voice a low growl, laced with urgency. He knew he couldn’t leave you in this hell any longer. The sight of you, broken and trembling, ignited a primal need to protect you, to keep you safe at any cost. This was it—the moment you both had been waiting for. Now or never. If he didn’t take you away now, they would take you from him forever.

Joel lifted you gently, cradling you in his arms, but even the smallest movement made you cry out in pain. The agony shot through your body, sharp and unforgiving, as fresh blood began to seep from your stomach. The memory of your father’s sharp rings flashed in your mind, the brutal force with which he had punched you, leaving you gasping for breath, your vision blurring from the pain.

As Joel carried you down from the attic, your mind drifted back to how it all began. Your father had found out, and his rage was beyond anything you had ever known.

"Father, what's going on?"

You remembered his cold, calculating eyes as he cornered you, the terrifying calm in his voice when he asked if it was true. You had tried to deny it, to protect Joel, but your father saw through your lies. His fist came down on you like a hammer, relentless and punishing, driving the air from your lungs with every blow. You had screamed, begged for mercy, but it only fueled his fury.

He grabbed your hair, yanking you to the ground, dragging you across the floor as you kicked and pleaded. The fear was suffocating, every nerve in your body screaming in terror. Then, with a cruel twist of his hand, he forced your head into the toilet, pressing down as the cold, filthy water filled your mouth and nose. You thrashed, struggling to breathe, panic consuming you as you felt yourself slipping away.

Your mother had been there, witnessing the horror unfold. For the first time, she stepped in, her voice trembling as she pleaded with him, "NO! NO! STOP IT! LEAVE HER ALONE!" Her voice was desperate, raw with the anguish of a mother watching her child being destroyed.

She lunged at your father, punching him, clawing at him to get him away from you. For a moment, you felt a glimmer of hope as her hands pulled him back, as if she might actually save you. But your father's rage was all-consuming. His eyes turned to her, dark and menacing, and he sneered at her audacity.

"You dare to defy me?" he spat, his voice low and venomous. Without hesitation, he lashed out, his fist connecting with your mother's face in a sickening thud. She cried out, stumbling backward, her hands flying to her face as she tried to shield herself from his wrath.

"MAMA!" you screamed, your voice hoarse and broken, as you watched her crumble to the floor. The sight of her, fragile and bleeding, filled you with a new kind of terror, one that twisted your insides into knots. The man who people had known for the good saint preacher, always been the pillar of the community, the preacher who stood in front of the congregation and preached love and righteousness, was now a monster, capable of such cruelty.

Your father turned back to you, his face twisted in a grotesque mask of anger, and you knew then that there was no escape. The beating resumed, more savage than before, as he sought to punish you for both your sins and your mother’s rebellion. Each blow was a declaration of his power, a reminder that you were nothing but a wayward daughter who had to be corrected.

The pain was relentless, each hit driving you deeper into a state of numbness. You were barely aware of anything anymore, your world reduced to the searing agony that radiated from every inch of your body. The only thing that kept you from slipping into unconsciousness was the thought of Joel, the hope that he might somehow save you from this nightmare.

Your father locked you up in the attic as he forced your mother also to attend the sermons.

Now, as Joel carried you down from the attic, the memories of that clung to you like a shroud. The pain, the fear, the helplessness—it was all still there, just beneath the surface, waiting to consume you. But with Joel, there was a glimmer of hope, a promise that maybe, just maybe, you could escape the hell that had become your life.

Joel's grip on you tightened as he moved through the house, his mind racing with a singular focus: to get you out, to keep you safe. There was no time to think about anything else—your belongings, or even the consequences. All that mattered was getting you away from here, away from the nightmare that had become your life.

As he carried you on his shoulder, your fragile body resting against him, Joel moved with determination. But as Joel reached the front yard, a few neighbors emerged from their homes, their faces etched with concern and confusion.

"Joel? What's going on?" one of them asked, their voice hesitant, unsure of the scene unfolding before them.

Joel didn’t answer. His focus was unwavering as he placed you gently in the back seat of his truck, his hands trembling slightly as he ensured you were secure. But just as he turned to get in the driver’s seat, the sound of tires screeching to a halt cut through the day.

Your father’s car pulled up abruptly, and both your parents emerged, your father’s face a mask of fury, your mother’s a picture of desperate panic.

"JOEL! DON’T YOU DARE TAKE HER AWAY!" your father roared, his voice thick with rage. He stormed towards Joel, grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him back, the force of his anger almost palpable.

But Joel was ready. He had been holding back for too long. The hatred, the disgust he felt for this man who had caused you so much pain boiled over. Without hesitation, Joel swung his fist, landing a solid punch on your father's jaw. The impact sent your father stumbling back, his eyes wide with shock.

"You make me sick," Joel snarled, his voice low and filled with venom. "You disgust me. You beat your fucking daughter, terrorized her, and for what? To prove you’re some righteous man of God? You're a hypocrite, a fucking monster hiding behind a collar!"

The two men squared off, anger radiating from both of them. You could hear the scuffle from inside the truck, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to process what was happening. The sounds of fists connecting, grunts of pain, and harsh, angry words filled the air.

Meanwhile, your mother was at the window of the truck, banging on the glass, her face wet with tears. "Please, please don’t leave, don't leave me!" she cried, her voice cracking with desperation. "Please, sweetheart, don’t leave me alone!"

Your mother’s pleas tore at your heart. You love her—of course you do—but you knew deep down that staying with her meant staying in a place where you would never be truly safe. She had let this happen. She had watched as your father hurt you, and even now, when she tried to intervene, it felt like too little, too late.

Through the glass, your mother’s eyes locked with yours, her hand pressed against the window as if she could reach through and pull you back to her. "Please, baby, come back to us. We can fix this. We can make it right."

"Mama, I can't," Tears blurred your vision as you looked at her, the woman who had given you life but had been unable to protect you. You could see the regret in her eyes, the guilt that she had let it come to this. But as much as it hurt, you knew you couldn’t go back home. Not now. Not ever.

Joel, still grappling with your father, caught sight of your mother trying to coax you out of the truck. "Stay away from her, Evelyn!" he shouted, his voice laced with a protective fury. He couldn’t let your mother take you back into that house, back into the arms of a man who would destroy you.

Your father spat blood from the corner of his mouth, glaring at Joel with a hatred that could have burned through steel. "You can’t take her from me! She’s my daughter! You think you can just steal her away, like some kind of hero? I’ll call the cops, you bastard! This is kidnapping!"

Joel didn’t flinch. "She’s not safe with you," he growled, his voice cold as ice. "You don’t deserve to call yourself her father. You’re just a coward who uses God to justify your own cruelty."

Your father lunged at Joel again, but this time Joel was ready. He dodged the attack, shoving your father back with all the strength he had left. "You're torturing her all this time!" Joel screamed, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

But your father only sneered, wiping the blood from his lip. "She’s my daughter. I did what had to be done. And you—" he pointed a trembling finger at Joel, "—you will never see her again. Not after what you've done."

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, the realization hitting him like a freight train. He turned to you, your pale, tear-streaked face visible through the window, and knew he had to act fast. He couldn’t let your father take you away, couldn’t let him continue to hurt you.

As the chaos of the confrontation swirled around you, you clung to the small shred of hope that Joel represented. You couldn’t go back to your parents, couldn’t return to the hell you had endured for so long.

Joel turned back to your father, his voice low and dangerous. "You’re never going to touch her again. I’m taking her away from here, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me."

With that, Joel broke away from the fight, rushing back to the truck. He threw open the door, and with one last glance at your parents—your mother sobbing, your father still seething—he climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.

Your father lunged forward, pounding on the hood of the truck as Joel started the engine. "Don’t you dare take her away from me!" he roared, his voice cracking with rage and desperation.

"JOEL!" Your father screamed. and then your mother scream your name.

But Joel didn’t look back. He floored the gas pedal, the tires screeching as the truck sped away, leaving your father’s furious shouts fading into the distance.

Joel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he sped away from your house, his knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. The echoes of your father’s enraged shouts and your mother’s desperate cries still rang in his ears, but he couldn’t afford to think about them now. He glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing you curled up in the backseat, tears streaming down your face as you clutched your aching body. His heart broke for you, the pain in your eyes more than he could bear.

He reached back with one hand, his fingers brushing against your trembling shoulder. "It's okay, baby, I’m here," he murmured, trying to soothe you even as his own heart raced with fear and anger. "We’re getting away from here, I promise. No one’s going to hurt you ever again."

Joel’s mind was racing, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of plans and possibilities. He knew he had to get you out of town, away from the danger that lingered in every shadow of your parents’ home. But he couldn’t just run, not without Ellie. She was his daughter, his reason for living, and he couldn’t leave her behind. Not now, not ever.

"We're going to Tommy’s first," he said, his voice firm, as if saying it out loud would make it all the more real. "Ellie and Tommy will be there."

When he finally pulled up in front of Tommy’s house, Joel took a deep breath, his mind already calculating the next steps. He turned to you, his gaze softening. "I’ll be quick, baby. You stay here, okay? I’ll lock the doors. I won’t be long."

You nodded weakly, trusting him despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. Joel leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before locking the truck doors and rushing towards the house.

Inside, chaos had already erupted. Tommy and Maria were in the living room, both of them looking bewildered and concerned. Ellie was there too, sitting on the couch with wide, anxious eyes, clearly sensing that something was terribly wrong.

"What the fuck happened, Ellie?" Tommy said to Ellie then suddenly Joel's there making everyone's head turned.

"Joel?!" Tommy exclaimed as his brother burst into the room, his voice a mix of shock and confusion. "What the hell is going on?!"

But Joel didn’t answer. His focus was solely on Ellie, his heart aching with the weight of what he was about to ask her. He crossed the room in quick strides, taking her hands in his, his eyes filled with desperation.

"Ellie," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "we’re leaving. We have to go. Right now."

Ellie’s eyes widened in shock. "What?!" she gasped, looking up at him as if he had just said the most impossible thing in the world. Tommy and Maria were just as stunned, exchanging worried glances.

"Joel, what the fuck are you talking about?" Tommy demanded, stepping closer to his brother. "What happened?!"

But Joel barely heard him. His grip on Ellie’s hands tightened, his voice urgent. "Ellie, listen to me. I can’t go without you. I need you to come with me. Please, we need to go now." He could feel time slipping away, the danger drawing closer with every passing second.

Ellie looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes. "Joel, this is crazy," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Behind them, Tommy’s voice grew louder, more insistent. "Joel! Explain to me what’s going on! What the hell have you done?"

But Joel’s attention was locked on Ellie, the girl who had become his world. For the first time, Ellie saw something in Joel she had never seen before—tears, brimming in his eyes, threatening to spill over. His voice broke as he spoke, the weight of his emotions finally crashing down on him.

"I can’t leave without you, Ellie," he pleaded, his voice raw. "Please, come with me. I can’t lose you too." His voice breaking.

The room fell into a stunned silence. Tommy and Maria stared at Joel in disbelief, the realization of what was happening slowly dawning on them. Tommy’s voice, once filled with confusion, now carried a note of horror. "Joel… what are you going to do with her?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as Tommy saw you in the back of Joel's truck. "What have you done to her, Joel?!"

"You can’t just take her away from her family…" Tommy said to Joel about you...

Joel finally tore his gaze away from Ellie, his eyes filled with a fierce, unyielding determination. "You don’t understand, Tommy," he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "Her father’s been beating her, torturing her for years. I’m not taking her away from her family—I’m saving her from them."

Tommy stared at him, the shock evident in his face. "Joel… why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I’m fucking in love with her!" Joel finally admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth. The room went silent again, the confession hanging in the air like a dark cloud. Even Maria, who had been silent until now, gasped softly, her hand covering her mouth in disbelief.

Tommy’s eyes widened, his gaze shifting from Joel to the truck where you sat, tears streaming down your face. The realization hit him like a freight train, and his expression softened with a mixture of shock and sorrow. "Jesus Christ, Joel," 

Joel’s grip on Ellie’s hands tightened as he turned back to her, his eyes pleading. "Ellie, please. I can’t do this without you. I need you to come with me. I can’t lose you too, i can't,"

Ellie’s heart ached at the sight of Joel like this—so desperate, so vulnerable. She knew how much he loved you and how much you loved him, how much he had sacrificed for you, but she also knew that this was a line she couldn’t cross. Going with him would only complicate things further, would make an already impossible situation even worse.

Tears welled up in Ellie’s eyes as she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "No, Joel. You have to go… without me."

Joel’s eyes widened in disbelief, his heart shattering at her words. "No, no" he whispered, shaking his head. "No, I can’t leave you behind. I can’t."

Ellie reached up, cupping Joel’s face in her hands, her own tears spilling over. "You have to," she said softly, her voice filled with both love and sorrow. "You’ve done so much for me, Joel. But now, you need to do this for her. She needs you."

Joel’s breath caught in his throat, his emotions a tangled mess of love, fear, and despair. He knew she was right, knew that he couldn’t drag Ellie into this any further. But the thought of leaving her behind, of saying goodbye, was almost too much to bear.

"I’m so sorry, Ellie," Joel choked out, his voice breaking as tears finally spilled over. "I’ve failed you…"

Ellie shook her head, her heart breaking at the sight of Joel so torn. "No, Joel," she whispered, pulling him into a tight embrace. "You’ve never failed me. You’re the best father I could’ve asked for. And if you’re happy with her, then I’m happy too."

They held each other for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the moment pressing down on them both. Finally, Joel pulled back, his eyes red and swollen from the tears. He looked at Tommy, his voice hoarse. "Take care of her, Tommy. Please. I’ll come back… I promise."

Tommy nodded, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Just… be careful."

Joel turned to Ellie one last time, his heart breaking as he forced himself to let go. "I love you, kiddo," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too, Joel, Please, be safe." Ellie replied, her voice trembling.

With one last, lingering look, Joel turned and walked out of the house, each step heavier than the last. As he climbed back into the truck, his hands shaking, he glanced over at you, his heart aching for the pain you were going through.

He started the engine, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but one thing was clear—he had to protect you, had to get you somewhere safe. Ellie would be okay. She was strong, resilient. But you… you needed him now more than ever.

As the truck pulled away, Ellie watched from the window, her heart breaking with every passing second. She knew she had done the right thing, but that didn’t make it any easier.

And as Joel drove away and he look back to see you now fell asleep, his mind filled with a mix of sorrow and determination, he knew that this was only the beginning of a long, uncertain journey.

***

You slowly drifted back to consciousness, your body heavy with exhaustion as you lay in the backseat. The world outside the window blurred past in streaks of darkness, illuminated only by the occasional flash of headlights. You blinked, trying to orient yourself, the events of the morning slipping in and out of focus.

Your eyes found Joel at the wheel, his broad shoulders hunched forward, the lines of his face etched deep with a blend of determination and fatigue. The soft glow of the dashboard lights cast a warm, almost ethereal hue over him, and for a moment, he looked like a guardian angel—battle-worn but unwavering, carrying you away from the life that had suffocated you for so long.

You noticed the blood on his forehead, a stark reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. But even with the traces of violence on him, there was something steady, almost serene, about the way he drove. The road ahead was uncertain, but with Joel, you felt a fragile sense of safety, a new kind of freedom that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

In that moment, you realized how much he meant to you. He had pulled you out of the abyss, saving you from the dark clutches of your father's wrath. He was your protector, your sanctuary, the one who had finally put an end to your suffering. You were free now—free from the oppressive walls of that house, from the constant fear and pain. Joel had given you that, and you were forever grateful.

"Joel…" you called out, your voice weak and trembling as you tried to sit up. The word barely escaped your lips, but it was enough to make him turn his head, his eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror.

He slowed the truck and pulled over to the side of the road, the tires crunching against the gravel. The world outside was still and quiet, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had just passed.

Joel quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the truck, his footsteps echoing as he hurried to your side. He opened the back door and knelt beside you, his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a mixture of relief and worry. "How are you feeling?"

You tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "Better…"

He reached out, gently touching your bandaged stomach, his hands warm and careful. "You’re safe now," he whispered, more to himself than to you. "I’m not gonna let anything happen to you."

You nodded, the weight of everything hitting you all at once. Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming sense of freedom. For the first time in as long as you could remember, you felt like you could breathe, like the world outside that small town was finally opening up to you.

Joel looked at you, his expression softening as he brushed a tear from your cheek. "We’re gonna be okay," he assured you. "I'm here to protect you, I won't let anything happened to you,"

You believed him. You didn’t know where the road would lead, but with Joel by your side, you felt ready to face whatever came next. He had saved you from a life of misery, and as you stared into the darkened horizon, you knew that you were never going back. The past was behind you, and a new future awaited, one where you could finally be free.

As you tenderly wiped the blood from Joel’s forehead, your fingertips brushed against his skin, feeling the warmth of his touch and the resilience that lay beneath. His brown eyes, deep and weary, met yours with a mixture of exhaustion and unwavering resolve. In that moment, you saw not just the man who had rescued you but the protector who would guide you through this new chapter of your life.

The road stretched out before you, an endless ribbon of possibilities unfurling in the fading light. With every mile that passed, you felt a sense of liberation that was both exhilarating and profound. The past was receding like shadows in the rearview mirror, and the future, though uncertain, was bathed in the golden glow of hope.

As you leaned in and kissed Joel, the touch of your lips against his was like a silent promise, a moment of shared solace and longing fulfilled. It was the kiss you had needed—a gentle, lingering connection that spoke of gratitude and the deep bond that had formed between you. When you pulled away, the world felt a little lighter, and the road ahead seemed a bit less daunting.

“What are we going to do now?” you asked softly, your voice carrying the weight of your newfound freedom and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

Joel’s gaze shifted to you, his expression thoughtful. "We'll figuring it out, but for now we’re heading to Bill and Frank’s place,” he said.

“They’re old friends of mine. They might be able to help us. The town’s probably a mess right now, and your dad might’ve called the cops. We’ll stay with them for a few days, get cleaned up, and figure out our next move.”

You nodded, accepting his plan with a quiet resolve. The idea of moving forward, of having a temporary sanctuary, gave you a sense of security. “I want to sit up front with you,” you said, determination in your voice. “I’ll be by your side.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, concerned. “Are you sure? It’s a long drive to Bill and Frank’s—about five or six hours. You could rest in the back.”

“No,” you insisted. “I want to be right here, with you.” you said. Joel gave a reluctant nod, acknowledging your request.

***

The road unfurled before you like an endless ribbon of possibility, stretching into the darkening sky, where twilight wove a tapestry of deep blues and fiery oranges. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving a trail of molten gold that shimmered across the landscape, as if painting the world in hues of promise and potential. The truck's engine hummed steadily beneath you, a comforting rhythm that matched the steady beat of your heart, now full of a mix of relief, fear, and hope.

As Dolly Parton's Wildflowers played softly on the radio, its melodies seemed to resonate with the very essence of your soul, each lyric a reflection of your journey. The song spoke of wild, untamed beauty, of a spirit that refused to wither in the face of adversity. It was as if the music was a kindred spirit, understanding the depth of your longing for freedom, for a life unbound by the suffocating constraints of your past.

The breeze that streamed through the open window carried with it a whisper of the freedom you had yearned for, rustling your hair and cooling your flushed cheeks. You felt the wind as a living thing, a gentle reminder of the fresh start you had just begun. It tangled in your hair, a wild, carefree dance that matched the liberation swelling inside you.

Joel sat beside you, his presence a steady beacon amidst the chaos of your emotions. The lines etched into his face told stories of hardship and sacrifice, but in the dim light of the truck's cab, his eyes held a fierce protectiveness and a glimmer of something softer—a promise of safety and a new beginning. His brown jacket, speckled with the day's dust and traces of blood, seemed to mark the end of a grueling battle and the dawn of a new journey.

As the lyrics floated through the cab, they spoke of a life spent in the shadows of others, yearning to break free and bloom in a space of its own. “The hills were alive with wildflowers and I, was as wild, even wilder than they…” The words seemed to echo the very essence of your heart. You were that wildflower, once confined by the oppressive garden of your past, now blooming freely in the open expanse of the world. Your past life, with its stifling expectations and cruel constraints, had faded into the distance, replaced by the exhilarating unknown of the road ahead.

The sunset's final light painted the world in a breathtaking array of colors—crimson and gold blending into a soft violet haze. The sky was a canvas of possibilities, stretching infinitely above you, as if inviting you to write your own story against its vast backdrop. The landscape outside the truck was a blur of darkening silhouettes and shadows, but the interior was bathed in a warm, golden glow, a sanctuary of hope and new beginnings.

Joel’s rugged hands gripped the steering wheel with a steady determination, his profile etched in the soft light. You could see the strain and exhaustion in his features, but also the unwavering resolve. His sacrifice was monumental, his risk immense, yet his focus was solely on the road and on you, a testament to his commitment to your safety and future.

The lyrics of the song spoke to your very soul: “I had no room for growth, and I wanted so much to branch out…” The words mirrored your own desire to escape, to find a place where you could thrive, where you could grow without being smothered. The journey was not just a physical escape but an emotional and spiritual liberation. With each mile that ticked by, the weight of your past seemed to lift, carried away on the wind like the echoes of a distant storm.

Joel’s gaze occasionally flicked toward you, his eyes softening with a tenderness that spoke volumes. In those brief moments, you saw the depth of his commitment, the profound love he held for you. His sacrifices were etched into the lines of his face, and the determination in his eyes was a promise—a promise to protect you, to build a future together, no matter how uncertain it might be.

The sun continued its descent, casting long shadows across the road and creating a dramatic interplay of light and dark. It was a visual metaphor for your journey—a transition from the harsh light of your past to the hopeful glow of the future. The world outside the truck seemed to fade away, replaced by a dreamlike quality as you embraced the freedom you had longed for.

As the song reached its poignant chorus—“No regret for the path that I chose…”—the words resonated deeply within you. There was no room for regret in this new chapter of your life. The past was behind you, a closed chapter that had brought you to this moment of liberation. You felt a profound sense of relief, of having chosen a path that, while fraught with challenges, was yours to navigate with Joel by your side.

You reached out, your fingers gently brushing against Joel’s arm. The touch was tender, a silent gesture of gratitude and love. He looked at you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the dashboard lights, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The road ahead was uncertain, but with Joel beside you and the freedom of the open road stretching before you, the future seemed filled with infinite possibilities.

You leaned against the seat, letting the wind play with your hair and the music wash over you. The world outside was a blur of colors and shadows, but inside the truck, with Joel and the song as your companions, you felt a deep, abiding peace.

In the fading light of a southern sunset, you and Joel embark on a journey of liberation. The road was a symbol of your new beginning, a path that would lead you to a future of your own making.

With Joel by your side, you knew that you were ready to face whatever came next, together, as wild and free as the wind that carried you toward the horizon.

[riboism]

vaya con dios

》 c.s x fem. nun! reader

》 wc: 6.7k

》 plot: a strange visitor takes shelter in your nunnery and challenges your beliefs

》 content: religious guilt, religious themes, first-time, pornographer! san, nun! reader, eventual smut, some angst

Tossing and turning for the nth time that night, you finally found comfort in laying on your side with your hands tucked underneath your pillow. You took a deep breath before shutting your eyes, counting sheep in hopes that it’ll help you fall asleep faster, only for you to reach fifteen before your mind wandered again. 

It was impossible to sleep after the strange day that you had. You had a visitor. No one really visited the Nunnery. You often joked with your sisters that the Nunnery was your own world, a place so hidden inside the natural world that no one could ever find it. That was until he started knocking on your front door. 

Men are not allowed inside the convent. The only time a man would come into your world was when Father Aaron came to visit from time to time, and even then he’d need permission from Mother Reverend to enter her holy space. You couldn’t understand why she agreed to let him stay the night, let alone even grant him access to our quarters— not until she called you into the kitchen and tasked you with bringing him his evening meal. 

“Is he a Priest?” You inquired as you prepared his dinner plate. You heard that Father Aaron was nearing his retirement. Maybe this was his replacement. 

“No.” She answered with finality, not adding anything further. You hated it when she did that. 

“Then who is he? Why is he here? I thought men weren’t allowed in our convent.” 

Mother observed as you placed a few fresh berries into the dessert bowl. She liked to make sure that we weren’t giving others too much or too little. She didn’t like waste. “He isn’t, but I had to make an exception. He’s a traveler and he got lost and stumbled onto our doorstep. With how dark the clouds are and how windy it is outside, I figured it was best for him to rest here for the night before moving on with his journey.” 

“But he’s a man.” You emphasized. “What if he’s dangerous? It just doesn’t feel right, him showing up at our door in the middle of the night. Where was he going anyway?” 

Growing impatient with your constant questioning, Mother set down a heavy glass, the loud thump startling you into silence. “Mind your manners, child! It does not matter if he is a man. God gave him to us to protect, and that is what we’ll do. Now hurry along, he must be starving and it’s almost time for bed.” 

Nodding obediently, you ventured off into the closed-off wing of the Nunnery. The room he was staying in was made for women who were interested in joining the sisterhood and devoting their lives to prayer and servitude. Unfortunately, the Nunnery didn’t get many candidates for the past few years so the rooms remained vacant. 

The halls here felt colder. You didn’t like being in this part of the building. The Nunnery itself was old, and with that, the building creaked and bellowed from time to time, especially in this wing. The noises would scare you, especially at night, but your Sisters assured you months ago that the next few donations would be used to help reconstruct the weaker parts of the building. Maybe there were still some renovations left to do. 

Upon reaching the visitor’s door, you knocked quietly and waited until a voice called for you to enter. You kept your eyes low as you walked in. “Mother asked me to bring you your supper.” You announced quietly, before placing the tray on the side table. 

He was sitting on the bed, looking as if he was waiting for you. Your eyes remained at his feet. He still wore his shoes, which looked expensive and hardly worn. Curiosity got the best of you, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from rising from his feet to his shoulders. His shoulders were wide and broad, the suit jacket he wore ill-fitting as if he grew twice his size overnight and didn’t have time to buy a bigger one. You didn’t dare to look up any further. 

After a beat of silence, you awkwardly paced backward to exit through the door, not wishing to be around the stranger any longer than you needed to. 

“Wait,” he called, softly. 

Your body obeyed before your mind did, and you didn’t move another inch. You waited for him to say something. Perhaps he wanted only tea before bed, or maybe he wanted to ask for some fresh sheets since the room hadn’t been dusted in a while. But he didn’t speak any further after that. Growing ill at ease, you let your gaze drift upwards until you finally met his eyes. 

You didn’t expect him to look the way that he did. He was young, maybe around your age. You had never seen a man without graying hair and deep sunken eyes before. Most of the men that came to the Nunnery, whether it was Father Aaron or his acquaintances, always looked weak, gray, and brittle. The visitor looked fresh and radiant in comparison, with his sculpted cheekbones, neat eyebrows, and freshly trimmed dark hair. He was beautiful. 

And then there was the way that he looked at you. You felt trapped in his peculiar gaze, your cheeks burning up after every second that passed as you two took each other in. His eyes wandered all over you with hunger and curiosity, but upon meeting your wide eyes, his expression quickly softened, his mouth that was once agape with desire now curled up to a friendly and innocent smile. 

“What is your name?” He asked. His voice was soft and pretty. It felt like he was trying to lull you to sleep. 

“You may call me Sister ____.” 

“Sister” He nodded. “Forgive me, I guess I had taken the wrong route and got lost. I’m eternally grateful to you all for offering me shelter in this unpredictable weather. And for this hot meal.” He beamed. “I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble. I understand it’s very late.” 

“No, no trouble at all. We are glad that you are inside and safe instead of out there in the storm.” On queue, a flash of lightning illuminated the walls, and a dull crack of thunder followed shortly. The sounds of crashing thunder and the strangeness of the visitor had you uneasy, and you knew it was best for you to leave the room right away. Mother wouldn’t be too happy to hear that you were lingering in the room alone with him, engaging in mindless conversation at the odd hours of the night. But despite your efforts to bow your head and inch towards the door, the visitor didn’t seem to acknowledge your rush. 

“It’s a shame…” He said faintly. 

“What is?” 

“That you have to hide yourself with all that garb. You’re very pretty.” His eyes lingered over your chest as if he was trying to outline what your figure looked like underneath. Full chest, thick thighs, slender legs, narrow waist, or wide hips, he couldn’t tell, but he liked that he didn’t know. A uniform made to hide the essence of a woman, to protect them from perverted and hungry eyes like his, ended up doing the opposite. 

Sensing your offense, the visitor rushed to apologize before you could utter a remark. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, Sister. I work in entertainment. I go around and meet with decently looking women all the time for photoshoots and whatnot. That’s actually where I was headed now, to meet with a few women about an upcoming fashion magazine shoot. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I guess nuns and religion and all that stuff…” He peered over to the wall that was decorated with a sole golden cross and then sheepishly looked back at you. “...Make me nervous.” 

Part of you felt he wasn’t telling the truth. You weren’t sure how to take him. There was something off about him, how he shifted from kind and unassuming to something that lacked innocence. You had a feeling that he wasn’t telling the truth.  

Ignoring his strange comments, you quietly bid him goodnight and then rushed off to your room. 

You wished so badly to drift off to sleep and forget about this strange encounter, but the visitor preoccupied your mind. Did he really handpick women for prestigious fashion editorials? Did he mean it when he said you’re pretty? 

No one had ever called you pretty and you honestly didn’t know how to take it. Vanity wasn’t something the sisterhood was concerned with. It was blasphemous for him to speak to you in such a manner anyway, but why did you kind of like it? 

Pretty. You. Pretty. 

Coming from someone who looked like him, it felt like a high honor. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it. He’s probably surrounded by beautiful women all the time. And he called you pretty. 

You. Pretty. 

God has a lot to say about those who let their vanity get the best of them, so you decided to brush away those thoughts and say a little prayer. Even as you prayed for forgiveness, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. 

―

The skies were even more aggravated the next day. You were a little bummed that the trip to the orphanage was canceled due to strict stay-at-home orders, so you spent the rest of the day knitting gloves and hats for the children. 

“Ouch!” You yelped, sucking on your pricked finger. This was the fourth time you pricked yourself tonight. You couldn’t stay focused on your task. Your thoughts were all about him. You had contemplated all day about going over to his room and apologizing for the way you left so abruptly. You didn’t want him to think you were being rude. After all, there’s no harm done with giving compliments, is there? 

You wondered what he was doing right now. He was probably bored all alone in his room. Mother took it upon herself to deliver him his morning and afternoon meals, so you didn’t have a reason to see him. She didn’t seem to want the other Sisters to greet the man. Perhaps your initial apprehensiveness had gotten to her and she changed her mind about you going into his room. What if she knew you were in his room for a while? What if she heard you two talking? The sudden heaviness in your stomach made you set aside your knitting needles. 

Even so, you had a strong urge to see him one more time. Who knows? Maybe the weather will clear up tomorrow and he’ll leave without you getting a chance to say something about that night. It was giving you a headache, how much you thought about him. Was such a brief conversation, yet he lived in your mind like he owned it. You couldn’t forget about those sharp cheekbones, his sweet talking voice, and that almost sinful way that he looked at you. 

The desire to see him again was too hard to ignore, so without hesitation, you sprung up on your feet and headed down to the kitchen to ask Mother Reverend if you could give the visitor his dinner tonight. She was appalled at your sudden initiative, but considering how her knees were bothering her again, she decided it was best if you took the tray up the stairs to his room tonight. 

This time when you knocked on his door, it was silent. You knocked again a little louder this time, figuring maybe he didn’t hear you, but to your dismay, there was no answer. Stumped, you lowered the tray. Why he wasn’t answering? Was he asleep? Why would he fall asleep before dinner? Was he sick? Maybe there was no harm in checking in on him, you told yourself as you twisted the door knob and stepped into the room. 

He wasn’t here. The bed looked unmade and some of his things were tossed around. The room was littered with cameras and film. He said he worked in the entertainment industry, but he didn’t specify that he was a photographer himself. There were various different types of cameras scattered on the table and some by the windowsill. One of them caught your eye― a gorgeous camera with a wooden frame and a brown leather strap attached, sitting on top of a few magazines. Setting the tray down, you walked over to the windowsill where the pretty camera sat. It looked expensive, decorated with a small graving on the side. C.S. Was that his initials? It hit you that you never got his name.

You noticed some camera film sitting next to the stack of magazines where the camera was placed. You knew it wasn’t right to snoop. It was an invasion of privacy, not to mention that God might be looking down at you and shaking his head. But you couldn’t help it. You wanted to learn more about him, and so you let curiosity get the best of you and now you stood there in the visitor’s room with his film roll in hand. Upon unraveling the roll, you were excited to see beautiful women in next season’s haute couture, but instead, you discovered something completely unexpected. 

Suddenly, a voice startled you from behind. “I could get you an advanced copy once it’s printed.” 

You gasped, whipping your body around to face the visitor who had just stumbled into his room to a nosey Nun going through his belongings. Your cheeks flamed up, too embarrassed with yourself to even notice that his hair was dripping wet from his shower. 

“If you’re interested, that is.” He smiled teasingly. It was clear he didn't mind you snooping around, but you still felt ashamed.

“Oh, no, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” In the midst of all the awkwardness, you dropped the roll and it unraveled a few inches until it stopped at the visitor’s feet. He bent down and picked it up, examining his photographs for any scratches or rips as you quivered in place, struggling to find the right words. 

“I’m sorry. Are they ruined?” You asked finally. 

“They’re okay.” He assured. There was a slight glow on his brow bone and cheeks from the hot shower. The white button-up he wore stuck to his chest, revealing some of his honey skin through its sheer and damp fabric. He noticed you staring. You quickly looked away. 

“The women in those pictures…are they-”

“Naked? Yes.” 

He spoke as if he had no shame about it. To him, it was as normal as taking photos of a rainbow or a wild deer. You wondered what Mother would think if she found out the man she let sleep in her holy Nunnery took nude photos of women for a pornography magazine. It would give her a heart attack, for sure. 

This was hard to take in. You couldn’t explain it, but you felt disappointed. How could someone like him take part in such filthy hobbies? And those women? How could they degrade and humiliate themselves like this? You couldn’t help but pity them, those poor things losing their way and succumbing to promiscuity. 

The visitor sensed your disapproval. It wasn’t a surprise, given the circumstances. Still, he felt the need to defend himself. 

“I understand you have your beliefs. But I have my own too. You may think it’s ungodly and lustful, but to me, it’s freeing, it’s human…it’s female emancipation.” 

“Female emancipation?” You said in disbelief. How are pictures of women with their legs spread open a symbol of female emancipation? Was he mad? From what you saw, it was all sinful desire catered for and by men. 

He stepped over to your side of the room, carefully returning the film roll to its case. “Have you ever touched yourself?” 

“What?” You held onto the cross that lay on your chest, dumbfounded that he would even think to ask you such a question so bluntly. 

He chuckled, “I respect all religions Sister, but there are some parts in the good book that I don’t really agree with.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, what’s the harm in pleasuring ourselves? If we see a beautiful woman or man, why should we feel ashamed for having certain thoughts about them? Humans are sexual beings, why should we feel shame if we are only feeling human emotions and desires? It’s like your God is asking us to not be human, to be something else, and that’s impossible. Isn't this how he created us? That’s why these photos represent freedom. They rip off the chains of sexual repression and free us into our natural state. The women I work with love what they do. They get to let go and embrace their femininity, something your God keeps forcing you to hide.” 

He was closer to you now. You could feel his hot breath hitting your forehead. He was riled up now, finally getting all that religious guilt that he’d been holding in for years off of his chest. You stood frozen in place, mouth open but unable to form a reply. He dipped his head down, lips almost brushing against your ear. “Why do we have to feel bad about feeling good, Sister? Do you mean to tell me you never had fantasies? You never wanted to feel another man’s touch so badly that it made you go crazy?”

He had you cornered now. Your breathing got shakier as his eyes locked into yours. He continued. “You’ve had thoughts, haven’t you? Of course, you have. And your God made you feel like there was something wrong with you like you did something unforgivable. Well, that’s just not right. Live so long feeling ashamed, you’re gonna snap.” 

That was about all you could take before you pushed him away and took off. Now lying in your bed, you struggled for the second night in a row to go to sleep because your mind was still torturing you with thoughts of the visitor. 

His words replayed in your head over and over again. You knew he was wrong. Or maybe, you wanted to believe that he was. You understood his sentiment, but there were some flaws in his beliefs. Shame can be dangerous, yes, but it’s the only thing stopping humans from committing sin. God teaches us restraint, and what he’s doing is completely sacrilegious, running around like a wild animal and giving in to temptations in the name of free will. You wanted to go back, to tell him he was wrong, to alert Mother Reverend of the pornographer currently residing in our quarters so he could be kicked out, but you remained in bed. You prayed tomorrow would be a bright and sunny day so that he may leave and you will never be disturbed by him again. 

The clock struck 2, and you turned on your side, still too restless to fall asleep. You remembered the photos that were in your hands. They were so intimate, so close to her body. There was one shot that you couldn’t stop thinking about. She lay topless on a messy and unmade bed, a coy and inviting smile playing on her lips as she held onto her breasts. From the angle, it looked like the photo was taken from on top of her. Your mind raced with images of the visitor straddling over her naked body, hiding his head behind the lenses while she let go of her breasts and unbuckles his pants, never failing to continue smiling for the camera. 

The woman looked so happy in the photos, almost as if she felt comfortable around him. What was he like with them? What did he say to get them to put their guard down? Did he touch them after? 

Your stomach is crushed with guilt. You shouldn’t be having such lewd thoughts about an ungodly man like this. But why couldn’t you stop? Maybe this is what he meant when he said it was unfair for God to make us feel shame for thinking these things. It’s inevitable. You see it now. 

With your will weakened, your mind replayed the moment he cornered you into the wall. The wall felt so cold against your back, but being so close to him made your cheeks scorn. He smelled like fresh pinewood soap. His cheeks were still rosy from the hot shower, and his white shirt was damp and almost translucent. The water from the tips of his strands dripped onto your shoes. 

Have you ever touched yourself? 

You couldn’t answer him then, but no, you haven’t. You were taught that it was wrong to feel such curiosity about your own body. It was a sin. It’s a sin, you tell yourself as your hands slip into your nightdress. This is wrong, you remind yourself as you start kneading your bare breast, just as the woman in the photos did. Your fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, the new sensation making you gasp and moan like a wild animal. Out of fear of being heard, you placed a hand over your mouth to mask your sounds. Suddenly, you felt something pooling between your legs. You pressed them shut, feeling a desperate desire for something you’ve never had before. God, what has he done to you? 

You were at his door again. Your conscience was screaming at you to go back to your room, to kneel in front of your bed and beg for forgiveness, but you didn’t listen. You were too far gone now. It was a type of craving that you knew wouldn’t go away until you satisfied it. You knocked quietly so as not to wake the others, but loud enough so that he could hear inside. It felt like torture waiting for him to open the door, but once he did, you were met with relief.

He furrowed his brows and whispered, “What are you doing here?” 

“I want you to take pictures of me.” 

He was stunned by your peculiar request, but even more so at your newfound boldness. “Are you serious? Do you know what you're asking me, Sister?” 

He watched you as you freed your hair from its bun, letting your wavy ends hit your shoulders. He studied each wave, his eyes wide like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. “I know exactly what I’m asking,” You answered. “Now, can I come in?” 

―

You watched him from your spot on the bed as he configured with his camera. His hair was tousled, which you seemed to prefer over his neatly jelled-back hair. His shirt was unbuttoned now, exposing his well-defined chest. His skin looked so soft. You wondered what it would feel like against your fingertips. You prayed he would hurry before you changed your mind. 

“Okay. Are you ready?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Yes.” 

He took a step forward and met you at the end of the bed. “Lay down.” 

Your body sunk back into the mattress. He rested one of his knees on the bed, eyes scanning over your body. You felt hot under his gaze. 

“Can you unbutton that gown for me, Sister?” 

Slowly, you unbuttoned the rest of your gown, exposing to him your bare breasts. He licked his lips, your red and swollen peaks making him weak to the knees. “They’re so swollen…” He cooed, “Were you playing with them earlier?” 

You nodded again, a little embarrassed that he could tell what you were up to in your room just moments before. 

He smiled approvingly. “Play with them again for me.” 

You did as instructed and twisted the sore nubs between your fingers. They were so sensitive and hard now that even the lightest touch made you moan. The look of pleasure on your face was delicious, and he immediately raised his camera lens to snap this moment. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said between clicks, “the most beautiful one I’ve had.” 

You liked it when he called you pretty. It made you feel so special to have his eyes on you, to be the center of his fixation, to be his muse. You wanted to show him that you could be like the other girls, but better and even more obedient. He was your God now and you wanted to be a worthy disciple. 

Once he was satisfied with his shots, he lowered the camera. “Can I see the rest of you?” 

You didn’t hesitate to remove your panties and toss them on the floor, but upon realizing his watchful gaze and the intimidating black abyss of the camera lens, you froze up and pressed your thighs shut. You were upset and embarrassed with yourself for not being able to go through with it and follow his directions, but he was more than understanding. He knew that face, he had seen it dozens of times. 

“It’s okay.” He said softly. It all felt like a dream. His voice was soothing like a lullaby, and his warm and skilled hands that were rubbing your thighs made you disarm and ease back into the bed, letting him guide them apart to reveal your glistening cunt. 

He let out a low whine. “Fuck, that’s the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.” 

That sound alone made your lower half feel heavy. You wanted to hear him make that sound again. You’d do anything to hear him make that sound again. He leaned back with his knee still resting on the bed and held up his camera, pointing its lens at your slick center. “Spread them.” 

Obediently, you pulled apart your lips with two fingers for him, your slick juices already gushing down as you did. He sighed deeply, a pained expression overwhelming his face. “So tiny,” he breathed after the camera shuttered. He had never seen anything like you before. So virtuous and delicate, yet so sinful and corrupt. You gave him so much, yet he wanted to see more of you. 

“Think you can take those pretty little fingers for me?” 

It took you a minute to understand what he meant. You were inexperienced regarding things like this, but you wanted to learn. You wanted him to teach you everything. 

“I don’t know how…” You mumbled. 

A devilish smile crept onto his face and darkened his features. “How cute,” he chuckled, amused by the holy and virtuous nun who had no idea how to make herself feel good. “Come here, I’ll show you.” 

He sets aside the camera and pulls you closer to him by your hips. Your heart fluttered at the motion, and you chewed back a whimper as he held your thighs down. He scanned your core with all his attention, examining your small hole that pulsated as you breathed in and out. “You really never touched yourself before?” 

You bit one of your fingernails and shook your head no. 

“Oh Sister, you’re really missing out.” 

Taking your hand, he guided them to your core and adjusted your fingers around your throbbing clit. It felt so foreign to you, so wet and sticky, you almost didn’t believe that this was a part of your body that you were touching. He went on to press a thumb into your inner thigh. “Rub it like this,” he said, massaging small circles into your soft skin. “Nice and gentle for me.” 

You shyly followed his directions and gently massaged over your clit. It startled you how sensitive you were to your own touch. It felt so hot as if hell’s fire was creeping over your body, but you loved it. You loved the new sensations, how filthy and impure it all was, and even more, you loved how he watched you so intently. Eyes glued to your shameless center, completely forgetting the camera he was holding and the task at hand. He knew now, that this was for him, and not for the camera. 

He had been photographing for years now and learned to hold off temptations until the end of the session, but he was struggling this time, with his cock heavy and aching to be inside of you. He found it charming just how inexperienced you were with your own fingers, and how your sloppy and awkward ministrations still made your body twitch. And those pretty pretty moans, he had never heard anything like it. So angelic, so enchanting, he almost believed you were a siren hiding behind rosaries and veils. 

Mustering up his last bit of strength, he swung his other knee over you and buckled his hips on top of you, lifting his camera up one last time. “Make yourself cum.” He demanded in between camera flashes. He absentmindedly rutted his hips against you, the weight of his heavy and clothed cock resting over your slick pussy as you played with your clit for him. His pants seemed tighter now, with the outline of his full and swollen balls peeking through. With his hard cock so close to you like this, you lost your focus and eventually, that high you worked so hard to reach went lost on you. Now feeling numb, you sighed in both exhaustion and disappointment. 

“Oh, what’s wrong Sister?” He said in a playful tone, “Too scared of the lord’s wrath to let yourself cum?” 

His chuckle dropped once he felt your hand rubbing against his crotch, your eyes so wide and innocent while shamelessly asking for a lick. “Please,” you begged, “need help.” 

God, he cursed to himself. Did you even know what you were asking him? Or were you just too needy, too far gone even to understand what you were doing? Even so, he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, if not more. He never had someone like you before. Someone so pious, so clueless, so pure. The girls he had been with were run through, and most of them had their tricks, but you were just an amateur. Not too long ago you were standing here with your hand on your chest, shocked by the nature of his pornographic career. Fuck, you didn’t even know how to play with yourself, and now you're tracing your fingertips on his zipper fly, begging for him to help you cum? 

For the first time in his career, his moral consciousness rang in. What was he doing? As tempting as it sounded, was he really going to defile a God-fearing Nun? 

He cupped your jaw, tracing his thumb across your soft cheek. Unbeknownst to him, this was the first time another person had touched you so lovingly. You leaned into the touch, reintroducing yourself to the warmth and fuzziness of his pinewood soap. “Are you sure about this, Sister?” 

He searched in your eyes for any signs of hesitation, but all he could see was lust. It was evident that you weren’t so God-fearing anymore. Maybe his words got you, he thought. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Yes. I want you to show me everything.” 

―

You watched nervously as he traced his tongue along your slit. His tongue felt so warm and wet, and you could see a few strings of his saliva connecting with your slick each time he lapped against your cunt. Both of your hands were pressed against your mouth to prevent any sound from slipping out, but it was so difficult not to moan and whine while he ate you out to his heart’s content. You had never felt anything like this before. It drove you mad how much of a twitching mess you were while he laid so carefree between your legs, lazily licking and sucking at your clit, oblivious to the heat that was rushing around in your lower belly. At one point, he focused his tongue directly on your clit, and the pressure from his wet muscle alone was enough for you to lose your guard and let a low broken whine escape your lips. 

He was so attentive to every reaction your body gave him. He knew you were about to cum even before you did. He held onto your thighs as your hips bucked up and down, letting you make a mess on his mouth and face. When you were done, he held your hips down and feathered a few kisses onto your cunt until you grabbed onto his hair and pushed him away. 

He had made you cum a few times like this. Each orgasm was even more intense than the one before. As exhausted as your body was becoming, your craving for him didn’t stop. It only grew stronger. 

It had been hours now. He moved so slowly, savoring each and every part of your body, making you cum from his mouth, his fingers, and even just by sucking your nipples alone. The other Sisters would be shocked to see you in your current state, your naked body soaked in cum and sweat, hips moving with a mind of its own. You were filthy but you didn’t want to stop, because if you stopped you would have to deal with the guilt and turmoil of your actions, and you didn’t want to do either. You just wanted to keep going, keep having him use you and use you until you broke. And that feeling― that momentary bliss you felt each time you reached your orgasm was unlike anything you ever felt before, and you were hooked, unable to stop, only interested in feeling like that one more time until you couldn’t stand it anymore.

You were starting to feel feverish and weak, going in and out of consciousness until you felt his warm and heavy cock resting over your stomach. 

You peered down your body, gasping at the sheer length of his cock. The tip was so red and wet, already leaking precum and dripping onto your stomach. 

“What are you doing?” 

He took your hand and guided it to your lower stomach. “You said you wanted me to show you everything. You still want that right?” 

He helped you wrap your hands around his cock. It felt even bigger in your hand, your fingers just barely making it around his girth. You pumped him gently, using his precum to help you move up and down. He took that as a yes. 

You could hear his breathing go shaky each time you pumped him. “It feels so hard” you whined. Was he going to put this inside of you? How would it even fit? Would it hurt? 

“You make me this way.” He sighed as he watched you handle his cock. Fuck, you looked so cute the way you held him with both hands, trying your best to learn in what tempo he liked it. He leaned over, his large body completely covering yours, face just millimeters away. You gasped at the feeling of his hot tip rubbing at your entrance. “It’s San, by the way.” 

“I’m sorry?” You paused.

“My name. It’s San.” 

San. It suited him. You were about to tell him that his name was pretty, but he had taken the words right out of your mouth. A pressure pushed into you, forcing your eyes to well up in tears and words to clog in your throat. 

“San!” You yelped, hands gripping onto his wide shoulders. San leaned in close, leaving gentle kisses on your cheeks, his lips wet with your salty tears. “You’re so beautiful,” He spoke into your skin as he rolled his hips into you. “You feel so good.” You took him so well, your wet walls grasping onto him so tight that he knew he wouldn’t be able to last as long as he usually does. 

With each thrust, you sang his name as if it was the only word you knew how to say. His cock hit you so deep now, stretching you out to your limit, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You held him tighter and let him find your lips. You both moved with so much passion and hunger as if it was your last night on Earth together. He was all you knew and wanted to know. You didn’t wish for it to end. 

You felt a blooming in your stomach and figured San did as well. Your legs wrapped around him tight as you finally let go. Goosebumps prickled all over your body as San pulled out from you, his warm seed dripping onto your stomach. It felt like he marked you, that he had declared you as his for all eternity. You rubbed the sticky white liquid around your stomach, finally grasping at the realization of what you two had done and what it meant. San could sense your alarm and immediately reunited with your lips. He didn’t want you to regret this. He wanted you to look back at this moment and remember him fondly.  

The exhaustion weighed in and you drifted off to sleep as he kissed you. When morning came, you were disheartened to see rays of sunshine peeking through the window blinds. San was sitting at the edge of the bed, slipping into his socks. He was wearing the same ill-fitting suit jacket he first came in with that night. 

San noticed you stirring around in bed. He looked back and greeted you with a soft smile. 

“You’re awake.” 

You sat up too quickly and flinched at the sudden pain at your core. 

“Easy,” he said as he placed a reassuring hand on your leg. 

“You’re leaving already?” You asked, quickly forgetting about the pain.

San pursed his lips. It killed him to leave you after the night you two had, but he had his duties to attend to. And so did you. 

He took your hand into his. “Listen, Sister, I don’t know if you still feel the same about last night, but for me…that was incredible. But we both know I can’t stay.” 

It was the truth, but the truth hurt like a ton of bricks. Stupid girl, what did you think was going to happen? You broke your vows, and your loyalty to the church, and gave up the one thing you can never take back. You were ruined now, but you still didn’t know how to move forward. Did this mean you didn’t want to be in the convent anymore? Or did you want to stay and act as if you didn’t give in to temptations last night? Would you grab all of your things and run away with him and never look back? Or would you remain and pity yourself for the rest of your life for what you did? It was all unclear, and San knew that. You still had things to think through. 

“I know,” You said in a small voice. He couldn’t stay. And you couldn’t ask him to. 

“I’ll never stop thinking of you.” 

He was looking at you with doting eyes. You traced your thumb on the back of his hand. 

“Will I ever see you again?” You had to see him again. You couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his beautiful face and feeling his soft hands on your skin. 

He let go of your hand and fished for something in his pocket. “Here,” He said, handing you a business card. “It’s my office in the city. If you ever change your mind…I’ll be there.” 

And with that, he pressed one last kiss on your forehead and took off. You lay there for most of the early morning, fiddling with the business card in your hand, grazing your fingers over the black raised ink. Choi San. Adult Film Photographer. 

It was pathetic to admit, but you think you loved him. And it killed you. You were only supposed to have the Lord in your heart, but it seemed you had given it away to a sinner. In such a short visit, he had made you feel things you had never felt before. You had never felt such strong emotions in the convent. The feeling of being desired, of being held, of being loved― it felt real. Tangible. Promising. Exhilarating. Feelings you were promised for years you’d feel each time you prayed, you felt all at once in one night with San. You almost believed that the Lord had robbed you of such pleasures. 

But then again, the convent was the only family you knew. They took you in, cared for you, and all you had to do in return was let the Lord into your heart. Serve him, alongside your Sisters, and blessings will come your way. 

Your feelings about the church were unclear, but one thing was for certain. In this lifetime or the next, you will see him again. 

―

a/n: I have been writing this since March. It's inspired by the 1800s painting "The Sin," and Kali Uchis's Vaya Con Dios. Please don't ask me for a part 2.

[mostlyghostlyy]

Everett McGill is so damn handsome 🥺🔥

So real. I saw him first in People Under The Stairs and loved him in it! The movie was mid though.

I think I could die for his Rev Lester Lowe character, though. Like yesss bbygirl, get more disheveled throughout the lunar cycle 💞

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Thirteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: poorly timed erections, humiliation kink, cockwarming, you spit in his mouth, unprotected sex, unnecessary angst

Summary: I’m not super happy with this chapter. I wanted to go into detail with the Gom Jabbar scene but I couldn’t get any words out😂 so I skipped ahead to the smut part I wanted to write. Big things happening next chapter👀

The doors to the study burst open.

You look up from your spot nearby. Patience was not your strong suit, and you had grown bored while waiting for the Reverend Mother to administer the Gom Jabbar. Confusion flickers through you as you quickly assess the Reverend Mother's hastened steps.

"How did it go?" You ask, craning your neck to see into the study. Though you hardly thought Feyd would actually succumb to the test, it still worried you, and you feared you would see his body slumped on the floor.

"Never in my life," the Reverend Mother mutters. She stops in front of you. "The na-Baron is human, it seems, but not a man. Not like any that I've ever known."

You blink stupidly, her form retreating before you can even inquire about what she meant. She had been insistent that you weren't in the room with them and clearly she did not want to recall what you missed. She didn't even adhere to her usual courtesies of formal manners, scurrying away without even a backward glance.

Curiosity grows like a vine, winding up around you and inspiring you to creep into the study, unsure about what to expect. "Feyd?"

Your gaze sweeps the room. There's no jumble of limbs to suggest that he perished under the Gom Jabbar, which alleviates your fears slightly.

Finally you spot him, reclined in one of the plush chairs that had been pushed aside to make room for the assessment. Afternoon shadows cast him in a strange light, mostly hidden except for the faintest outline of his body.

"Feyd? What is she talking about?" You cross the room to him.

"That witch's test had...unexpected results."

"But you passed it?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?" He asks.

"No." You allow your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, so different from outside of the study where you had waited. "What —?"

The words die in your throat.

Feyd sits, infuriatingly regal, in the chair, legs spread wide and arms draped on either side of the curved back. You notice for the first time his very obvious erection, straining against his pants and sufficiently flushing you with a perverse mixture of desire and shame.

"Feyd-Rautha," you gasp out, baffled.

"She thought she could deter me with pain, but clearly she is not as intelligent as she believes."

You hiss back, "You are abhorrent."

"Perhaps." He inclines his chin. "Show me."

His words pull behind your navel, the familiar tugging answer to his call. An image of Feyd, poison needle to his neck, deriving pleasure from the box entrapping his hand, flashes through your mind. No wonder the Reverend Mother was so horrified. It brings the slightest of grins to your face, and a subsequent wave of affection for the twisted, beautiful man before you.

"Show you what?" You ask coyly.

His voice is silk, red wine, life's greatest pleasures gliding over your skin. "Just how abhorrent you find me."

You close the space between you. Feyd keeps his gaze trained on you as you insert yourself between his legs, leaning down to work the fasten of his pants. Cock liberated, it springs up, red and  pulsing. It invokes a low, savage growl from him when you pointedly ignore his hardened length in favor of your own wanton needs, gathering your skirts in one hand while dipping the other down to your cunt. His cock twitches in response.

"So abhorrent that I don't know if you deserve this pussy," you murmur to him. "You disgust me. Why would I even want to fuck you?"

Feyd's jaw clenches and he wraps his fist at the base of his cock. "Shit."

Emboldened, you keep the steady rhythm of your own self-pleasure, sneering at your husband.

"People have perished under the Gom Jabbar and yet it arouses you, the unspeakable pain enticing your cock. You should be ashamed of yourself." Feyd gasps out, stroking himself. There's a dark intensity in his eyes. You realize that he craves this from you, needs to hear you flay him with your tongue. "Look how hard you are. You're pathetic."

His head rolls back, exposing the pale column of his throat. Your fingers hitch and you inhale at the sight of him like this. Wound tight with want, you remove your hand and climb into his lap. Feyd is only too eager to accommodate you, pushing his hips up in an effort to drive his cock into you, hands grabbing for your waist.

"Don't touch me," you snarl at him, swatting him away. Feyd whimpers. "You think I want your hands on me after what you did?"

A keening sound splits the room as you slip the swollen head of his cock between your folds, a display of his frustration — you keep still, refusing to provide the friction that he is so desperate for. He fills you thoroughly, stretching you until you feel you might burst, and you have to fight the urge to roll your hips against his.

"Don't do this," he snarls at you.

"What? Punish you? You practically asked for it, dear husband."

You sit on his cock, unmoving. He stares back at you with contempt, fingers digging into the arms of the chair. When he looks at you like this, like you are some unobtainable treasure, you might as well be seated on a throne. And, you suppose, it is an honor to have him buried to the hilt in your cunt, this man who has searched for pleasure in others, in violence, and now clings to you like none of it compares.

"Please," Feyd breathes out.

"Don't talk to me," you snap, shifting your hips just the slightest bit. His eyes flash. "But since you're so eager to use your mouth."

You grab hold of his jaw, squeezing tightly as you pull him closer. Despite the roughness of your grasp, it might as well be a caress, Feyd's cock flinching in response.

"Open," you instruct him, though it doesn't matter. With force, you pry apart his lips and slip your thumb inside his mouth, pressing down on his tongue and holding him in place.

It's an intoxicating experience — his hardened member resting in your cunt, his face in your hand, the pleading in his eyes as he gazes up at you. Power was addictive. You thought yourself above it, once. But all it took was the right person to hold it over.

Spittle sprays his face as you spit in his mouth.

Feyd's throat bobs. If it's possible, you swear you feel him grow harder inside you. "Close, but don't swallow," you murmur to him, revoking your thumb. Feyd obeys. At this point he's trembling with want and frustration. You remove your grip on his jaw but he keeps it lofted in the air; with more fondness than you care, you wipe the spittle from his face, the pads of your fingers swiping over the bannister of his cheekbones, his eyelids.

Finally you whisper, "You disgust me." Leaning back on your heels, you indicate for him to swallow, which he does. A smile curves your mouth. "You should be fucking grateful that I pity you. Grovel. Tell me why you deserve this."

"I don't," Feyd gasps. "I don't. I don't."

"Is that all you know how to say?" You sneer at him.

He shakes his head, desperation crossing his features. "No. I—I don't deserve you but that's..." he trails off, the words sticking in his throat like he can't quite work them out, "that's exactly why I need you."

To express your approval, you grind your hips against him. Feyd whimpers. His admission pleases you, injects you with a fervency that lifts you up on his cock and then back down. Feyd's thighs clench beneath you as you persist with the movement, steadying yourself by reaching behind him and grabbing the chair, and expletives falling from his mouth as you do.

"That's right you fucking need me," you hiss to him. You quicken your pace.

In retrospect, you should've milked the moment for all it was worth, but Feyd was already on the edge and you weren't far behind; his eyes roll back in his head as he comes, and you clamp around him, seeking your own finish. His cock softens in you. You do your best not to let any cum escape from between your thighs, vaguely grateful that its consistency is thick and doesn't normally demand much cleanup.

Smoothing the wrinkles from your dress, you ask him, "Tell me you got it."

Eyes half-lidded, Feyd gestures to the side of the chair. The Gom Jabbar rests, glinting in the dim lighting. Your gaze cuts to him.

"You didn't ask," he says, reading your mind.

"You didn't tell me it was right there?" You bark at him, bewildered. "I could've —"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I wouldn't have let you."

You hesitate, knowing that he's right. Anger drains from you then, replaced with curiosity, and you wait for him to tuck himself back into his pants. Feyd rises to his feet.

"She didn't notice?"

"She was...distracted," Feyd says.

"And you replaced it."

"Yes."

"Good." Your gaze roams his face. "I must say I’m relieved you’re alive.”

Feyd lets out a laugh, deep and rasping. “I never thought I would hear those words from you.”

“Hopefully you don’t think less of me for it.”

“Nothing could make me think less of you,” he murmurs, then grins. “Though I might send a physician to check you for fever.”

You can’t help but laugh at this and you gently push his chest. Feyd captures your hands there, though, holding you close to him. You jest, “You’re lucky that I love you.”

Feyd’s expression shutters. Horror yawns in you, an all-consuming mouth threatening to swallow you whole. Why did you say that?

“Feyd, I —”

He takes a step away from you, dropping your hands. Even though he’s only a few inches away, a chasm might as well have opened between you. Feyd grabs the Gom Jabbar. “This needs to be taken care of.”

He brushes past you and, paralyzed with panic and disbelief, you let him.

Hours turn into days, which turn into weeks. A month. The longest glimpse you have of your husband is in passing; conveniently, a smuggler operation was uncovered the day after the Gom Jabbar, which demanded the full attention of the na-Baron. Feyd immersed himself in dismantling the enterprise. You, on the other hand, were left to the simple task of “carrying out your duty” — which, to your best understanding, meant to conceive the Kwisatz Haderach — an impossible task considering your husband refused to look at you.

You spent most of your days in your parents’ study, rifling through whatever documents were salvageable from Rabban’s raid. Most of them were meaningless to you, stocks of supplies and financial reports. But at least they kept your mind from drifting.

You’re in the study when the door opens and Feyd-Rautha steps inside, as solemn and impassive as he’s been ever since that day. Seeing him like this, so close and without distractions, pierces you like a dagger. The worst part of this whole ordeal is the fact that you missed him.

You missed his unwavering confidence, the flow of your banter, the slightest changes in his expression that only time had revealed their meaning. And, infuriatingly, you missed the sex. Missed the sear of his hands on your body, his cock in your cunt. You prayed to whoever would listen that he couldn’t see this on your face.

It definitely wouldn’t help your case after telling him that you loved him.

“The smugglers have been neutralized,” Feyd says first, breaking the silence.

You dip your chin. “I assumed they would be.”

“To celebrate this feat the Baron has requested that we host a feast with our allies, and to showcase our new rule over Arrakis.”

“Ah,” you reply. You wanted this to happen as part of your plan, but you weren’t sure what it meant now that you weren’t on speaking terms. You pause, waiting for Feyd to offer some sort of hint, but he just continues his blank stare.

Even when you first met, when you swore that he was the most wretched creature to exist, he did not treat you like this. Like you were nothing.

Courage thrums through you like a second heartbeat. “And what will your uncle, our allies, think when the na-Baron won’t even spare a glance to his wife?”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“You used to care what I thought,” you whisper back to him. Your throat works. It’s the first time you’ve uttered what you’ve been thinking. “And now you won’t even look at me, which is a punishment unlike any I’ve known.”

If it’s possible, Feyd stills even more. There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes but it’s gone before you can name it, like the glint of a fish on the surface before disappearing into the depths.

He rasps, “You don’t understand.”

“No, Feyd, I don’t understand, because you’ve been fucking avoiding me,” you growl. “So why don’t you enlighten me?”

His jaw clenches. “This isn’t the time.”

“If it’s up to you, it will never be.” You stand and cross your arms. “Just tell me. Then we can fuck until you get me pregnant and we’ll never have to speak to each other again.”

Feyd just stares evenly at you. You think that he might never speak but when he does, his voice is so low you can barely hear it. “This isn’t…this isn’t because I don’t…reciprocate…your feelings.”

He chokes out each word. Still your heart flutters traitorously.

“If what you said is true, then I am a liability to you. I am not meant for…I just wanted to give you time to think,” he finishes awkwardly. “Love is a weakness. It’s messy. It complicates things.”

“If you haven’t noticed, everything about us is complicated,” you reply, laughing bitterly. You feel your features soften. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“You’re wrong to love me, jewel.” He steps towards you, and you realize that there’s a startling vulnerability to his face, nearly childlike in its sincerity. A boy pleading for the care that he never received. “I will only hurt you.”

A wistful smile tugs at your mouth. “You’ve hurt me many times already, and yet I’m still here.”

“You’re a fool.”

“I know.” This time you’re the one to inch closer, bridging the gap between you. You can hear Feyd’s breath hitch. “Don’t hide from me. I cannot bear it.”

Feyd nods, once, almost imperceptibly. “Fine.”

You can’t help it — you reach out and straighten his collar, graze your fingers over his skin. He inhales sharply and it’s in that moment that you realize his avoidant behavior has been just as punishing for him, a matter of self-preservation.

“I will tear off your balls and use them to store my jewelry if you ever do something like that again,” you tell him. Amusement crosses his face, on the tail of his obvious relief.

“Mm, careful, I’d risk anything if it meant you would touch me.”

Part 14

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1 @unnisumi @aoi-targaryen

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Wait

Feyd Rautha x Y/N - drabble part 3 - 3.4K WC NSFW 18+

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 (you are here!)

Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT, like gah damn, Feyd being sweet and soft but only for you because fuck everyone else, the Baron being a creep, Reverend Mother - ness, using the voice, blood, virginity loss (its a social construct but whatever), consent king, aftercare, scheming, plotting, play fighting to show who's boss, bad ass reader, honest to god - this is a GOOD one

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You watched as the servants removed the bodies of Feyd’s darlings. They seemed so unbothered, you realized this was probably not the first time they had cleaned up bodies. Your regular maids tried not to watch as they dressed you, keeping their heads low.

“Wait,” you said to the maid removing the blade brought to the ambush from last night. 

Feyd leaned against the doorway, watching. 

“Wait.” you said a bit louder as she moved to leave your apartments.

“STOP.” you said using the voice. 

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, eyes going wide as she stood still. 

“BRING ME THE KNIFE.” you commanded. Your maids moved away from you so the woman could bring you the blade. You felt the cold steel in your palm before your spoke again, “LEAVE US, ALL OF YOU.” 

The door shut quickly and when your eyes met Feyd’s you couldn’t help but comment on his smug appearance. 

“What?” you asked him innocently, tilting your head slightly.

“You’re taking to our ways already. Power suits you, Na-Baroness.” he said as he approached you slowly, picking up your free hand to kiss your knuckles. 

He kissed them softly before you saw his eyes flit to the long knife in your opposite hand. You watched him start to shift his stance slightly. Everything slowed down as you gave him a cheeky smile. He yanked you towards him by the hand he was still holding onto. You ducked down, his grip holding your wrist. You elbowed him in the back of the knee, as he fell you ripped your arm from his grasp. He threw his arm out at you again, attempting to get ahold of you. The force from ripping your arm away threw you back, using that to your advantage you threw both your feet into his chest, kicking him back. He fell onto his back. Before he could anticipate another move you climbed on top of him, knees on his biceps. 

You flipped the knife around, holding it to his neck, “Yield?” you questioned, breathing heavy with a grin tugging at your lips. 

His black teeth were visible between his small panting breaths. You felt his hips shift before you felt one of his legs curl over your shoulder, forcing you to the floor. Now he straddled you, moving to hold one of your arms down you threw the knife, catching it with your opposite. You held the knife to Feyd’s ribs.

“Yield?” you asked again.

“You’re not in a position to be asking me to yield.” he chuckled lowly, “You think I’m afraid of being stabbed?” he chided. 

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Don’t test me, husband.”

“Or what, wife?” he responded. You had never seen him so playful. Granted this was a violent situation and most in your position would be absolutely petrified. 

Not you though. Fear is the mind killer. “LEAN FORWARD.” you said, the voice making his body lurch. You smacked your head into his, knocking him over. He groaned at the sharp pain before he looked at you. You expected rage to be in his eyes; the formidable Feyd Rautha losing a fight? Never. Yet all you saw was complete adoration, and even a hint of lust. You held the knife under his chin, “Yield?” you asked finally.

His eyes raked over you, you were starting to enjoy seeing him on his knees before you. He nodded before standing. You threw the knife onto the bed before looking at him. You left a small cut on his cheek when you headbutted him, you swiped up the dribble of blood seeping out onto your thumb. Feyd watched your every move. You put your thumb in your mouth, sucking the iron from your digit. His pupils were blown wide, the air in the room felt thick. You felt an unfamiliar warmth ignite in your lower belly, it trickled down to your core. You wanted more of the feeling but weren’t sure how to amplify it, or what even caused it.

Your eyes were lost in each other, locked in, focusing solely on the current moment. Feyd’s hands ghosted over your hips, you moved closer to him. Your breaths mingled, lips a centimeter apart. The door flew open, the Reverend Mother entering with fellow Bene Gesserit sisters following behind her. Feyd’s face instantly grew cold, but you could see it was to save face from the immense annoyance he felt. 

“Breed them later,” she said, waving Feyd off. “You have been summoned by The Baron, quickly now.” she said before turning to walk out, expecting you to follow her. 

Your eyes shifted to Feyd who was already looking at you with worry etched onto his sharp features. You opened your mouth to speak before he put his finger over his mouth, motioning for you to hush. He walked to you silently, pulling your dress up he attached his Holtzman shield to your upper thigh. You watched as he turned it on, a blue blur shimmering over you slightly before settling. You felt Feyd’s fingertips ghost over your thigh, making your eyes flutter closed and head tilt back. The warmth from earlier back in full force. Oh - he was what made you feel like that. He released your dress, adjusting it back to its rightful place before he squeezed your hand. “Be cautious, trust no one.” he whispered before leaving, glaring at the Reverend Mother as he went.

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You kneeled before the Baron as you entered the Great Hall. You kept your head down and eyes off him, “Baron.”

“I’ve been told you killed three maids.” he said gruffly, smoking his pipe.

“Three maids who tried to kill me.” you responded, rising.

“And how did you manage this?” he chuckled, “Did Feyd do it? You can tell me, he won’t get in trouble. Maids are so easily replaceable.”

“I assure you, I killed them. I was trained in combat by a former member of the Sardaukar.” you said, hands clenching each other tightly. 

“And you said her sister was preferable? She seems more than adequate.” he said to the Reverend Mother, blowing out a puff of smoke. “How is married life?”

You bit your tongue, not wanting to dignify him with an answer. “I am doing my very best to please the Na-Baron.” you said. 

“My nephew has never been easy to please. He grows bored quickly; and you killed his darlings. What will become of you when he is bored and has no toys?” the Baron laughed.

“We shall see.” you said, jaw clenched, fighting the urge to snap at him. Harkonnen’s are full of fury, but you had learned that patience and planning was the best way to know your enemy. You were always watching, observing. And what you observed now was the Baron, testing you. Seeing which way you would fall, to him or to Feyd. “I live to serve House Harkonnen.” you said, kneeling and holding your arms out, opening yourself up completely. Your head was bowed but you honed your hearing in, listening to the silent exchange between the Reverend Mother and the Baron. This skill was more difficult for you than the voice but you managed. 

You listened to their minds echo.

“Use her to control Feyd.” thought the Reverend Mother.

You could feel the Baron’s agreement, “Control Feyd, control the Emperium entirely.”

You kept your face devoid of emotion, your mind clear so Reverend Mother knew nothing of your eavesdropping. 

“Rise.” said the Baron. 

You gave him a sweet smile, “Might I walk the halls? I have yet to adjust my eyes to the darkness of Geidi Prime, I would like to heighten my sight.” asimple, silly request but one you hoped he would oblige. 

“Of course.” said the Baron. 

You bowed to him and the Reverend Mother before walking out of the hall. You walked back towards your apartments, wanting to talk to Feyd about what just transpired. When you arrived Feyd was nowhere to be found. 

You walked up to your guards, “Where is the Na-Baron?”

“I am unable to say, Na-Baroness.” he said sternly.

“TELL ME.” you snapped at him in the voice. 

“He is in the arena, training.” he said, shaking his head after he told you, unsure why he did so given his orders.

“FETCH HIM.” you commanded before walking back into your apartments, listening to the guards hurried steps. 

You kicked off your shoes and held your stomach, trying to pace your breathing while in such a tight dress. You clawed at the laces of your corset, letting out a grumble when you failed to even untie the initial string. Once you heard the door slide open you turned around. Your breathing was still erratic but you quickly made your way to him. You looked both ways for prying ears, your guards given to you by the Baron himself stood watch.

“LEAVE US.” you told them before shutting and locking the chamber door.

Feyd’s face was covered with confusion. You pulled him into a tight hug, burying your face in his neck. “That man is evil…” you said to him. 

“What?” he responded, pulling you back by your hips.

“The Baron… the Reverend Mother… they want to use me to control you.” you said, looking into his eyes nervously.

“How do you know this?” he asked, tone still gentle, purely inquisitive. 

“How do you think?” your voice echoed in his mind, yet your lips remained unmoving. “Feyd… I’m scared… I don’t want to be some political pawn. I… I just want to be…” you said, biting your lip before you could finish your sentence.

“Want to be what?” he said, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before his hands came to cradle your face. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, “Yours.” you paused, “I am your wife, my loyalties lie with you. Always with you. You are the only person I have on this god forsaken planet. The only person I trust. The only person I want.” your hands held his face, eyes glossy with tears. 

He could see it, the genuine nature of everything you just said. Truth be told, he felt the same way. You were the only person he felt anything for, a fire in him burned for you and you alone. You were the only one who could make him vulnerable and soft. He wanted to be that way with you. To be held, cherished, loved. Love. He knew little of it, sex and violence were what fueled him prior to you. Yet here you stood, holding him. Declaring yourself to him, not House Harkonnen. He loved you the minute he saw you, he thought to himself. As if it were fate. 

“Feyd… talk to me.” you said, interrupting his train of thought. 

“I want you too.” he whispered before connecting your lips.

You melted into him, arms going around his neck to deepen the kiss. You felt none of the panic you felt on your wedding night. You wanted him to touch you, feel you, love you. Your tongues mingled together, you mimicked Feyd’s movements. You nipped at his bottom lip instinctually; he sucked in a breath, separating from you. He licked at the drop of blood falling from his lip. 

“Sorry!” you said hurriedly, “I… I’m not really sure what to do.” you could feel your face heating up, thankfully the black sun was eclipsing so the room was shrouded in darkness. Only the red lights in the room cast an ethereal glow.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hips.

“I want you… show me how.” you said.

Feyd leaned back in, kissing you fervently. You felt his hands slide up your hips to start untying your corset. He pulled the ribbon through the endless holes before you felt it go limp. Your breasts peeked out as your dress slowly started to slip off. You felt his hands run up your waist before he slid his hands up your arms.

“Have you never been touched?” he asked, noticing how even the slightest of touches made you squirm.

You shook your head, “No, never.”

“May I touch you?” he whispered as his lips hovered over your neck.

“You already are.” you said, trying to sound like you were still in control of yourself when in reality your mind was hazy. Your senses felt dialed to 11 as he barely touched you. 

“Everywhere. I want to touch you everywhere.” he said, licking your neck quickly before blowing on it, making goosebumps flood over your skin. You shivered slightly, making him smirk. 

“Ok.” you breathed out.

“Ok? Tell me to stop if you want to stop. We don’t have to do this, I want you no matter what.” he said in all seriousness, gaze never leaving yours as he asked for your consent. 

“I want to… please Feyd, make me feel good.” you said, almost moaning it out. The anticipation of his touch driving you mad. 

Feyd wasted no time tugging the rest of your dress down. He ripped the corset away, watching the way the black and red fabric pooled around your hips. He kissed, sucked, licked over the vast expanse of your chest. You held him close, body tingling with every move he made. You let out a small yelp when he took your nipple in his mouth, head falling back when he played with your other breast. He held your thighs before picking you up and carrying you to the bed. He laid you down, legs hanging off the edge. You felt his hands caress your upper body as he kissed his way down. His hands held the last bit of your dress, the fabric was barely being held up by your hips. His eyes flicked to yours, seeking permission. You nodded at him repeatedly. He pulled the dress off, leaving you bare. You felt overly exposed as his eyes wandered over every dip and curve. 

You tried to cover yourself, embarrassed. Feyd’s gentle hands grabbed your wrists, pulling them away from you. “Perfection,” he said, “utter perfection.” 

“I want to see you too.” you said, hands tugging on the bottom of his shirt. He removed his upper armor and shoes before stopping.

“Come take what you want.” he said, lust completely consuming him. He wanted to see how desperate you were for him, how much you needed him. 

You smirked but he didn’t miss the slight tremble in your hands as you pulled his shirt off. Your eyes drank in his pale torso. Muscles rippled over his entire body, you didn’t even realize you were already moving to touch him. You felt over him before needing more like some insatiable beast. Your hands couldn’t move fast enough as you fiddled with his belt, his pants finally loose enough for you to pull down. All that remained was his underwear, you could see a straining bulge in his pants. Feyd pushed you back gently so you were laying with your legs off the bed once more. You rested on your elbows, watching to see what he was doing. He dropped to his knees before you. His hand pushed your legs apart.

“So good… is this all for me?” he asked, his head inching closer to your dripping core.

Before you could answer he attached his mouth you your clit, “Ah, fuck!” you moaned. He ate you out like a man starved. He had one goal in mind, make you cum on his tongue twice before he even considered fucking you. Your body writhed, the pleasure consuming you completely. His strong arms held your hips down, your thighs encasing his head. You felt the heat in your lower belly start to spill over, it flowed in your veins scorching you. Your back arched as he sucked and licked at you incessantly.

“Feyd!” you shrieked, unable to compose yourself as you were overwhelmed with an indescribable feeling of euphoria. 

Feyd didn’t slow his movements, he watched your slick coat his fingers before he teased your entrance. Your body trembled as he slowly pumped his two fingers in and out of you. He kept his pace for a moment before speeding up, resuming his sucking on your clit. Your soft mewls and whines were music to his ears. “Come on love, I know you can be a good girl for me and cum.”

He mumbled as he was more focused on sucking your bundle of nerves than talking. You clamped your thighs around his head as you rode his face, milking your orgasm for all it was worth. When you finally loosened your grip on his head he nipped and sucked love bites into your inner thighs before kissing his way up to you. “You alright?” he asked. 

“I never want to leave this bed.” you chuckled, caressing his face. You felt his bulge rubbing against your sensitive core slightly. You decided to test out his reactions. You grinded into him, he was painfully hard. He let out a strangled groan. You slipped your hand between your bodies, your hand dipping into his underwear finally gripping him where he wanted you most. You watched his eyes flutter closed. You paced yourself as you tugged him off, watching his face for reactions while listening to the little noises he made. Your thumb rubbed over his slick tip, making him lurch forwards.

“W - wait…” he huffed out.

You let go of him immediately, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“The opposite actually…” he said with a breathy laugh. You watched as he pulled his underwear off, you gasped when his cock slapped against his stomach. You watched the black precum leak from his pale pink tip. You took him all in, he was beautiful.

“Do you want to have sex?” he asked, kissing over your chest and neck lazily. 

You bucked your hips up to him. He ran his cock through your folds, hitting your clit while coating you in him. You felt him position himself before he looked at you with a worried gaze. “This might hurt,” he said before pushing in slowly. 

You expected pain but this felt like you were being torn in half. You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes, slipping down your face when Feyd finally bottomed out. He held still, eyes finally flitting to your face, he saw your tears. He glanced down, he saw his black seed mixed with your crimson blood. “Do you want to stop?” he asked, feeling guilty for making you hurt even if it’ll bring you pleasure. 

“No,” you shook your head, “Keep going.” you said pulling him closer to you so you could hook your legs around his waist. 

This position felt much better and as he started moving, you felt the pain ebb into pleasure. Tears kept falling from your eyes but these were tears of joy, of bliss. He couldn’t find where to look, everywhere his eyes landed he saw something more delicious than the last place he looked. He became entranced with your belly, watching the bulge reappear with every thrust. He sped up, his high approaching quickly. You sensed his urgency, rubbing your clit furiously you pushed yourself over the edge. You felt your pussy milking him for everything he was worth, you also felt his hot seed deep inside you. Feyd collapsed on top of you, using the last of his strength to keep himself from crushing you. He shifted to lay next to you. Neither of you said anything for a moment before Feyd stood up and walked into the bathroom. Your heart dropped, was he just using you for sex? He returned before your thoughts could spiral. He wiped your face with the damp cloth before he gently cleaned between your legs, careful not to overstimulate your puffy clit. He wiped his cock before throwing the cloth to the floor. You shimmied backwards, pulling the covers over yourself. Feyd followed suit. You cuddled into him instantly. 

“Thank you.” you said sleepily.

“For what?” he asked, massaging your scalp.

“Everything,” you mumbled. He smiled watching you try to fight sleep. “I love you Feyd.” 

He halted his movements for a second before curling into you, holding you. “I love you Y/N.” he kissed your head, holding you close. He let the warmth of the moment envelop him. Yep, this was love. Feyd Rautha, the psychotic killer, was deeply in love.

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Naboo's Note:

FUCK THIS IS GOOD - I'm so humble I know lol. Fr tho I spent a hot minute on this and I love it. Thanks for all the love around the Feyd mini series lol, drop some requests for Feyd - I'd love them! Thanks for all the likes, comments, and reblogs! XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX!!!!

Taglist: @landlockedmermaid77 @moonsoulk @aoi-targaryen

[crystalskiesandcherrywine]

And all the pieces fall, right into place // Part Four

So these two slightly disturbed and (one of them at least) psychotic doves had to get married eventually ..

All feedback is welcome <3

English is not my first language 

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Warnings: Its finally smutty and its about Feyd, so....

_____________

Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

FxM

3.212 words

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Your descent is quiet, as you are still unable to think or speak clearly, while Feyd Rautha seems tense and concentrated. With the ease he demonstrated on the ascent, you are sure that this has nothing to do with him facing physical challenges with the task at hand. You want to ask him about it but decide to stay silent instead, afraid to reveal more of yourself than you already have. He was promised a Bene Gesserit bride, and so far, you have behaved more uncontrolled and wanton than you ever could imagine.

The sun's rays bask your ancestors' home in a golden blanket as you enter through the gates again, where servants are already waiting for you. The exertion of today takes its toll on you, and your limbs feel heavy. Na Baron, graceful and still full of vigor as if he had done nothing but rest all day, turns to you, taking your hand in his firm grip. The touch of his lips on your knuckles sends an electric current through your core, filling the air between you with something akin to longing. "My Lady," his voice a low murmur, a force veiled in restraint, before he enters the corridors of the castle, shadowed by the servants.

Left to navigate the tumult of your own mind, you all but flee to the room where the chaos began for you, the guest library, as if the essence of the last evening's events might still be found among the scrolls and candles in it. The door gives way under your touch, revealing the Reverend Mother and Lady Jessica in the velvet-draped armchairs, their gazes piercing the flickering light. "Ah... I just wished to—" Your words faltered, and you felt like yet again you are on the precipice of stumbling into something you cannot undo.

A welcoming smile graces your mother's lips. "I knew you'd come to us," she says, the question of how lay unasked as you stepped into their world, closing the door on the shadows that trailed you. You are not even surprised and just let the question of how go unasked.

The Reverend Mother's voice, calm and unfazed by your confusion, carries the explanation, so clean and cutting that you are shocked by the directness of it. "The Reverend Mother Margot at the Emperor's court has failed. She has convinced the emperor that she will bear him the Kwisatz Haderach," her words with an icy undertone, mixed with disgust. "The Emperor fears the loss of power, the alliances of our houses a threat he cannot ignore. The presence of the Harkonnens here is no accident; it's a guarantee of our safety."

Dryness claims your throat as the implications of this take form in your mind. "Does Father know? Am I the last to be told?"

"Your father is aware. Na Baron remains in the dark, but neither he nor the Baron Vladimir is blind to the currents of politics. Paul suspects as much." It takes all your resolve not to fall at your mother's feet as if her embrace might save you from any harm coming her way and your unborn sisters' way.

"Yet, it was he who wished that Arrakis be governed by us. My marriage, arranged from birth—" you state, confusion still swirling around you like dust in the air.

"Indeed, child. But Margot Fenring's betrayal has set a new course, one that places you at the heart of the Emperor's plans. The future is yours and Paul's to create now. If his marriage to the Fremen Princess is successful and you ensure you can manage some of Feyd Rautha's more volatile tendencies," the Reverend Mother pauses, "then your bloodlines will take control of Landstrad without even trying, and CHOAM holds loyalty to the Duke of Arrakis, no matter what they proclaim otherwise."

In the following days, you keep coming back to the library, training with your mother and Reverend Mother as much as you can. Lady Jessica couldn't help but feel a sting of pride at your eagerness and concentration, pushing yourself to your limits. This left you exhausted and almost silent during dinners, keeping your interactions with the Baron to fleeting gazes. It felt like each sight of him frayed your strained mind a little bit more, with darkness creeping into the edges.

You are aware that Na Baron continues his daily training undeterred. You hear Gurney and Duncan whisper about it amongst each other. They seem impressed with his combat skills, something that you don’t see them being often. You tell yourself that after making yourself rare for the last few days, it's only polite to see your betrothed the day before your wedding. Arriving at his guest quarters, you knock, but no one answers. Guided by an urge you are too afraid to name, you press on the indentation on the door, and within a step, you are in his chambers. His attire is folded with immaculate precision along the shelves, his blades, gleaming, lay in a seated shelf. It feels so intimate to get a peek into his tiny world here, an exhilarating feeling rushes through your body.

„What are you doing here?“ 

A hissing, high pitched voice behind you startles you. You swirl around and look into black eyes of a woman, boys as Na Baron, dressed in leather overall, if those tiny scraps couldn’t be called clothing at all. Her eyes have to whites or pupils, but are just filled with back, making her seem like a wild animal. 

„Who are you“ You spit back at her.

„She is in Lots quartersssss… she will take him from ussssss“ Two other creatures appear from his bedroom, three of them looking together identically, The hair in your neck rises

„I am not the once to answer you. Now make space“ You take a step back, but the woman only come closer, his limbs moving slowly and in unnatural angels. 

„Dont thinksss soo. Why let you leave if we can kill you and have him to ourselfesssss“ and with it one of them lunges at you, her nails at your neck, her meta smelling breath on your face. You smack her away, but its three agains one and you feel a stream of blood running down your gown and arms, the pain searing. 

„Stop now“ within seconds you are free, crawling backwards and scrambling on get your feet 

„Who are you?“

The creatures only make cracking sounds in return. „Well then,“ you finally regain composure and try to ignore the drops of blood on your hands. „You can keep that to yourselves as a last thing you do.“ And just as you are about to use your voice on them again, Na Baron appears with sweat running along his cheek, this tunic clinging to his body, revealing the chilled muscles of his chest and abdomen. His gaze wanders between you and the women, between your blood on the floor and the blood on their claw-like nails.

„ I see you could not behave as I told you“ 

For a second you are enraged only to realize that he is not talking to you. „What did I say?“ His voice is pure fury. „We are so sorry, my Lord. She was here uninvited, she shouldn't“" So you decided to lay your hands on my future wife? On my betrothed?“ The women treble with each word „“Forgive us my lord“ the pleas, black tears running down their cheeks. „I forgive you“ he says, looking into their faces and with a low, wishing sound he releases the blade from its holster on his hip, slinking through their throats in one motion.

You stare at the scene before you, the pool of blood crawling to your feet. He steps right through it and gazes into your eyes. „No one will hurt you again, my Lady. No one will ever lay hands on what’s mine“ You only nod and let his kiss seal the promise. Whatever softness he has shown before is gone and is replaced by hunger and ferocity that leaves you breathless. He seems to devour you with his tongue and as you come for air there is wickedness in his features. „I think you should run now, my princess, for I am not sure how long I can hold back myself“ Your feet run on their own, leaving him laughing in the wake. So this is a glimpse of what his true nature is rumoured to be, You would be lying if you would say you are enamoured with him even more now. 

____

On the day of the wedding ceremony, you stay in your chambers. Duke Leto tries to protest as Paul comes to you, but his words fall on deaf ears. Only now do you begin to think of how many secrets had been whispered within those walls for centuries? Your handmaidens dress you, the gown is long and heavy with beads, mixing the vibrant green tones of Caladan, covered with floral patterns. As you move the beads sound almost like raindrops on cobblestones, a Melodie that carries you through the day. 

When it is time, your father leads you to the grand hall, where guests are gathered in the sea of candles. The light of the flickering flames is mirrored by your dress and you hope it can distract from the crimson creeping up into your face. Na Baron stands at the end of your walk and suddenly you feel the weight of the legacy you are carrying, how the cloth that is going to bind your hands together will bind the destiny of your families into one. His figure is dressed in a flowing black coat, that od closed at his shoulders with chrome insignia of his house. His waist is lacking the ear so he presents knifes. He is a presence of solemn elegance. When your eyes meet, a hunger flickers through his composure, but otherwise he aims almost motionless. His white skin almost glows in the light, his posture reminiscent of the pillars at the entrance of the hall. The words of the vows are spoken and with the knot at your wrist, all the whispers of the future materialize in front of you. You can feel the heat radiating from your husband's body, but he doesn’t take your hand and his expression is more guarded than you could ever give him credit for. A small disappointment rears its head, but you focus on your breathing. Your prance, the paragon of elegance and dignity, stand at your side, while Baron Vladimir and his nephew, both imposing in their own way, seem to scan you and your family still with a touch of confusion, as if they are still unsure if this is the inevitable turnout of e union, their leaves whispering in the gentle breeze, a melody of timelessness and change.

_____

The feast seem total stretch itself into an eternity, with each new dish brought forward, each cheer to the couple more grating to your ears than the other. Feyd Rautha seems to sense your absentmindedness as he touches your lower back, startling you. A laughter roars through the halls as he presses his lips hungrily on yours his tongue in your mouth and his grip on your back. You feel the eyes of the guests in you and cannot believe that this is actually something that is happening to you. Such a display of attraction is not something you are used to seeing and even less experiencing. When he finally lets you go, your face is red and flustered and with him leaving into your ear, your hands try to hold him at a distance.

„None of that now, dear Na Baroness“ his voice sweet and low, as sweet as the snakes gaze at the rabbit it is about to devour. „You are mine now, remember“. You tremble at him addressing you with your new title, another piece of the puzzle setting into the new reality you are facing. Two handmaidens appear at your side and you are gestured to leave the halls. The cheering gets even louder and from the corner of your eye, you say Jessica raising an eyebrow at the Duke, who try to remain graceful and stoic through the ordeal. 

Instead of your rooms, you are brought to the east wing. The chamber's candles mirror the grand hall, a subtle echo of their grandeur. The handmaidens leave out a nightgown for you, a whisper of black silk and lace and run a bath, fragrant with myrrh and pine. Hot water mist rises up from the basin, with tiny droplets lingering on your hair and gown. Just as one of the girls begins to untie the intricate laces of your corset on your back, Feyd Ruth’s voice fills the room.

„What do you think you are doing?“ 

„We are..“ The girl, clearly afraid bows down and tries to explain herself.

„You are leaving“ he declares and they follow the command at once. 

You stay frozen on the spot, the small sounds of the dress beads on the floor retrying your shiver. 

He is right behind you, the fabric of his cloak mixing on the floor with yours. His breath is on your neck, intensifying the shivers, which are now infused with anticipation. 

His hands resume the handmaiden's works, unrevealing the masterfully woven ties until your back is exposed to him, your dress holding on to the sure edges of your shoulders. He lets his nails glide along your spine, leaving tiny red lines on your sensitive skin. When his fingers leave your skin you feel a twinge of disappointment, but within a glimpse of a second, they return to push down the dress, as it now gathers on your hips, being held in place by the last pieces of the laces. You feel exposed and try your best to to ver up, as he circles you, with the precision of a vulture hunting down its prey. Whatever restrain he had it seems to fade by a second. His Tonge flicks his lips, as he places one hand on your neck and disposes of the rest of the dress with the other. You are standing now bare infant of him, unable to log away, as his left palm holds your face in a position facing him. His right hand disappears uncerismonuoisly between your thighs, and brushing over your sensitive sport, circling your entrance. „ I am pleased to find you so welcoming“ he smirks, feeling the wetness of your folds. You try to say something in return, but your mind is wiped clean, when his lips are at your neck, sucking at the skin around your collarbones and leaving bruises in their wake while his other hand is still at your core. 

He thought about this moment since your first kiss, letting all kinds of scenarios wander before his eyes. The Imagery of you bound to his bed, on your knees in-front of him, your hands behind your back and his hand in your hair. But for now, none of them seem enough to brand you as his. Your readiness however thinly veiled spurs him on and when he is satisfied with the chain of marks on your neck, he continues with your breasts, sucking and biting, which each whine you can hold back making him even more ferocious, The moonlight mixes with the candles, letting you appear like an ethereal creature, with soft curves and redness to the bitten spots, something divine and foreign to him. When your hands find his shoulders, still fully clothed, his voice is full of mischievous glee, like a spider that sensed something juicy got caught in the net. 

„ I don’t remember allowing that, my Lady. But it's your first transgression, so see it as a chance to learn.“ 

A glimmer of fear finds its way into your mind, the memory of his hand cutting a human throat quite fresh on your mind.

„Now be a good girl and turn to the wall. You obey, feeling the relief of the tapestry pressing into your skin, a friction so irritating and delicious you almost cannot stay still. 

„You are only getting 5 blows, but you are going to count them loud for my, my Na Baroness“ You sense how eager he is and brace yourself. Yet the pain is so searing on your bottom, ah his hands land flat on it, leaving a screaming red mark immediately that your legs tremble.

“It seems you didn’t count this one, so we have to start again“ Another blow on your butt cheeks lands with an intensity you didn’t expect.

„One..“ You manage to press between your teeth.

„Now that's better“ He almost purrs, a cat satisfied with its cats.

By the time the last blow lands, your are a mess of pain and desire.

You lay on the bed, your mind and body in a haze of desire and angst, as his clothes are disappearing on the floor. Your eyes wander dawn from his abdomen to his groin, where an unmistakable proof of his desire is covered in precum. He notices your reaction. 

„It seems like you are ready for me, but you have to prove it to me yet“. He gestures you to get on all fours, your face to him. His thumb runs along your already swollen lips, and he nudges then apart. He fills your mouth, while clawing at your har, and when you look up to him, the blue in his eye is almost gone. His thrust are hard and fast, a gagging sounds that seem to please him and just as he settles into a ferocious rhythm. But just as you think his peak is nearly there, he stops and you see how a human in him disappeared and a relentless beast has emerged. He scoops you up and oxeye you are place with your back on the silken sheets, he aligns himself with your entrance.

„All mine“ he growls and enters you in one motion. As much as you anticipated this moment, you feel utterly unprepared by being filled out like this. He doesn’t pause and takes up the pace from before. You close your eyes and another orgasm makes you scream his name like a drowning person screaming for help. His Whole body is towering over you, a marble statue that came alive. The veins on his forearms becoming more prominent, his breathing ragged and shallow. To see him unravel spurs you on even further and your nails find his shoulders and back again, gliding down to his butt, revealing red stripes on the marble in their wake.You feel your whole being clinging onto him and his own peak follows closely. You feel his warmth filling you, his last pumps weakening, as hi almost collapses onto you. None of you is able to speak. There is a tiny trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades and along cheek bon, With an inexplicable urgency you flick out your tongue and lick it up from his face. With some of the icy flu of his eyes returning, he regards you with a satisfied smirk. „Please rest assured, that I am not done with you yet, my lady“. 

___

@moonsoulk @aoi-targaryen

[godlywh0re]

The Devil Wears A Suit And Tie

Rust Cohle x Reader (if you squint)

Word Count: 1.3K

Notes: I was listening to the song "The devil wears a suit and tie" and had a sick idea in my head, needed to get it out as soon as possible so let me know what you think :)

It had started out innocently enough. Rust watched as Billy Lee Tuttle strided out of Quesada’s office. An air of debonair followed the man like a second shadow almost making him miss the quiet woman following behind him, almost. Rust scanned over her quick, young, late 20s at most, pretty but unassuming in her demeanor. His eyes, always flickering beneath the surface, caught the way she carefully avoided looking directly at Reverend Tuttle. He filed it away, like he did everything else, his mind a database of half-formed connections waiting to coalesce into a larger picture. 

“Reverend, reverend, please come quick…”

She was quiet as the reverend spoke to them, gaze watching between Marty and himself. Their interaction was brief, she gave a polite smile while the reverend shook their hands. Rust let his gaze fall to the necklace she wore. A soft gold chain, hanging from it was a triangular pendant with three pearls sat in another triangle formation. For a fraction of a second, a curiosity tugged at his chest. It pushed away as quickly as the irritation grew. The thought of a task force possibly coming in on the case was quick to occupy his thoughts.

“ ‘Cause I got something to admit…”

The case involving Reggie and Dewall Ledoux was all over the news. She watched it unfold from behind her desk, the tension rippling through the office like a storm on the horizon. Whispers of the detective's names were spoken in hushed tones. Something cold washed over her as she turned her eyes to Tuttle who wore a sullen expression as he watched the news relaying the events. He turned the television off, his gaze cut to her sharp, whatever emotion that he had once portrayed gone from his face as he told her to schedule a meeting with Governor Tuttle. 

“I met a man out in the sticks…”

One evening, after another long day, she found herself at a small diner on the edge of town, picking at a plate of cold fries. The door chimed as it opened, and she looked up, surprised to see Detective Cohle walking in. She wasn’t sure if he’d remember her from when they first met but as his eyes locked with hers, a flicker of recognition passed through them. He hesitated for a moment before making his way over, his movements slow and deliberate as he sat in the booth across from her. They exchanged polite niceties, the kind of guarded conversation people have when they know they share something deeper but can’t quite name it. 

They made small talk, how she was doing, where she went to college, her job as a secretary for the reverend. In the stillness of their small talk Rust exhaled a slight breath, as if he had decided on something. After a while, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly. "Tuttle’s involved in something deeper, something darker. It ain’t just about politics or religion. It’s organized, systematic." 

He took a deep drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke like it was a confession. "You don’t get to where he is without dirty hands. Men like him don’t wear suits ‘cause they’re righteous. They wear ‘em ‘cause it hides the blood."

She looked at him, startled, her face pale under the light of the diner. The theories were outlandish to her ears, almost paranoid. The Reverend had been nothing but kind to her, offering her a good job and stability. Rust’s voice was steady, but there was a fire in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.

"Rust, that’s..." she trailed off, struggling to find the words. "That’s insane."

"Maybe," he said, his voice hardening, "but you’re too smart to not feel that something’s off. You know it."

They parted that night with the tension thick between them, as crazy as his ideas sounded, something made her stomach turn with dread. 

“Foolish, foolish was I...”

A few weeks later, Rust shows up to the office for an official meeting with Tuttle. She watched as he entered the building, his presence tense, his face more worn than usual. After the meeting, he approached her desk, his expression unreadable.

He leaned down, his voice barely above a whisper. "You need to get out," he murmured. "Tuttle’s dangerous. You don’t know what you’re mixed up in."

Her pulse quickened, but she kept her face neutral, not wanting to draw attention. “Rust, I—”

“I’m not asking,” he interrupted, his gaze piercing. “I’m telling you. Get out while you still can.”

Before she could respond, Tuttle appeared in the hallway, his gaze sweeping over them. Rust straightened, his face hardening into a mask of indifference, but she saw the way Tuttle’s eyes lingered on their exchange. The reverend smiled, but there was something behind it—something darker.

“Damn my foolish eyes…”

She didn’t see Rust after the meeting with Tuttle. To her disappointment, he never showed up at the diner again either. Though Rust might have been gone, his words never left her head. A deep pit grew in her stomach every time she showed up to work, stomach twisting whenever reverend Tuttle flashed her a charming smile. 

“Cause that man’s lessons had a price, oh sweet price..”

Tuttle offered to drive her home one night after a late meeting. She hesitated but accepted, not wanting to raise any suspicion. The resignation letter that sat neatly in a folder on her desk gone untouched, she would give it in tomorrow. Tomorrow she will be free of this sick feeling in her stomach. 

The drive was quiet, the only sound was the soft hum of the radio. A haunting melody filled the silence between them, her fingers clenched on her lap. Tuttle drove steadily, his eyes fixed on the road, but after a long silence, he spoke. “You used to talk to Detective Cohle quite a bit, didn’t you?” His tone was casual, but something in the air felt off.

She glanced at him, her stomach tightening. "Yeah, we talked sometimes," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "He had some… interesting theories."

“Oh?” Tuttle’s voice was calm, almost too calm. “What kind of theories?”

She forced a laugh, trying to play it off. “Crazy stuff. He thought you were involved in some kind of conspiracy. He believed you were hiding something.”

Tuttle chuckled, but it was a hollow sound. “And what did you think of all that?”

She shrugged, her stomach twisting with unease. “I didn’t believe him. I mean, come on. It’s ridiculous.”

Tuttle smiled, but his eyes were cold. He didn’t say anything else, just kept driving, turning down a dark, unfamiliar road. The farther they went, the more her heart began to race.

“Reverend?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where are we going?”

His smile remained, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The song continued to play, the chords hanging heavy in the air.

“My sweet soul, everlasting, my very own eternal light…”

Fear gripped her, the realization sinking in. Rust had been right all along.

      · · ·

As Rust Cohle moved deeper into the heart of Carcosa, the air grew heavier, thicker, like something ancient and rotten clung to the very walls around him. The winding path ahead narrowed into what Errol had called the "Bride's Path"—a sickening name that made Rust's skin crawl. The stench of decay grew stronger as he moved forward, stepping lightly, senses heightened. The walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating, and then the path opened into a small, cavernous chamber.

 Rust’s eyes swept across the grotesque scene before him—mummified corpses. They were wrapped in bandages, old and tight against their bones, antlers protruding from their wrapped skulls. A glint of gold on one of the corpses caught in his sight. He stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he focused on the necklace that draped around the shriveled neck of the corpse. His breath hitched in his throat. It was a simple gold chain, the gold dirty and tangled, with a triangular pendant and three pearls in another triangle formation.

“The devil wears a suit and tie, saw him driving down the 61 in early July…”