#wedding AND a coup

[vanhelsingapologist]

killing his dad went fine.

spoilers in tags!

[fischerfrey]

A Christmas Prince; The Royal Wedding

Chapter 4: All the World’s a Stage

Summary: Dawn holds down the fort. Evander offers to help with Aldelry's economic crisis.

Words: 2.7k

Characters:

Dawn Harvelle and Evander Alderly @potionboy3

Quincey, Olympia and Isabella Alderly, Tess Brandon

Gaia Alden by @cursed-herbalist

Also featuring:

Lainey Bell by @gcldensnitch, Evan Harvelle by @potionboy3

Beginning | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Want to read the first fic in the series, A Christmas Prince? Click here!

Chapter 4: All the World's a Stage

The meeting Dawn was supposed to attend with Quincey was postponed in favour of all kinds of other meetings that Dawn wasn’t allowed to attend. It was three in the morning when Quincey and Lainey returned from whatever emergency meetings they’d been having. Dawn had been sitting with Olympia, Evan, and Tess, but Evan had given up at around two, proclaiming he had to go get some sleep before he drooled all over the priceless antique furniture. Dawn felt the same way, but he couldn’t go to sleep before Quincey was back.

“How did it go?” Olympia asked when Quincey and Lainey entered the room.

“Everything’s still up in the air,” said Quincey. “Mother told me to get some sleep because tomorrow isn’t going to be any easier.”

“It’s today,” said Olympia.

“Right… I’m sorry about the play.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Olympia. “Dawn has had an idea.”

“Yeah?” asked Quincey and turned his tired gaze to Dawn.

“We’re having it here,” said Dawn. “Mr. Flitwick has agreed to help us, though Miss Pince was very much against it.”

“Well, some good news, at least,” Quincey huffed and sat down. Lainey was still looking through her phone.

“Lane, please, give it a rest,” said Quincey. “Take a break.”

“Your Majesty,” said Lainey and put her phone away. Everyone in the room looked at each other and the stress and exhaustion felt palpable.

“I’m starting to feel like Christmas might be cancelled this year,” said Quincey quietly.

That was too much for Dawn. “No,” he said sternly. “This is the Christmas capital of all the Christmas capitals and we’re not letting the people down by losing hope now.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Dawn.

“We will figure out why the initiative isn’t working, and we will have a Christmas,” he continued. “We don’t need money to make a good Christmas, I never did before.”

Tess smiled at him.

“You’re right,” said Olympia. “We can use whatever we have in the palace kitchens to make a meal for everyone after the show tomorrow.”

“That sounds like fun,” said Dawn.

“I can do an inventory in the morning,” said Lainey.

“Hey, why aren’t you on strike?” asked Olympia.

“They don’t have a union for Kings’ best friends,” said Lainey. “And besides, if I don’t help fix this mess then the country will be worse off.”

“You’re so right,” said Quincey.

“Touching,” came a voice from the door and Dawn turned to look at none other than Evander.

“What is it now?” Olympia asked.

“I was wondering if I could have a moment of the king’s time?”

“Moments are in short supply,” said Quincey.

“I understand, I just wanted to thank you again for taking me back into the fold.”

“That's putting it a bit generously, isn't it?” Olympia interjected.

“Perhaps, but I'd like to do something to repay you. All. I may have a solution to Alderly's financial crisis–”

“I should've known this was about getting your hands on the kingdom's money,” Quincey interrupted him. “You can forget about it.”

“Cousin, no. It's just as I say, I want to help!” Evander defended himself. “I do have a degree in economics from Oxford.”

“You do?” asked Dawn.

“He does,” said Quincey.

“All I'm asking is that you to hear me out, I have a sound plan. Give me a chance to redeem myself.”

Olympia shook her head.

“Fine, you can come to the meeting tomorrow, alongside Dawn,” Quincey said. “But I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“Of course, I would expect no less,” said Evander and bowed. He backed away from the room. “Good night,” he called out before leaving.

“Brother, have you gone mad?” asked Olympia.

“I know you hate him, O, but economics is far more useful in this situation than art history,” said Quincey. “We might actually need him.”

“We can’t trust a word he says.”

“I can trust that he loves this country,” said Quincey. “That’s the one thing about Evander I know to be true.”

~

The next morning Dawn was led to one of the palace’s many conference rooms. There were several ministers present, as well as the queen mother, Evander, and Quincey, along with a slew of experts and assistants. Most of the meeting went completely over Dawn’s head, which frustrated him to no end. No one had given him any material to prepare for this, the only folder he had waiting for him back in his rooms was about the upcoming wedding, which seemed to matter less and less by each passing minute. After an hour and a half of economical jargon Dawn had to physically restrain himself from yawning.

“Your Majesty,” the queen said. “I have three words for you. Stay the course.”

“Even in light of everything that's happened??

Isabella gave her son an encouraging smile and said: “We put into action what your father dreamed of doing for the last years of his reign.”

“But the situation has changed so vastly since then,” Quincey replied. “Are there really no adjustments you'd consider, mother?”

“Patience. This kind of long-term investment in roads, hospitals, schools... it's good business.”

Dawn wasn’t sure what it was about the way the queen said good business that made him finally open his mouth: “I beg your pardon. Queen Isabella, may I?”

“Yes, of course, my dear.”

Dawn took a deep breath. If he fumbled this, he wouldn’t get a second chance. “If all the infrastructure projects are happening in Alderly, through Alderlian companies, how can the country be losing so much money?”

The minister of internal affairs perked his ears. Maybe all these high and mighty politicians didn’t think too highly of Dawn, but he was damn well going to try his best to prove them wrong. “Did you think that perhaps we should consider taking some proactive steps to find out?”

Isabella smiled at Dawn, tightly. “Absolutely we should and will. A thorough review begins tomorrow.”

“Well then,” said Quincey. “Good.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” Evander cut in. “I love our country and was merely curious to know how The Queen Mother accounts for the inverse returns.”

“Count Evander, that is hardly appropriate–,” started the Prime Minister, but Quincey motioned for him to keep his peace.

“You’re welcome to go through all of these documents,” said the queen. “As I had expected you had when you were invited to this meeting.”

Dawn wondered if Evander had ever received the documents either, or if it was just him.

“The documents are one thing, Your Majesty, but I had hoped–,”

“Hopes what, dear nephew? To get inside knowledge of our country’s goings-on so you could exploit them for your own gain?”

“Queen Isabella, I…”

“Enough,” said the queen. “Quentin, maybe now you will finally see that as king, you'll find everyone as their own agenda. Keep a watchful eye on those who try to lead you astray.”

Evander fell silent and Quincey cleared his throat. “Thank you for your… advice, mother.”

Isabella nodded.

“I have no doubt that a thorough investigation will yield results and secure Alderly’s future,” Quincey said. “I do believe our fortunes are about to change.”

~

After the meeting Dawn and Quincey headed out to get the courtyard Christmas tree. They both needed some fresh air. It had begun to snow lightly and Dawn so happy to finally spend some time with Quincey outside the palace walls and out of reach of the watchful eyes of the court.

“Fresh snow at Christmas is an Alderlian sign of good fortune,” said Quincey as they made their way deeper into the woods.

“Well, we could take it as a good sign, then,” said Dawn, bundled up in his best outerwear so as not to freeze to death. He had learned his lesson from last year, prancing around in converse even though there was two meters of snow everywhere.

“Do you think it’s in time to save Christmas?” Quincey asked.

“At least the play, if nothing else.”

“Olympia has worked very hard on it, it’s been good for her,” said Quincey.

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Dawn. “She did seem pretty invested.”

Quincey nodded and then stopped abruptly, pointing out a tree. “What about this one?

Dawn examined the specimen. “It's a little bare on the side.”

Quincey moved on to the next tree. One good thing about owning acres upon acres of forest was that you could have your pick of the most perfect Christmas tree.

“This one's nice,” said Quincey.

“It's not really a cone, is it?”

“What?”

Dawn sighed. What did they teach these royals of the Christmas country? “Well, a Christmas tree should be a cone. That was more of a triangle.”

“Well, I always thought a cone was a sort of triangle,” said Quincey with a shrug.

“Did you fail geometry?”

“Hey!”

“Finding the perfect tree is like finding the perfect man,” said Dawn, attempting to sound like a wise philosopher. “It takes time, and first impressions can be deceiving.”

“Oh, I see,” Quiney laughed. “Just because I stole your taxi a year ago now means I need to freeze to death while we find a perfect tree?”

“Not my fault you had to wear your fancy coat. Should’ve dressed warmer.”

Obviously, Quincey would be a lost cause without him.

~

The pair inspected many a tree, and some half an hour passed. Quincey had had the sense to wear a hat and gloves, so Dawn wasn’t too worried about him freezing. Coming across another tree of suitable proportions, Quincey said: “No geometrical imperfections here.”

“This one?” said Dawn, doubtful. It was an alright tree, but the branches leaned a bit too much up.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Tall, majestic, really the perfect tree,” said Quincey in a valiant defence of the upward bending branch tree.

“Totally wrong.”

“Are you sure this isn't the one?”

“Come on,” said Dawn and took Quincey’s hand. He wanted this excursion to last as long as possible, since he wasn’t likely to get another moment alone with Quincey like this in a while. He led him still deeper into the woods, until finally he came across what he was actually looking for.

“This one,” he announced.

Quincey looked from Dawn to the tree and back again and said with a tone full of disbelief: “That's... that's a runt. I mean, it's missing branches. It looks more like a tetrahedron than a cone.”

“Tetrahedron, shut up…” mumbled Dawn and circled the tree. “This one’s unique.”

“Unique?”

“Yes, this is the one.”

Quincey obviously had his doubts, but luckily for Dawn, he was also up for most of Dawn’s crazy ideas so he tagged the tree dutifully so the royal lumberjacks or whatever they were called could find it when they came to collect.

Dawn kissed Quincey’s cheek. “You didn’t bring your own axe?”

“I doubt they’d let me handle one.”

“Oh no, they wouldn’t. You’ve got too delicate of a constitution…”

“I could have you locked up in the dungeon for that.”

“You’d miss me too much.”

~

“Wow,” said Olympia once the tree was brought to the courtyard. “That's a very... unique tree.”

“Exactly. It's perfect, right?” asked Dawn.

“It'll look great, once we get all the lights in,” Olympia said though Dawn could tell she was also judging his taste. He decided to drive the point home even harder.

“Yeah, the coloured ones,” he said. “And those big, old, inflatable reindeer up there.”

Olympia nearly grimaced. “Luckily the staff will decorate this one, so you keep your grubby little hands off it.”

“Alright, you Christmas elitist…”

Pince cleared her throat and said: “As things have gone back to normal with the crown this year, we will light the tree Christmas Eve, after the king's address.”

Pince turned to Dawn and addressed him specifically, saying: “The decor mandate is white and gold. No inflatables.”

Dawn laughed. “Yes, I know Miss Pince, don’t worry.”

Olympia and Quincey laughed with him, when Pince’s expression turned from extremely worried to extremely relieved.

~

The next day was the day of Olympia’s play. The whole palace was abuzz with excitement, as nothing of the sort had been seen within the royal residence in years. Dawn and Tess were helping with the finishing touched to some of the supporting actors’ costumes, when Dawn noticed Evander standing nearby. Suspecting that he was up to no good, Dawn walked up to him.

“Are you spying on me?”

“Excuse me?” asked Evander, sufficiently affronted by the idea.

“I don’t like being spied on.”

“I don’t know if you know this,” said Evander. “But not everything is about you.”

“Then what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be hatching some evil schemes somewhere?”

“I call it looking after the interests of Alderly,” Evander said coolly.

“Or for one Alderlian,” Dawn said with a scoff. “Named Evander.”

“Yes, I get it, it's not that clever.”

“Quincey may have been taken in by your little act but I'm not,” said Dawn and went back to work.

“What was that about?” asked Tess.

“Just clearing some things up.”

Tess looked thoughtful for a moment and then said: “I don’t know him, but I think he’s really trying to help. Last night he was still up, pouring over some account books long after everyone else had gone to bed.”

“He was?”

“Yeah,” said Tess. “In the kitchens. I went to get some chamomile tea so I could sleep.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s trying to help. It could be a plot.”

“I suppose it could…” mused Tess and added a final bow to the dress she was working on.

~

The play was certainly interesting. Dawn had to admit the artistic liberties taken were sometimes lost on him, but he had to appreciate the unique take on a classic folktale. The cast had opted to use masks to portray certain characters instead of elaborate costumes. The climax of the play, Princess Froon granting Santa Claus his powers and Grundel turning into a knight was complete with smoke effects. Gaia was swallowed by a cloud of smoke and her mask and cloak were replaced with shiny chainmail. She made quite a dashing knight and the kiss shared between her and the princess was straight out of a fairytale. Most of the references and more subtle choices went straight over Dawn’s head but he was pretty alright with that, seeing Olympia take the stage in a form she actually enjoyed, in a stark contrast to her royal duties.

~

After the play was done, Olympia invited all of her fancy friends down to the kitchens to bake gingerbread cookies for charity. It really was a little chaotic and only some of the cookies were actually respectable looking enough to be even considered for charitable purposes, but the castle was in need of cookies too, and Dawn didn’t mind if his cookie was made into the shape of a butt by some pompous noble.

He himself was making an attempt at decorating some heart and star shaped ones, when he heard Olympia’s voice behind him.

“Is that a snowman or a yeti?”

“It’s Grundel!” said Gaia, laughing. “Don’t you know your history?”

“I’ll have you know that Grundel doesn’t have a hat.”

“Mine does!” Gaia defended herself and both laughed.

“You were quite good tonight,” Gaia said.

“Thanks.”

“I’m glad it all worked out.”

“Imagine if we’d had to refund the tickets…”

“You could have kissed your allowance goodbye,” Gaia said.

“God-forbid, I have no life skills.”

“Well acting…”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Maybe a little,” said Gaia. “But it was fun, maybe we should make this an annual thing? Next year we could do The Christmas Nights.”

Dawn had no idea what that one entailed, but if it was anything like the one Alderlian folktale he did know, it was sure to be entertaining.

“I’d like that,” said Olympia.

“Hey, do you like coffee?” Gaia asked suddenly.

“Sure.”

“Would you like to go, sometime?”

“For a coffee?”

“Yes. With me, preferably.”

Olympia laughed. “Yes, I’d like to.”

Dawn suppressed a grin and busied himself getting more cookies to decorate.

Dawn’s Blog, December 20th

Post title: The Tale of Princess Froon

Dear all, Christmas spirit has overtaken the palace, and the Alderlian saga of Princess Froon and the Wicked Ogre melted hearts and sparked a wild frenzy of sweet treats and cocoa in the kitchen. It was a wonderful day, a great release from the pressure I feel as my life is about to change forever.

tag list: @lifeofkaze, @gcldensnitch, @endlessly-cursed, @cursed-herbalist, @magicallymalted

(ask if you want to be included or removed)

[blujayonthewing]

accidentally getting into mixology is dangerous for the kind of person who uses different specific drinkware for coffee vs tea vs GREEN tea and who has a glass she informally but insistently thinks of as The Milk Glass

[space-dreams-world]

Another Twin Au: D and T: Danyal And Talia

Also, potential Spirit Halloween.

Ra's had two children, Danyal Al Ghul and Talia Al Ghul, the Demon's Daughter and the Demon's Son. Talia might have been firstborn, but she was neglected over her father favoring Danyal.

Danyal was treated better than she was, and while Danyal didn't understand Talia's jealousy, he still tried to help her. Like for instance, Talia had a fight to prove her loyalty to the Al Ghul line and was tasked to fight to the death, Danyal seeing how tired she was from training, he poisoned the fighters, so that his sister could win and survive.

Even when Ra's schemed to transfer his mind into Danyal's body, he was overwhelmed by Danyal's spirit and was not able to do the transfer.

Danyal liked to play tricks on new recruits to the league, and when Bruce was there, he pretended to be his sister. (As Danyal constant exposure to the pits made his eyes green)

Talia was only able to develop a relationship with Bruce outside the compound,but Danyal and Bruce's love story was very brief. ( And maybe Bruce liked Danyal more as he could be bargained to live with Bruce, unlike his sister who was devoted to her father)

Ra's would have liked the detective with either of his children,but it was not to be.

In fact, when Talia was planning on wedding Bruce, Danyal was sent for extra protection and liked the little Robin (Dick) despite being on opposite sides. So, when Talia acquires Bruce's sperm to make Damian, Ra's did a test to see which sibling produced better offspring, and unfortunately, Danyal's won. So, Damian was the son of the Bat and Demon, but of Bruce and Danyal. The thing is that Talia and Danyal are identical twins, just one boy and one girl. So, Talia assumes Damian is hers by default, and when creating Heretic, she uses her DNA.

Danyal was someone more connected with the pits than anyone knew and spent some time with the spiritualists of the league. Danyal was there when Jason was in the league and tried to curb his most violent fits, and sometimes took care of Damien in the league along with Jason.

Now, unfortunately, during Ra's coup, Talia, sick of her brother favoritism, pushes Danyal into the pits where he doesn't resurface.

(A few years in Danny Phantom world is a few days in the DC verse, so Danyal as Danny Fenton speedruns the DP life, becomes phantom, follows cannon lore, except doesn't really stay in Amity Park afterwords,closes the two portals, and goes to find his original dimension,where Damien is about to sacrificed to the pit by Talia, believing she can make more,with the bats present kills him.

More in part 2...

[youaremysunshine-court]

Still waiting for that one time loop fic to update I've forgotten everything about it bc it's been on hiatus for like a year??? And anyway let's not think about my andreil au that's been on hiatus for a year and a half lololol

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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join the taglist for any fic

[moonlitmagicmelody]

❝ the wise sailor flees the storm as it gathers. ❞ -to Cass(or whoever you feel like really) from Eric, who would follow his own advice if storms didn't hit him like well-timed lightning

“All right,” Cass allowed. “So where is it you plan on fleeing? We don’t have much time before the Court realizes we’ve escaped their plans for you.”

[austinbutlerslovers]

Power & Control

Label Mature 18+

Feyd Rautha x You Oneshot

Summary Feyds rise to power takes an unexpected turn when the rebel Muad'dib disrupts the empire. After his uncle's death, Feyd becomes Baron, only to learn that Muad'dib is actually Earl Paul Atreides, seeking to avenge his father. Feyd defeats Paul, stopping his bid for the throne. Now, Feyd faces his most formidable opponent yet: his bride to be you the princess of the empire.

‼️Update the entire story has been rewritten from Feyd x Irulan to Feyd x You due to dm demand 🥵

Starts off Dune Part 2 Ends with Sexual Oblivion

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Breeding kink •edging•fingering•overstimulation• oral female •squirting •nipple play• wedding night• light power play• consummation •male dominance •P in V• mating press•multiple orgasms•cream pie •sexed into submission

Master List ••• Upcoming List

Power & Control

In the harsh and unforgiving empire of the universe, power was the ultimate conquest in a game of life and death, where only the strong and cunning prevail. The climactic battles that shaped the destiny of the known universe reached a turning point on the desert planet of Arrakis.

Paul Atreides, a former Earl of the empire, rose to power in exile on the planet after the assassination of his father the Duke. With reverence, he assumed the mantle of Muad’Dib, his authority alongside his Fremen warriors was unchallenged on Arrakis. By sabotaging the current ruler of the planet, the Harkonnen Baron of Geidi Prime, Paul gained control over the empire's crucial spice fields.

Paul sent an invitation to the emperor to form an alliance in a surprise move against the Baron who was unaware of the coup. But as soon as the emperor arrived, Paul double crossed him launching a swift and brutal attack on the Arrakeen palace with his formidable Fremen forces. The empire’s downfall seemed inevitable as Paul’s Fremen warriors surged into the opulent palace, following the orders of their prophetic Muad’Dib.

Inside the throne room, tension gripped the air as dignitaries and officials of the imperial court awaited their fate. The air grew thick as the Harkonnen Baron and his nephews, along with you and your father the Emperor, awaited the inevitable confrontation.

The screams from outside grew faint as the chaos of battle drew closer, until the sudden explosion of the throne room door shattered the silence. In strode Paul Atreides, cloaked and unrecognizable, his identity hidden from all. Without hesitation, he made his way to the Harkonnen Baron, blade in hand. With unyielding determination, he plunged the knife into the Baron’s neck, ending his life in a swift and decisive blow.

The Baron fell to the floor, convulsing, as shock rippled through the throne room. None were more stunned than the Baron’s nephews, Feyd Rautha and Rabban Harkonnen. With his uncle’s demise, Feyd, as his successor, instantly ascended to the position of Baron. Feyd’s face displayed a flurry of emotions: shock, disbelief, and then a realization of the immense responsibility thrust upon him.

Suddenly finding himself as the new Baron, Feyd grappled with the weight of his new role. His mind only set on the desire to overthrow the Muad’dib for the chaos he had caused the empire and avenging the death of a leader in his Harkonnen lineage by defeating him in hand to hand combat..

After murdering the Baron Paul confronted the Emperor and revealed his true identity as the son of Leto Atreides. His motives for revenge stemmed from the emperor’s treachery, striking a deal with the Baron who eliminated his father and wiped out his planet. With his true identity unveiled Paul sent word to the great houses, leveraging the threat of the spice fields on Arrakis, which they heavily profited from, to compel their presence.

His true intention however was to out the emperor for his war crimes and avenge the death of his father.

The Proposal

Paul leveraged with the Emperor to confess his crimes before the Great Houses arrived, vowing that he would take your hand as his Princess to become the Emperor and keep you safe.

The Emperor flat out refused Paul’s proposal, his voice filled with disdain.

“Your father was a weak man and a poor leader,” he sneered.

His words enraged Paul who challenged the Emperor to a duel. Because of his old age the Emperor fell silent. However Feyd waiting in the wings immediately stepped up to the occasion 

Following the death of his uncle, Feyd had been waiting for the opportune moment to challenge Paul to the death, a final confrontation that would determine the fate of the known universe whoever winning ultimately becoming emperor.

“I am here Atreides” Feyd announced stepping from the crowd of the imperial court. “I will need a blade” he said with laced intimidation.

“Accept mine” the Emperor said hastily as he glared at Paul wanting him disposed.

Feyd took the Emperors dagger in his hand and studied its weight and design.

The duel was set at that very moment in the great throne room of Arrakeen, with the Fremen, and the empirical court bearing witness.

As Feyd and Paul met in the middle of the throne room, Paul took his stance, his expression resolute. Feyd stood stoically, his gaze fixed on his opponent.

“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Paul recited solemnly, drawing from the teachings of respect during battle he had learned from his new people on his adoptive planet.

Feyd echoed the words, but with a distain, a reflection of his loyalty to the emperor. “May thy knife chip and shatter,” he replied in a mocked tone. 

As they faced each other, the tension was electric. Paul, the prophetic leader of the Fremen, against Feyd, the cunning and ambitious new Baron of Geidi Prime.

The duel began with ferocity, both men showcasing their formidable skills. Paul, seemed almost untouchable, predicting Feyd’s every move. However, Feyd was a meticulous fighter using his cunningness and agility to counter Paul’s foresight.

The battle raged on, and just as Paul began to gain the upper hand, Feyd feigned a misstep, drawing Paul in close. Seizing the moment with ruthless precision, Feyd delivered a fatal stab into Paul’s ribs, twisting the blade deeper to intensify his internal injury. Paul staggered back, rasping for breath, his gaze fixed on the blade embedded in his ribs and fell to his knees.

As Paul’s strength waned, Feyd joined him kneeling  down and pulling him close in the intimate moment.  This was a personal act of revenge. A cruel smile played on Feyd’s lips as he whispered the final insult, “You fought well, Atreides,” slowly withdrawing the blade from Paul’s ribs. He allowed the blood to leak from the wound, the crimson stain spreading across the fabric of Paul’s stillsuit.

With a swift and decisive strike, Feyd delivered the fatal blow, plunging the blade through Paul’s neck and ending the legendary Muad’Dib’s resistance in a swift and brutal act, mirroring the death of his own uncle. The stunned audience watched in horror as Paul’s lifeless body slumped to the ground.

Wails filled the throne room as Paul’s loyal Fremen rushed to aid their fallen leader. Feyd stood victorious amidst the chaos, his triumph undeniable as he gazed upon the scene before him, the taste of victory bitter on his lips.

The fall of Paul Atreides marked the rise of Feyd Rautha, the newly ascended Baron. He knew this was his chance to fulfill his uncle’s desires and ascend to the higher position of emperor. Raised being manipulated by the former Baron, Feyd was power hungry, and all of their political calculations this was the ultimate goal.

Seizing the moment, Feyd moved swiftly to consolidate his power and assert his rule over the empire. He knelt before the Emperor, his voice steady as he requested his approval to marry you his daughter the Princess of the empire.

“Emperor,” Feyd began, his tone respectful yet determined, “I humbly ask for the honor of your daughter’s hand in marriage. With her by my side, I vow to serve the empire faithfully and uphold its traditions.”

Gasps filled the throne room at Feyd’s boldness to propose such a request at this pivotal moment. The Emperors courtiers exchanged startled glances, some murmuring in disbelief at the audacity.

The Emperor, however, remained composed, his expression unreadable as he considered Feyd’s proposal. After a tense moment of silence, he nodded slowly, acknowledging Feyd’s words.

“Feyd Rautha,” the Emperor finally spoke, his voice carrying authority, “you have shown courage and loyalty in your service to the empire on this day. I grant you consent to marry my daughter, princess of the empire. May this union bring strength to our dynasty and prosperity to our realm.” The throne room fell silent with the sudden transition of power on the Emperor’s decision.

With the Emperor’s approval, Feyd rose to his feet, a sense of triumph coursing through him. But he knew his true test lay ahead as he approached you, daughter of the Emperor, Princess of Kaitan. 

You radiated regal confidence and beauty. Your meticulously styled hair complemented your high cheekbones, accentuating your striking eyes. Your face exuded delicacy and aristocracy, with an elegance that commanded attention. The immaculate gown you adorned clung gracefully to your form, enhancing every elegant curve.

Feyd desired you greatly, his eyes transfixed on your radiant face before lowering to your bosom and settling on your bodice as you approached him. You moved with a grace and confidence that demanded respect and admiration.

Your reputation in the empire preceded you; Feyd was well aware of your sharp mind. More than just your physical allure, he was drawn to the cunning and discerning intellect that lay beneath your serene exterior. You possessed a keen wit, which made him even more eager to posses you.

You were well aware of the Harkonnens’ insatiable lust for power and control, knowing the depths to which his family would go to achieve their goals. The history between your houses was fraught with conflict and betrayal, and you hesitated to trust Feyd.

As he stood before you, his gaze was unwavering, his voice steady with determination.

“Princess, I understand your reservations of our union due to the history of our houses, but I assure you, this union is not just for the benefit of House Harkonnen. It is for the stability of the entire empire.”

You met Feyd’s gaze with your expression guarded. “You speak of stability, but I cannot ignore the history of House Harkonnen.” You replied, your voice tinged with skepticism.

Feyd bowed his head respectfully. “I do not ask you to forget the past, Princess, but together, we can forge a new path forward.” He vowed.

You remained stoic though you felt drawn to the sincerity of his words. Despite knowing all too well the scrupulous dealings of the Harkonnens ,you could clearly see in him an unyielding loyalty to your father and the empire.

Despite the Harkonnens involvement in many atrocities, you understood they had been pivitol in your father’s accomplishments. With Feyd by your side, you could ensure his continued obedience. The political marriage was a golden opportunity you could not refuse.

After a moment in deep contemplation, you nodded, a hint of resignation in your eyes. “Very well, Feyd Rautha. I will marry you, for the sake of the empire.”

A light round of applause filled the throne room, a subtle acknowledgment of your wisdom and leadership, particularly with your father’s guidance.

With the agreement reached, you and Feyd were set to marry on the Imperial planet, your home world of Kaitain. The grand ceremony would not only solidify your union but also symbolize the merging of two powerful houses in the beginning of a new era for the empire.

The Wedding 

 As preparations began for the momentous occasion, whispers of anticipation echoed through the halls of both House Harkonnen and the imperial court. All eyes turned toward the upcoming union, curious to see how it would shape the future of the universe.

The wedding of you as Princess of the Empire and Feyd Rautha as Baron of Geidi Prime, was a spectacle beyond compare. A grand and meticulously planned event was set to take place befitting your powerful union.

Held on the sprawling garden grounds of your ancestral palace on the planet of Kaitain. The event drew the nobility of the entire universe, each eager to witness the dawn of a new era.

The palace grounds were adorned with opulent decorations, from cascading curtains of shimmering silk to intricate floral arrangements of the planet that perfumed the air with a soft fragrance. Illuminated shimmering lights and lanterns adorned every tree surrounding the wedding venue in the gardens, the scene was nothing short of majestic, impressive to all who beheld it.

As the ceremony commenced, you and Feyd stood before a gathering of esteemed guests, your regal attire resplendent in the soft glow of light under a full moon. Feyd, now adorned in the black ceremonial robes of an emperor, radiated confidence and authority, his presence commanding the attention of all who watched.

You wore a radiant and intricate shimmering silver bridal gown, exuding grace and poise as you exchanged vows with your new husband. Your union was not a joining of hearts but a merging of power.

Amidst the solemnity of the vows, there was also an undercurrent of excitement and anticipation, as guests whispered amongst themselves, speculating on the future of the empire under the rule of Emperor Feyd Rautha his Empress.

As the ceremony drew to a close, you exchanged a meaningful glance with Feyd, your hands entwined in a gesture of unity and strength. With the echoes of applause filling the air, you and Feyd stepped forward united, your ascension marking the dawn of a new era for the empire.

Wedding Night 

As the celebrations wound down, you and Feyd retired to your private chambers. The suite was adorned with rich tapestries and ornate furniture, a testament to the wealth and power you now held. Despite the lavish surroundings, an air of tension hung between you two .

You, ever the picture of regal composure, sat by the window on an ornate coach, gazing out at the lush moonlit landscape of your planet Kaitan. You had known many sacrifices in your life, but this marriage was perhaps the greatest. Feyd, still in his wedding attire, approached you cautiously. Despite his outward confidence, he was acutely aware of the complex emotions and ambitions that swirled around your union.

“Empress,” he began, his voice a blend of courtesy and underlying steel. “Tonight, we have forged a new path for the empire. We must work together to ensure its stability and our place within it.”

You turned to face him, your eyes reflecting a mixture of determination and resignation. “I understand the necessity of our marriage, Feyd. But understand this: I will not be a mere pawn in your games. I have my own influence and my own goals.”

Feyd smiled, a sharp calculating expression that showed his appreciation for your spirit. “I would expect nothing less from you,Empress. I value your intelligence greatly. Together, we can achieve much.”

Despite your political alliance, there was an unspoken bond between you two. Both of you had been used by those more powerful, and both of you sought to carve out your own legacies. Feyd poured two glasses of wine and handed one to you, a gesture of tentative understanding.

“To our future,” he toasted, raising his glass.

You hesitated for a moment, then raised your glass as well. “To a future where we shape our own destinies.”

As you sipped the wine, the tension between you began to ease, replaced by a mutual understanding of your shared predicament. Feyd moved closer, taking a seat beside you. “Tell me, Empress, what is it you desire most in this new empire?”

Your eyes flickered with the intensity of your unspoken dreams. “I desire stability for the empire, prosperity for its people, and to be remembered not just as an empress, but as a ruler who shaped history.”

Feyd nodded, appreciating your ambition. “And I, too, seek to be more than just a Harkonnen. I want to be the emperor who brought order and power to the universe.”

Feyd refilled your wine glasses and you sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the future you would build together in marriage. Both of you recognized the potential for a powerful alliance. Feyd, with his ruthless ambition, and you, with your sharp intellect and royal connections, could become a force to be reckoned with.

With the wine taking effect you both began to really study each other. You were both breathtakingly attractive, each possessing a unique allure that captivated the other. Feyd’s handsome features and piercing blue eyes held a certain edginess, a magnetism that drew you to him. Despite the air of dark mystery that surrounded him, you found yourself utterly drawn to his presence.

In return, Feyd couldn’t help but be spellbound by your undeniable perfection. Your grace, your poise, your every movement seemed to exude a regal elegance that left him in awe. He had always admired you from afar, his gaze filled with the ambitions of his uncle to gain power and marry you, thus ascending to the throne.

Now that he finally had you, Feyd couldn’t deny the surge of emotion that coursed through him as he looked into your eyes.

He cautiously reached forward and pressed his hand to your face, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. To his delight, you smiled, mirroring his gesture by bringing your own hand up to rest on top of his own. In that simple exchange, he sensed your acceptance.

As your hands intertwined, you both felt the weight of silent expectations pressing down upon you, the need to solidify your relationship and secure your legacy. 

With a tender touch, Feyd slid his hand from your cheek down to your collarbone, his thumb tracing a delicate path along your skin. He locked eyes with you, silently conveying his admiration and respect. With each lingering glance, he revealed his desire to possess you, to claim you as his own.

In that moment, you realized you held a sort of power over him, you could easily deny him and that was both thrilling and intimidating. Your eyes remained locked in silent communication and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of being his, completely and utterly. He was powerful and intelligent his handsomeness only adding to the allure.

Feyd’s hand ventured lower, his fingertips creating a tantalizing path across the hemline of your royal wedding gown, tracing the delicate lace at your exposed bosom. You instinctively pressed your hand over Feyds to stop him.

Your expression was unreadable as he met your gaze, a mask of composure concealing the depth of your attraction to him. Despite your desire for Feyd you were not willing to let him overtake you completely; you wanted to challenge him, to test the limits of your arrangement, dictating how you would allow him to proceed.

“You are… quite attractive Feyd Rautha,” you acknowledged, your voice maintaining its stoic facade. “However, physical appearance is of little consequence compared to one’s character and integrity.”

Feyd’s lips curved into a knowing smile at your response, catching the subtle flicker of attraction in your eyes. He recognized the game you were playing, sensing your desire to assert control over him, a challenge he was more than willing to meet.

“Your wisdom is as striking as your beauty,” he replied, his voice low and measured. “I value your perspective, Empress, and rest assured, I intend to prove myself worthy of both your character and integrity tonight” Feyd assured with lingering gaze. As he spoke, you felt a warmth spread through you in the way he hinted at his desires.

Even in his lust for you, Feyd recognized the depth of your significance. Your irresistible combination of intelligence and authority were qualities that both enticed and challenged him, fueling his desire to assert dominance. He was intoxicated by the allure of your mind and your power.

As Feyd set your wine glasses aside, the moment thickened with anticipation as you locked eyes. The soft glow of the moon illuminating your faces, casting an ethereal aura around you both.

Feyd’s gaze darkened with such an intense sensuality that it sent waves of anticipation racing through you. The power play in his head was finalized. His certainty surged as he observed the anticipation in your eyes, knowing he could conquer you completely.

He rested back in confidence a smile playing on his lips “You are a formidable force my Empress,” Feyd confessed, his voice low and husky with desire. “But I would expect nothing less from a woman of your stature.” He grinned.

You met his gaze with a coy smile, your eyes glinting with sexual intrigue. “And yet, you seem to be equally formidable as my emperor,” you chided.

Feyd’s gaze locked onto yours with a silent challenge; if your eyes faltered he would take you, and when your eyes slowly drifted to his lips, he seized you without a word, pulling you close and dominating your mouth in a commanding kiss.

His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him, a silent demand for your surrender and you placed your hands to cup his strong jaw accepting his passion.

With a fervor that bordered on possessiveness, he deepened the kiss, his lips claiming yours with an intensity that ignited a fire within you, his dominance evident in every movement. Every touch, every sensation sent waves of desire coursing through your veins, your body responding to the passion of his kiss with a fervor you had never known.

As you finally parted, your heart raced with exhilaration, your senses still reeling from the intensity of the encounter. You gazed into Feyd’s eyes, your own filled with a new found passion and longing, knowing that this kiss had changed everything between you both. 

In the moonlight, you looked radiant your swollen lips and flushed face captivating Feyd even more.  He felt the desire coursing through him, a primal urge to possess you completely. With stoic determination, he stood and offered you his hand.

“Come, Empress,” he said in a dominant manner, his voice tinged with authority, reminding you of his status as emperor. Despite his respect for you, he made it clear that you belonged to him.

You slowly stood, feeling a rush of heat in your chest as you took his hand. Looking up at him, you felt a mixture of desire and anticipation, your heart pounding with each step as he led you to the bedchamber.

The Consummation

As you reached the ornate doors of the entrance, you shared a lingering glance, a silent exchange of anticipation and desire. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Feyd released you, and you parted ways to your dressing chambers to change into the ceremonial robes in line with the Kaitan tradition to consummate your union.

You felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as you prepared yourself for the momentous occasion ahead. As you slipped into your robe, the weight of your responsibilities as empress settled upon your shoulders. Yet, beneath the thin layer of you silk robe you felt a flutter of excitement, a sense of anticipation for what was to come with Feyd.

Meanwhile, Feyd adorned himself in robe befitting his status as emperor, his thoughts consumed by the significance of the event that lay ahead. He knew that tonight would mark a new chapter in your relationship, one that would bind you together in ways you had never imagined.

Emerging from your separate rooms, you stood across from each other in the grandeur of the palace bedchamber.

Your robe was a vision of opulence, crafted from silk spun with threads of gold, adorned with intricate filigree along the edges. It draped elegantly around you, the fabric flowing softly with each movement. In contrast, Feyd’s robe was a symbol of regal simplicity, midnight black in color, its rich fabric enveloped him like a cloak of shadows.

As you met in the center of the palace bed chamber, your eyes were both drawn to the centerpiece of the room, an ornate bed fit for royalty. Carved from the finest Kaitain wood with hand painted gilding, the bed’s towering posts reached towards the vaulted ceiling, intricately adorned with motifs of delicate florals. Luxurious silk curtains, the same hue as your robe, cascaded down from the canopy tied to its posts, creating an aura of privacy and intimacy.

Feyd reached out and took your hand pulling you close“We are stronger together,” he said softly his voice conveying the depth of your shared resolve.

You nodded, feeling the heat of his body against yours and leaning in closer, as your arms wrapped around his neck. With your chest o pressed against his you looked up into his eyes “Yes, we are,” you agreed, your voice filled with anticipation.

With a determined look you leaned in and pressed your lips to Feyd’s and his hands instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, unable to resist you.

Your kiss was filled with purpose, a silent acknowledgment of the responsibilities you shared. Feyd returned your kiss with intensity, boldly enveloping your mouth with his own. In a daring move, he slid his hand down your front, his fingers deftly working at the knot to untie the silk robe draping your figure. 

You broke the kiss, your resolve firm as you gently pushed Feyd back asserting your power. You held his gaze with unwavering determination as you slowly loosened the knot of the robe on your own accord.

“True strength lies not in dominance Feyd, but in the art of giving and receiving” you said seductively as you you pulled the robe apart only slightly. Your movements were deliberate, savoring the moment to reveal yourself to him completely.

You knew the reputation of Harkonnen men, aggressive and often brutal, but you sensed Feyd would be gentle with you. Seeing the admiration he held for you in his eyes you were prepared to fulfill him as his Empress.

Feyd watched you with a mixture of admiration and reverence as you allowed the silk to slip from your shoulders, revealing yourself to him inch by tantalizing inch until it gathered in a shimmering heap on the floor. Feyds gaze lingered on your figure in awe as you stood before him, your naked form bathed in the soft glow of the room’s moonlight. Your skin was smooth and flawless accentuated by the gentle curves of your body.

Feyd couldn’t help but feel a surge of desire stir within him. Your beauty was breathtaking, a vision of regal grace and elegance that captivated his senses. He swiftly untied and discarded his robe, revealing his sculpted physique beneath and leaving you stunned. Your gaze was immediately drawn to the impressive length of his throbbing, engorged cock.

You regained your senses and slowly drew your eyes back up to study the rest of his ivory skinned body. He was striking and tall, a warrior in every sense. His muscular physique was evident, his chiseled arms, defined abs, and powerful legs spoke of strength and resilience. But most of all, your gaze lingered on the thick, pulsating shaft of his cock, its veiny texture and prominent head a testament to his overwhelming desire for you.

He grinned seeing your gaze unwavering on the size of his cock “Don’t worry Empress, I will prepare you for it.” he reassured with a confident tone.

His words made your chest rise and fall with each breath, trying to contain your excitement. He pulled you close, the warmth of his skin against yours sending a wave of anticipation washing over you. When the firmness of his stiff cock brushed against your thighs, it caused you to tremble with anticipation.

“Don’t fear, Empress ,” Feyd said gently, his voice soothing your nerves. “I will take good care of you.” He vowed.

“I trust you Feyd” you responded, your voice barely above a whisper

His words calmed your racing heart, and his lips captured yours again as a fire ignited within you, consuming you with desire. Feyd’s hands reached down to your full bosom, his touch gentle yet possessive as he caressed each one, his thumbs tracing delicate patterns around your nipples. His grasp tightened his hunger evident in the way he cupped your breasts together squeezing the softness of your flesh pressing against his palms. The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making your heart pound faster within his firm grasp.

Your hand shakily came up to touch the side of his face, a silent plea for him to slow down, to savor the moment. Instead he brought his hand down between your legs, exploring your folds, his fingertips swirling your entrance to feel your arousal for him.

His touch sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body as he dipped into your wetness, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you completely.

Feyd’s voice was husky with desire as he whispered, “Do you like it, my Empress? Do you want more?” His words echoed in the air, adding to the intensity of the moment as he waited for your response, his own desire burning in his eyes.

You could barely hold his gaze as his fingers slipped through your wet folds. Your voice came out shaky as you stuttered, “Y-yes Feyd.” He grinned at your response, a surge of triumph coursing through him as he finally pushed his fingers deeply inside of you, filling you up with each thrust. Waves of pleasure washed over you, making you shudder and tighten around him. 

As he continued his ministrations, moans of pleasure escaped you with each thrust of his fingers. You felt tight inside, nearing the peak of release. Feyd pulled you closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I will fulfill you many times tonight, empress. You will find my attraction for you is insatiable.” His confession sent shivers down your spine, and you wrapped your hands around his firm biceps, losing yourself in the sensation of his thrusts.

His hand, rough and strong, moved with a precise, almost relentless rhythm as he increased the speed of his fingers. They became soaked as he slipped them in and out of you, and moans of pleasure began to fall from your lips, each thrust driving you closer to the brink of ecstasy.

Feeling your tightness gripping against him, Feyd knew that your release was imminent. Your walls convulsed as you suddenly orgasmed, your head tilting back in shock as a short, pleasure-filled sound escaped from your throat. Feyd held you tightly against him as waves of ecstasy washed over you, enveloping you both in the blissful aftermath of passion. He continued to finger you, prolonging the pleasure as long as possible, savoring every moment of your shared ecstasy.

The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, the first orgasm of the night coursing through you with undeniable force. You felt a sense of relief wash over you, sighing in contentment looking into Feyds eyes as he withdrew his fingers from you.

His eyes smoldered with desire as he gazed at you, observing your descent from the high. Your mouth panting and your eyes lidded with the aftermath of pleasure. You felt a wave of exhilaration wash over you, a longing to surrender yourself completely to him.

“Take me, Feyd,” you relented, your voice barely above a whisper, laden with anticipation.

Feyd’s gaze darkened with desire as he leaned in, drawing your body closer into his embrace. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. Before I take you, Empress,” he confessed, his voice thick with need, “I must taste you.”

Your eyes darkened with passion as you looked up at him, you voice a breathless whisper as you replied, “Yes, Feyd taste me, devour me as you desire.” You wanted him to consume you, and claim you for his own pleasure, dominating you in the most intimate of ways.

He smiled pulling you in close and trailed kisses along your neck. His lips lingered as he teased your nipples, discovering your hidden weakness as you responded to his touch with a soft gasp. He tugged your peaks gently into his fingers, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting more soft gasps of pleasure from you. His touch alternated between teasing and pinching, each sensation sending waves of desire coursing through your body.

“Does my Empress want more ?” he whispered huskily against your ear. He pulled back to look into your eyes seeking permission to indulge you further in the pleasure he offered.

Though it was only the second time he asked you to indulge in more you were already at your limit, your mind clouded with desire for him. You wanted everything he had to give.

You could barely form words as you nodded and a weak “Y-yes Feyd” fell from your lips. A hint of pride gleamed in his eyes 

“As you wish, Empress,” he said, his voice sensual as he cupped your breasts in his hands. Feyd lavished attention on them, his lips and tongue exploring every inch with a mix of reverence and hunger. He suckled each nipple, teasing them with his tongue tracing delicate circles around them.

Feyd sensed your responsiveness as you panted and stared at him with lust. He intensified his movements, flicking his tongue across your sensitive peaks with his eyes locked on yours filled a primal hunger. You watched him tantalize you causing desperate little cries to escape from your lips.

He knew he was making you lose yourself to the pleasure he was giving you, and he reveled in the power it gave him.

An intense moan of pleasure fell from your lips as you gazed down at Feyd sucking on each of your breasts with calculated precision. He teased pulling your nipple into his mouth with enough suction to send tingles of sensation coursing through your body. Your response was immediate, a loud moan filling the room as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming sensations he was evoking.

“Feyd, take me please!” You begged again, your voice trembling with desire. He released you nipple from his mouth and paused to assess your condition.  Your thighs glistened with arousal, and you body quivered with anticipation. He lifted you into his arms and easily carried you to lay in the center of the ornate bed. The silk sheets were cool against your overheated skin. Feyd settled between your legs, his hands trailing down your body ready to fulfill your every desire.

“Empress, I told you I would fulfill you several times tonight” he grinned , parting your legs gently. “I will give you what you desire, but like I said I must devour you first,” he clarified.

You nodded feeling so overcome with desire for him you were trembling.

With a tender touch, Feyd parted your folds, holding them open as he leaned down and pressed his warm mouth onto you. You arched your back, fingers gripping the silk sheets tightly as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating sensation. 

He started with slow, teasing licks, savoring the taste of your arousal. His tongue moved with purpose, tracing intricate patterns along your sensitive clit, each stroke designed to elicit the most powerful sensation.

He explored every crevice and fold committing your taste and texture to memory. With each pass of his tongue, he felt your muscles spasm in response, a sign of your overwhelming pleasure.

Feyd’s movements became more intense, his tongue delving deeply into your throbbing core coaxing your release with deliberate licks. His focus solely on driving you to the pinnacle of ecstasy.

Suddenly, your thighs tightened around his head, a silent reaction that you were at your peak. Feyd added his finger to stroke your clit, intensifying the sensation even more, driving you to the edge of release. Every muscle in your body tensed as you toppled the peak, and with a cry of euphoria, you came in his mouth gently bucking your hips against him, lost in the throes of pleasure. He held you steady, stimulating you with his mouth and tongue to prolong your ecstasy. He savored every drop of your essence, fulfilling the desire he had harbored since the moment he laid eyes on you.

He wiped his mouth as he sat up and grinned seeing you lay panting on the bed gazing up and him in pure surrender. 

Feyd’s intentions were clear; he had long contemplated your dynamic. Despite speaking of unity, he always harbored the desire to assert dominance. Now he would consummate your union. With your political influence in his grasp, you would be his to command, forever bound to his will.

He moved closer, his eyes locked onto yours with a fierce intensity. “Empress , on this night, I will make you mine in every way. I will plant my seed within you, and you will bear my heir. You will be bound to me, body and soul.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest from his words with excitement and trepidation . Feyd’s hands roamed your body, his touch both possessive and intoxicating. “I will enjoy every moment of the creation,” he whispered, brushing his hand across your navel, knowing it would soon be a womb, the realization sent a wave of excitement down your spine. “You will carry my legacy within you and solidify my power.” Feyd declared.

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and acceptance. “If that is my fate,” you replied, your voice steady but soft, “I will accept it. But remember, Feyd, power shared is power doubled. Together, we can be unstoppable.”

Feyd grinned at your final grasp for control, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “My Empress,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction, “I see you understand the game well. Very well. Yes together, we will forge an empire unmatched.” he said. As he leaned in closer, his lips where inches from yours as he stated “But never forget who controls the empire” 

You stared up at him in realization of your position and Feyds eyes burned with a fierce intensity reveling in his control over you. He seductively pushed your legs apart, positioning himself with commanding precision. His powerful, muscled body hovered over yours savoring the sight of your exposed vulnerability before he pressed his tip against your entrance and pushed into you with a single, forceful thrust. The sheer size of him filled you completely, eliciting a gasp of shock and pleasure from your parted lips.

He waited patiently, feeling the tension in your body gradually ease as you adjusted to his size. His hand pressed gently against your pelvis, feeling the bulge of himself inside you. The sensation of his own hardness through your flesh sent a wave of possessive satisfaction through him, intensifying his desire. He could feel every inch of himself enveloped by your warmth, and it fueled his hunger to drive you both to the edge of ecstasy.

When he sensed you relax completely around him, he began to slowly thrust. With each movement, the overwhelming presence of his size filled you entirely, causing light moans of astonishment to fall from your lips.

He was calculated with his movement, aggressive yet controlled, his hips pushing forward with an assertive dominance. Feyd’s thrusts were deep and powerful, driving you closer to the edge with each penetrating stroke. His grunts of exertion mingled with you your breathless moans, created a symphony of desire.

As he increased his speed, your moans grew louder, echoing through the room as your bodies moved in unison. The rhythm of his thrusts were relentless, each powerful drive of his hips pushing you further into a state of overwhelming pleasure.

Feyd’s hands roamed down your body, gripping your hips with possessive strength, pulling you to him with each thrust, making you feel every inch of his cock. The intensity of his movements had you gasping, your body arching in response to the overwhelming sensations. His presence was all consuming, his powerful form a dominating force over you.

As he pounded into you, the pressure built to an unbearable peak. Feyd’s relentless onslaught drove you to the brink, your body trembling under his aggressive passion. Your walls clenched and released rhythmically, pulling him deeper inside of you with every contraction as you cried out for him in passion. Feyd’s gaze locked onto yours, taking in every expression of pleasure that crossed your face, every gasp and moan that escaped your lips, fueled his desire to push you further.

He watched intently as your features shifted in response to his thrusts, your eyes fluttering shut, your lips parting in a silent cry of ecstasy. The flush of arousal painted your cheeks, your skin glowing with a sheen under the dim light of the chamber. Each thrust elicited a symphony of gasps and moans from you, your body arching and writhing beneath him in the throes of pleasure.

“Surrender….-to …-me,” Feyd rasped, his voice rough with desire as he felt your impending release as your walls spasmed on his cock. “Give yourself …-to me entirely .” He demanded intensifying his movements, driving into you with deliberate force, determined to send you spiraling over the edge.

He aimed to draw out the most intense pleasure in you, his own arousal heightened by the sight of your ecstasy. ”I am yours Feyd!” You cried out as your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, he reveled in the sight of your blissful surrender, your face a portrait of unbridled passion. Your loud cries of pleasure echoing throughout the chamber as your body quivered in aftershock.

Feyd continued to move in you, riding out the waves of you climax, his own release approaching. You saw him with an intensified clarity; his muscles, chiseled and defined, flexed and rippled with each powerful thrust. His body moved with a primal force, every movement driving you further into the depths of ecstasy.

His face was a display of raw emotion. His brow furrowed with intensity and his jaw clenching in a mixture of pleasure and restraint. His piercing blue eyes bore into yours with an unyielding intensity, captivating you completely.

You saw him not just as an Emperor, but as a man consumed by the same primal urges resonating within you; power and control. With each heavy thrust, he conveyed his intent, driving into you with deliberate force, his movements a testament to his primal desire to claim you. “You’re mine,” he breathed, his words mingling with the sounds of your passion “Mine to possess….-mine to cherish…-mine to carry my heir.” He rasped 

Your response was a moan of pleasure, as you barely formed the words . “Y-yes Feyd!,” against the powerful dominance of his thrusts.“I’m Yours,” you confessed surrendering to him completely.

Feyd’s lips turned into a satisfied grin savoring the sweet taste of victory. He had bent you to his will, your submission igniting his desire even further. 

With a sudden, forceful motion, he pushed your legs up and to the sides in a mating press, positioning himself to dominate you entirely. His intensity increased, driving into you with renewed vigor, reveling in the power he now held over you. He buried himself deeper inside of you with each thrust, his grip on your thighs tightening, holding you firmly in place.

Your moans grew in intensity, mingling with breathless gasps and soft cries of pleasure. Each powerful thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, your senses overwhelmed by his relentless assault.

Each powerful thrust, reinforced his control, his need to leave his mark on you was undeniable. With a guttural growl, he gave one last, powerful thrust, his body tensing as he released his hot seed deep inside of you. The sensation of his essence filling you made your core tighten to the breaking point and you locked eyes with him as your body shattered against his, losing yourself entirely to the ecstasy of the moment.

Your cries echoed throughout the chamber, a symphony of pure, unrestrained passion, your body arching and writhing beneath him as he rode you through the waves of your orgasm. When your walls stopped spasming, he gently released your legs and lay on top of you remaining deep inside. He rested on his elbows his strong arms cradling around your trembling form as you quivered in the aftershocks of pleasure.

He caressed your face tenderly, placing kisses across your flushed skin.

"We are stronger together," he said with his voice full with conviction and warmth. "Our union will ensure the future of the empire, and our heir will inherit that strength," he said, trailing his fingers across your jaw.

He looked into your eyes with deep conviction, his gaze unwavering.

"I may control the Empire, but it is you who controls my legacy Empress," he conceded his voice softer full of sincerity and reverence.

You smiled, a tender and knowing smile.

"Power shared is power doubled," you said, your voice a gentle caress. You traced your fingertips along his strong jawline and he leaned resting his forehead to yours before he gently kissed you, sealing your vows.

He then gently withdrew himself, the wet, slick sound of his cock sliding free echoing in the room, leaving you breathless and trembling. With delicate precision, he carefully turned you onto your left side to face him. His hands guiding your legs to press tightly together at an angle to ensure his seed remained deep inside of you as you slept.

Feyd’s eyes darkened with determination as he watched over you, his resolve to ensure you bore his child growing stronger with each passing moment. He gently stroked your hair, a possessive yet tender gesture.

“Rest now,” he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “Accept my seed within you, let it take root and grow.” He said placing his hand to rest protectively over your abdomen as if willing the life within you to thrive.

His words lingered as you lay together and the warmth of each other's closeness calmed you. Slowly, your eyes grew heavier, and you felt his breathing slowly sync with yours.

Keeping your gaze locked on his, you felt a sense of contentment wash over you that mirrored the softness of his eyes and you slowly drifted into a peaceful sleep together fulfilled in both body and purpose

In the harsh and unforgiving empire of the universe, you and Feyd hold the ultimate conquest in a game of life and death, power, where his strength and your cunningness prevail.

✨End ✨

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[sunderwight]

SV Game of Thrones AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into a character who is basically Joffrey Lannister.

Luo Binghe is a mix of all the Stark kids, but mostly Sansa Stark and Jon Snow. Su Xiyan and Tianlang Jun had a Rhaegar-and-Lyanna thing going on, and Binghe's adopted mother was Su Xiyan's older cousin, who took him in after the fact and had him legitimized because she was the only remaining heir and had no other kids.

In the original story, King Shen Qingqiu (Jiu) develops a suspicion about Luo Binghe's heritage and, being just as paranoid about Heavenly Demons as Robert Baratheon was about Targaryens, invites the Luo family to come to court. Ostensibly so that Binghe can be playmates with the king's son and heir (Shen Yuan). Binghe's mom is horribly worried that they've been found out, but has not choice but to accept the invitation.

Of course, OG Prince Shen Yuan was a rotten little sadist who made it his life's mission to torment Luo Binghe, was eventually revealed to be the bastard spawn of Queen Qiu Haitang and her own brother, executed Binghe's mom for alleged treason, is party to the slaughter of the noble Liu family, and is eventually gruesomely assassinated at his own wedding feast.

Shen Yuan himself doesn't want to torment Binghe, or slaughter anyone, start any wars, or of course be gruesomely assassinated at his own wedding feast. He would much rather live his cushy life as a crown prince, figure out how to administrate a kingdom properly and also implement some better waste management practices to reduce the awful city stench (like, Shen Yuan was never terribly interested in plumbing in his first life but he is absolutely invested in the subject now.)

The problem is that the System absolutely demands that there be a war and certain other plot points in order to propel Luo Binghe into some sort of narrative destiny. Shen Yuan's not sure why because the last time he checked, the book series was stalled with Luo Binghe seemingly dead, and the television series had basically rendered everything he'd done pointless by the end, but regardless the System won't just let him peacefully evade all the drama and spare Luo Binghe all the suffering.

Boo.

Plus there's the concerning matter of the Northern Demon King awakening and mustering armies to conquer the south (and getting derailed by the beleaguered quartermaster of the Nightswatch, who keeps wondering when the fuck the actual protagonist is going to show up to handle the increasingly concerning plot points, because Binghe should have been exiled by now...?), Zhuzhi Lang resurrecting his uncle (as a dragon?!) across the Narrow Sea, and the Qiu family plotting the murder of the king and a coup to seize power...

(Also featuring: Yue Qingyuan as the parts of Jaime Lannister's character not currently owned by Qiu Jianluo, the Huan Hua Palace Master as a Littlefinger proxy, Meng Mo as Bloodraven, and many more!)

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Shut up and dance with me

steddie, omegaverse, a little bit of fun during my angst-fest to celebrate some follower milestones 🥰

Steve keeps saying he feels goofy wearing a suit, even if he’s happy to do it for Robin. It’s non-traditional, sticking an omega in black-tie. But neither is an alpha like Buckley having an omega as her best man. Her mating ceremony is beautiful, Chrissy absolutely sparkles, and Steve cries through half of it because he’s so happy for his best friend.

Eddie might cry a little, too.

He’s seated in the front row, with Robin’s family, since he and Steve are ‘capital S’ Serious, and Steve has practically been adopted by Robin’s parents. Melissa catches him crying and smiles; she’s certain to ask when he and Steve are going to tie the knot themselves.

He’s nowhere near ready to answer that one. Especially without Steve to help. Eddie hasn’t wanted to rush things, even being friends so long beforehand. Knows that he loves Steve more than anything. But they’ve barely been dating a year…

After the ceremony, Steve catches his eye from the reception line. “You good?” Eddie mouths, quirking a questioning brow.

Steve makes a dumb face—pretends to cry—gives him a thumbs up, and it’s like everything rearranges, his whole world shifting a couple inches to the left.

He knows.

All his worries about it being too fast float away like so much dust on the wind. He’d be happy enough watching Steve from across the room for the rest of his life, to giggle and mime at one another.

But after the reception, he gets to take Steve home.

Not being in the wedding party, he should honestly head over to the venue soon—after going through the receiving line. He kisses Chrissy’s cheek, tells her she looks stunning, high fives Robin for locking down her perfect omega, and whispers, “I’ll be waiting for you with a cocktail,” in Steve’s ear.

He manages to cop a feel, squeezing Steve’s ass before pulling back, earning him a tiny whine as they part.

Forcing himself to keep walking, Eddie hates leaving his m—

Hates leaving Steve. He wants to run back and scoop him into his arms. To keep him close.

Instead, he gets in Steve’s car and drives to the reception, grabs a scotch from the open bar, and distracts himself from missing Steve by chatting with Jonathan who is just as in need of the company since Argyle and Nancy are also in the wedding party.

Eddie’s on his second scotch when he hears whispers that the limo has arrived, and he goes to order a Manhattan for Steve with extra cherries. He’s barely got the coupe glass in hand before the DJ is announcing the new Mr. and Mrs. Buckley.

They’ve changed into their reception outfits: Chrissy’s dress short and frothy, Robin in metallic pants and a shirt unbuttoned halfway down her sternum, both of them already dancing as they make their grand entrance.

The whole room hoots and hollers as they burst into cheers.

The rest of the party has changed too. Nancy’s in a slinky dress, the depth of the black of it the only thing hiding the outline of her dick. Argyle is in shorts that make him seem ridiculously tall, and Heather is in a romper covered in rhinestones.

Then there’s Steve.

He’s dressed to match Robin in silver-sequined pants, trading the button-down for a loose tank top that shows off too much of his golden skin, freckles and moles like so many stars in the sky.

Eddie’s mouth waters as he makes his way over to him, drink in hand.

“Damn, sweetheart!” he says, eyes locked on Steve’s tits, needing to hold him by the sides and slip his thumbs in to tease his nipples.

Steve grips hush chin, tilts his gaze up until their eyes meet. “Thanks, babe.” He smiles into their kiss, uses his teeth a little.

Eddie offers him the drink, and Steve happily accepts, plucking out a cherry and popping it into his mouth. Another kiss, this one cherry-sweet, and Steve downs his drink, holding his extra cherry between his teeth for a long moment, grinning as he bites it in half.

“Why is it so hot when you do that?” Eddie rasps, his dress pants suddenly a little too tight.

Steve smiles, pulls half the cherry from between his lips, and presses it to Eddie’s mouth. “Shut up and dance with me, Munson,” he says, laughing, barely containing his delight.

He drags Eddie onto the dance floor, the alpha going willingly, hands easily finding their way onto Steve’s hips. Falling to the beat, into moving with one another is easy. So easy, Eddie nearly forgets his revelation from earlier.

And he’s distracted again by Steve’s chest.

“You okay there, Munson?” he teases, using a single finger to direct Eddie’s gaze back up to face him. “Keep your eyes on me.”

A purr rumbles through Eddie’s chest as he leans in close. “Why d’ya still call me Munson all the time, Stevie?” he murmurs, then kisses Steve’s ear.

“Like the way it sounds. I like everything about you, Eddie.” The words are soft and vulnerable, barely audible over the pulse of the music.

It makes Eddie brave enough to be vulnerable, too.

“How do you like the sound of Mrs. Munson? Or Ms.” He smiles. “Whichev-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss.

“I like the sound of that a lot.”

[lenoraah]

𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵

pairing -dad!oscar piastri x mom!reader

summary - Oscar and reader finally decide that the Texas Grand Prix would be a good time to show off their little family

a/n - best friend’s name is Juniper and our favorite American will be in here too. baby girls name is Niamh (ahem maybe this can be turned into a series or whatever if this turns out well) not to mention this is a, ‘oh yeah, sorry we forgot to tell everyone that we’ve been married for at least four years ‘ 🤍

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Babygirl, stay here.”

Niamh giggles and Oscar laughs picking her up and placing her on his hip. Y/n sighs and rolls her eyes playfully, gently tucking a strand of Niamh’s golden brown hair behind her ear before kissing her on the cheek.

“You ready?” Oscar gently nudges his wife in the arm, smiling at her.

“Yep,” Y/n smiles and they small family starts to make their way towards the McLaren garage.

Oscar and Y/n and hear the cameras flashing and people whispering and gossiping. Eventually they hear a familiar shriek and can’t help but smile at the sight of Juniper running towards them.

“There is my favorite family,” The red head grins as she clings onto Y/n’s arm. “How are we doing?”

“I feel like you coming out all those years ago,”

Juniper snort laughs and Niamh laughs along, confused at the situation but happy to see her godmother. Juniper smiles and waves at the toddler who happily squeals and reaches for her.

“Yeah we’ve had enough of daddy. Oscar give me my godchild. It’s my time. It’s my time,”

Niamh laughs and curls up against Juniper’s denim vest. Oscar rolls his eyes, his hand finding Y/n’s. Their matching rings clashing against each other’s.

Niamh squints and turns her head side to side, looking at the crowd and occasionally tilting her head to the side and smiling.

When they finally get to the McLaren garage, the toddler whimpers to let down and then waddles over to Lando. The Brit grins and picks up Niamh, making a confused face at Oscar and Y/n before looking back at the toddler.

“So, what happened?” Lando asks, now standing next of the coupe and Juniper.

“Oh, you know. Woke up and decided yolo.” Oscar shrugs, hand still in Y/n’s.

“Please, never say that again.” Y/n pats her husband’s arms and buries her face into his shoulder. He smiles and mumbles something in her ear making her laugh.

Juniper snort laughs once again and Lando smiles.

“Can practically hear the tabloids screaming in my ear.” The red head rolls her eyes and Lando nods in agreement, his eyes following the toddler who is currently entertained by his curls.

“Yeah well, this girl is too cute to be hiden.” Niamh squeals as Lando tickles her soft belly.

Niamh gets settled but into her mother’s arms and Y/n presses a quick kiss on her forehead.

“Okay, well, I have to go. I’ll see you later,” Oscar murmurs into Y/n’s ear. He kisses Niamh’s cheek and places a kiss on the top of Y/n’s head.

A camera catches the moment. A toddler with Oscar’s hair color in Y/n’s arm and Oscar with his chin resting on top of Y/n’s head, their wedding rings close to each other’s as they are still holding hands, his other hand protectively on Niamh’s back.

[babyleostuff]

MY BIG SMALL GREEK WEDDING

・❥・ for the 2k followers event

summary: a greek island + your husband Joshua = the best honeymoon ever

pairing: idol!joshua x fem!reader

genre: fluff | word count: 2k

warnings: taking a bath together (in a non sexual way)

“Josh, honey, you’ve packed everything,” you crossed your arms over your chest, looking at your husband. “And if you keep adding stuff we’ll have to pay for the excess baggage.” 

“I just want to make sure we have everything,” he said, rummaging through your suitcase. “Have you packed the swimsuit I got you for our anniversary? You said you wanted to take it with you.” 

Usually it was you who panicked before flights, running around the house checking if you had turned off all the electricity, if Joshua’s favourite snacks were in his bag, and if your documents hadn’t magically expired. But this time it was Joshua who for some reason had turned into a panicked mum, his usual calmness nowhere to be seen.

“You’ve asked me that at least three times now,” you smiled, shaking your head. “Yes, I have.” 

Walking up to him, you put your head on his back, running your thumbs over his waist. He looked cute with his eyes wide, and a slightly panicked face, but you didn’t want him to stress over a swimsuit, especially not before your honeymoon. “We don’t have time for this, darling. We have to leave in ten minutes,” he said, straightening his back to look around the room for the hundredth time.  

“Joshua Hong, what has gotten into you?” You asked, smacking his shoulder. “I just want everything to be perfect, Mrs Hong,” he said and pecked your cheek. “Now go and get dressed. We really have to leave.” 

Biting your lip, you nodded and quickly moved towards the hall, so Joshua wouldn't see your smile. You had been married for two months now, but you still couldn't stop giggling like a little girl when your husband called you that, especially since he did it with such ease, as if he had waited his whole life to do it. 

And you were convinced that you’d never get used to it. 

[...]

“Come on! Hurry up grandpa,” you yelled at Joshua, who was huffing and puffing behind you. The trail you chose wasn’t the easiest, but the website said it had the best views, and the photos taken there supposedly looked like from a fairy tale. “Aren’t you a pro idol?” You asked when he finally caught up to you with a red face and a sweaty forehead. 

“I-I am,” he gasped, bending over and resting his hands on his knees. “But they did not train me in climbing,” you giggled, smoothing out his hair that was messed up because of the wind. After a few days spent in the sun, lighter streaks began to appear in them, intertwining with his natural hair colour. “This is a hiking trail for families with children, I don’t think you can call this climbing, honey.”

As if he realised how dramatic he was, Joshua laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You should take a picture of me and send it to Coups,” he said and grabbed your hand, pulling you to continue walking along the path. “He’d have the perfect blackmail material.” 

You smiled, as your gaze followed the curve of the cliff, white houses with blue roofs perched like pearls and the waves of the Aegean Sea crashing against the cliff edge at a rhythmic pace. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea and a faint hint of salt through the air.

You unconsciously slid your hand around Joshua's bicep, pulling him closer to you, so your hips bumped into each other when you walked. 

“Did you ever think of saying no when I proposed to you?” He suddenly asked, his hand still in yours. You furrowed your brows at his question. “No,” you said immediately. “I always knew I’d say yes.” 

A comfortable silence fell between you once again, but you could practically hear your husband think. “Why are you asking?” 

“It’s just that…,” Joshua sighed, running a hand through his hair. You squeezed his hand a bit harder, as if you tried telling him “it’s okay, i’m here with you.” “I won’t be able to give you that usual married life, and sometimes I wonder whether it was a good thing I proposed.”

You knew exactly what he meant, because you had to deal with it from the day you started dating - you couldn’t go out to a restaurant to eat like a normal couple, you couldn’t say goodbye to him at the airport, and you had to set your Instagram profile to private. There were so many things that you had to give up on, but it didn’t change the fact that you’d do everything over again if it meant being with Joshua. 

“We’ve talked about this so many times, honey. If I wasn’t okay with all of this we would’ve broken up a long time ago,” you stated, leaning your head on his arm. “Besides, we’re literally married, stop worrying about whether I wanted to say yes or no. Now come on, we have to reach the top before the sun starts setting.” 

Joshua groaned, throwing his head back. “Ugh, give this grandpa a break.” 

You laughed, bumping your hip into his. “You could've just said you didn’t want to go hiking, we would-.”

The words died in your throat and you let out a small cry as you felt Joshua’s arms wrap around your waist, as he picked you up and spun around. “I was just joking, darling,” he smiled, pecking your forehead, your back still close to his chest. “I would go to the end of the world with you if I had to,” he said, making kissy noises at you. 

“Ew, stop saying stuff like that, or we’ll have to get divorced,” you whined, cringing at his words. You knew he was joking, but you couldn’t help but gag a little. “That was disgusting. Never say that again.” 

Joshua laughed, placing a kiss on your cheek. “Sure thing, darling.” 

You continued walking along the path, immersed in a conversation, your hand in his, to the point where the sky started slowly turning into a mix of pastel pinks and yellows. Neither of you seemed to care, though, it’s not like you could get lost on this little island.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you this today,” Joshua swung your intertwined fingers back and forth. “But you look very beautiful today,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear, as a light blush creeped up on your cheeks. You tilted your head to look at him and scold him for being so sappy, Joshua was never the one for being so dramatically romantic, so you were really taken aback by his sudden change of behaviour. 

But his gaze made you even more shy than his words. “Stop looking at me like that,” you mumbled, leaning your head on his arm, so you could escape his eyes. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know. You just… you look so in love,” you bit your lip trying to find the right words without sounding pretentious, but that was exactly how he looked like. “Isn’t that a good thing?” Joshua laughed, his eyes turning into two crescent moons. “Aren’t I supposed to be in love with my darling wife?” 

“Stop calling me that!” You slapped his shoulder, making Joshua laugh even more. He threw his arms around your shoulders, and trapped you in a warm hug, your face pressed against his chest. “You have no idea how glad I am that we're married,” he sighed, kissing the top of your head. “Now let’s go, I think there’s a path leading to the beach over there.” 

[...]

“I should just pee on you.” 

“Hell no.”

“Why not?” 

“I won’t let you pee on me!” 

“Well, I told you not to go near that jellyfish,” you said, splashing some water onto Joshua’s face. “It’s not my problem that you’re so stubborn.”

Joshua rolled his eyes, grabbing your foot, so you couldn't move.. “No matter how much I love you, I won’t ever let you pee on me,” he smiled, suddenly pulling you closer, making you yelp. “Joshua, you’ll make a mess,” you groaned, looking at the amount of water that splashed out of the tub.

The last thing you wanted was to clean up the bathroom on your first honeymoon night, just because your husband was in a silly goofy mood. “Oh come on, it’s not like you’ll drown.” 

You huffed, resting your head on the edge of the tub, staring at the man in front of you. "When we first met, did you know that we would get this far?" He looked away thoughtfully, but you noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes, the same one he and Jeonghan had every time they were about to play a prank on someone. "Honestly, I didn't even like you at first."

“Joshua,” you whined and splashed his face again, but no matter how much he loved to annoy and tease you, you would let him do it all day long if it meant he’d smile as sincerely as he did in that moment - the corners of his mouth sweetly turned up and his eyes crinkled with laughter. “No but seriously, I have no idea. I think I didn’t think about a relationship when we met,” he looked at you, more serious this time. “It was after that one party at Mingyu’s-,”

“Which one? There were so many.” 

Joshua laughed, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “You know which one. It was then when I started looking at you as more than a friend. But don’t you think that’s a good thing?” 

“I guess so,” you slid your fingers over his hand that was resting on the edge of the tub. “We had the time to properly get to know each other, we didn’t rush into anything,” you murmured. “We didn’t feel any pressure. It all happened so naturally.”

“Like it was meant to be,” Joshua finished, grabbing your hand. 

His slender finger ran over the ring on your finger, which you still couldn't get used to, but already loved with all your heart. The purple stone contrasted perfectly with the gold wedding band, and you knew someone would have to cut off your finger to get you to take the ring off.

"Why did you choose an amethyst? Wouldn't it be better to use a love stone or something?" Joshua asked thoughtfully. You smiled softly, stroking your thumb over Joshua’s hand. “Amethyst is a symbol of peace,” you said. "And that's what I want for us. For our future to be filled with love and happiness, but also peace." 

"I know that not everything will be like in a normal marriage, at least in the beginning, but I want us to always keep that peace and remember that no matter what happens, we are in this together.” 

You looked up at Joshua, whose eyes were welling up with tears, and it wasn’t easy to make your husband cry, so you weren't quite sure what to do. “Hey, honey,” you awkwardly moved closer to him, as much as the tub would allow. “Don't cry,” you grabbed Joshua’s face between your hands. "I'm not crying. I just..." he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I'm really glad I have you in my life. I love you."

You felt your own eyes fill with tears, but you didn't let them fall - you wouldn't cry on your honeymoon. “I love you too, Joshua Hong,” you rested your forehead against his, caressing his cheeks gently.

"As long as my heart is beating, I will always love you."

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag @jeonghansshitester @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @soul-is-a-strange-kid @ohmyhuenings @nidda13

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Mirror: The Fiction and Essays of Kōda Aya translated by Ann Sherif

The papers in those days always had some amazing news in them - from the attempted military coup of February the year before to the start of fighting in China just three months later. A ferocious gale had come sweeping through, causing small whirlwinds some days and, at other times, a tremendous commotion that stirred up everything, even the dust in the forgotten corners of the world. I was just a speck of dust in one of the narrowest, most remote niches. - Kōda Aya, "The Medal"

A kimono worn by a woman immature in her emotions can be a powerful thing. Or, to put it another way, clothes have the strength to control one's psyche. To me, the striped outfit was a uniform; it gave me a sense of direction and a feeling of pride in my work. The apron shielded me from all arrows; it acted as a cast to brace me against all blows. It was a metal fire door behind which I could hide the anguish of my heart. - Kōda Aya, "The Medal"

What other child would fail to rise to the occasion when her father was being so honored? He was my only father, and I his only child. Is this any way to behave? I had lost my way at the bottom of a deep abyss. I cast my eyes upward, toward my father, only to see him dimly shrouded by mist. - Kōda Aya, "The Medal"

I know nothing about the breadth of my father's learning, nor do I pretend to understand the scope of his art. I could not tell you what came to him as a matter of luck, what he accomplished through his own talents, nor about his stature among men. Though I may be vastly ignorant, I do have enough sense not to entertain the foolish notion that he is some kind of lion of literature, a king among writers. He was just my father. From my own biased viewpoint, I would say that Father possessed some lionlike qualities, but there were those of a lion who would finish you off or give you the push-off-the-cliff test. - Kōda Aya, "The Medal"

Father was an unusual man. He would point out the beauty of blossoms or clouds in the sky with the very whip he had cracked a moment before. With the same knife he had just used to rive your innards, he would slice up a wedge of some delicacy for you. No one else I knew could perform such feats. There was something solid about him. I felt all at once like a contrite sinner and a puppy dog who is eager to please. I wanted to cut all ties with him, but at the same time I needed him to recognize me as worthy of his love. - Kōda Aya, "The Medal"

Higuchi Ichiyo's nephew Higuchi Etsu once said about [me and my father]: "The parent dons a medal, and the child an apron." I made a show of laughing at his comment, but only because I wanted to hide my weakness. In fact, that apron chafed against my hands and my heart with its unyielding roughness. - Kōda Aya, "The Medal"

One often hears about the magical powers of mirrors. Certainly the mirror's ability to reflect creates this feeling of mystery. The objects around the viewer look so different in the mirror - what was one may multiply into two or even three. Objects that had appeared to be piled up come apart. Something might look real in the mirror, but then when you try to touch it, you can't. It seems to be there but it makes no sound. Is it real or just an illusion? Sometimes you can see through things in a mirror. Some things seem actually to be alive inside the mirror, but once the reflection stops moving, the illusion of life is gone. The mirror's power resides in this ability to confound. - Kōda Aya, "A Friend for Life"

My life was not going smoothly. I could not handle the problems that confronted me and became unbelievably nervous and stubborn. At times, any little thing would set me off in a rage; often I would get upset and break down in tears. I had so many things on my mind. In those days I consoled myself by leaning up against my mirror. To think how proud I had felt of it on my wedding day. Now all I could do was crouch up against it and sigh. In that house it was the only place where I felt calm. The mirror served more as a support for my emotions than as a glass in which I could see my reflection. The sunny location I had chosen for it had been part of my effort to avoid sadness and gloom in my life, but ironically it ended up lodging a darkened, tired soul. I did, in any case, feel most peaceful when I sat by my mirror. - Kōda Aya, "A Friend for Life"

The first time I wiped the glass, I was shocked to discover how dirty a mirror can become. One usually does not notice the dust; a mirror will reflect even when covered with a heavy layer of grime. And once you get used to this, you may end up looking at yourself and trying to make yourself presentable with powder and lipstick, unaware that you are seeing yourself through a haze. But who bothers to dust mirrors? If even smoothly polished glass attracts dust how much more would accumulate on a troubled heart? - Kōda Aya, "A Friend for Life"

Kōda Aya has also been added to the BSD-Bibliophile Online Library!

You can find more information about Kōda Aya-sensei on the following pages:

List of Books in English Quotes and Facts Collection Fun Facts

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 6

Masterlist here, Moodboard here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 7,353

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

(Image Source)

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner!

Song Accompaniments: Crumbling Dreams - Milo the Otter!, Moon Dance - Danny Elfman

Reopening the large double doors to the large ballroom, Mihawk ushered you through the threshold with his guiding hand placed on the small of your back. He allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes and taking a moment to compose himself as your perfume danced past him upon entering the room. Stepping behind you and reopening his eyes, his yellow hue was met with the intense purple gaze of the giant, reptilian man darkening your radiancy with his intimidating aura. 

“My lady,” Sir Crocodile addressed you at his side, “If I may be granted the luxury of taking your arm a moment. I have decided to rescind my invitation for your beau to view the creation I have crafted and allow it to be a moment for you to take with your eyes only.” You cocked your head to the side, turning your chin towards the lord of Kuraigana at your side, but continuing to hold firm your gaze onto the large man in front of you.

“I hope you are not suggesting I am to enter a room alone with you, unchaperoned, Sir Crocodile?” you quipped, your left brow arching and lips pursing at the suggestion. Sir Crocodile allowed the rumble of his chest to exhale his sour cigar through huffs of laughter. 

“Of course not, my lady,” he uttered once his laughter stifled. Mihawk bore his golden gaze into the smirking face of the dangerous reptilian man, baring his own intimidation onto his towering body, “There will be three others with me, one of whom I likely deem the most competent out of the bunch. I take it you know the Red-Hair Pirates a little more than you do the blue-haired clown?”

You sighed, nodding your head in confirmation before turning back around to face your intended. He was less than impressed at the notion you were to be spirited away by the three men he tasked with aiding him with his impossible tasks, with the potential notion of viewing you in a variety of states of undress. It was written all over his face: jaw clenched, eyes narrowed and brow angled down to depict his displeasure at the suggestion. As he was about to speak up, another presence with a familiar scent of dried tobacco leaves and gunpowder arrived at his side. 

“Don’t you worry yourself, Hawk-Eyes,” Beckman hushed his rumbled drawl against his shoulder, “If anything goes awry: I’ll shoot first, and apologize later for ruinin’ your marble walls.” Mihawk snapped his gaze over to the silver-haired first-mate of the red-hair pirates, continuing to hold firm his scowl and hissing in a firm breath through his nose as he eyed him.

“I take it you’re the competent member of this coup to pry my bride from my arms and away from our engagement soiree,” Mihawk snarled, his brow deeply furrowing in the center of his forehead. Beckman smirked, his lips ticking up at the corner of his mouth.

“Would you prefer to place the safety of your bride in the rat, the reptile, or the idiot?” Beckman shrugged his shoulders up in question. A crackly, sharp “Hey!” growled from behind the crocodilian man, followed by the chuckle of the red-headed captain you have come to enjoy. Mihawk tilted his neck sharply to the side, a short ‘click’ elicited from his spine as he processed the words. 

Mihawk unwove his arm from your back before claiming your right hand within his left, turning you to face him in an intricate and elaborate twirl. Stepping sidewards, he withdrew you from the towering and unwanted company without excusing himself and halted your movements. Gazing deeply and lovingly into your eyes, he drew your right hand up and placed a kiss atop the back of your knuckles. Your breath hitched in your throat, floating your gaze between focusing on each of his eyes as he broke the deep kiss against your hand. 

A thousand questions flew between the two of you internally. From you, mainly, was how long had he felt this way for you. Surely not for only the month you had stayed at castle Kuraigana, but a lord should not be turning his head to a governess at decorative galas. For Mihawk, he was questioning how deeply he trusted the four to be alone with someone so dear to his heart… Or how much trust you placed in Beckman in your interactions prior. 

Through the unspoken discussion, you fought an unwinnable battle internally. You chose to disregard your formal training and allow a moment of softness to overtake your stoic form. Reaching upwards, you placed your left hand on Mihawk’s cheek and shepherded him into yourself, placing your lips gently against his left cheek as you cradled him against your palm. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and froze his shoulders in place. 

His eyes snapped up, meeting first with the brown hue of Red-Haired Shanks’ eyes, who shot him a playful wink as soon as he witnessed the small gift of affection. 

“I will not be away from your side if you are uncomfortable with this, beloved,” Mihawk uttered in a voice little above a whisper. You smiled against his cheek, withdrawing your lips from him and looking up at him through your eyelashes. He quickly drew his honeyed eyes back to meet with yours, softening as soon as he met your affectionate gaze. 

“These are the gentlemen you trusted enough to complete this task,” you whispered under your breath, a smile dancing at the corners of your mouth, “And I trust Beckman to handle it should it become too much for me.” 

“As do I,” Mihawk confirmed, leaning down towards you. He drew his hand up to your face, hovering it over your hair with a small apprehensive quake to his movements; invisible should one be not looking for it, “I would not see a single hair atop your head harmed.” He brushed your cheek with his fingertips gently as his hand found itself cupping your shoulder.

“There was a time I did not see eye to eye with these men,” he uttered his warning sternly, ensuring you held firm to each word he relayed to you. Allowing a small giggle to fall from your parted lips, eyes upturning in a taunting glee, you allowed your eyes to fall to rest on his mustache-topped lip. 

“My lord,” you uttered darkly, drawing your eyes up to meet slowly with his once more, “You are behaving as if you forget the true reason you invited me here in the first place.” Stepping your body closer to his had him drop his hand and draw themselves to your hips once more, head head angling down to meet with your approaching lips to whisper in his ear. 

“I handle the most undisciplined of pupils,” you sighed against his ear, Mihawk closing his eyes to resist the shudder of joy at your breath dancing against his lobe, “Getting them to behave,” you watched his shoulders finally give into the shudder, prompting your lips to curl up into a sly grin, “Is one of my strengths.”

You withdrew from his proximity, allowing your half-hooded eyes to meet his through your eyelashes. Mihawk was holding his composure to his regular stoic rigidity, but his slightly blown pupils held a different prose. He lightly ticked his lip up to the side, allowing a softness to rise within his eyes as he gazed at you. Although neither of you confessed to harboring deep affection on the balcony moments prior, you could tangibly feel how far Mihawk truly held fondness for you. 

“Perhaps we should draw this evening to a close,” Mihawk suggested, glancing past you and around the room, “It would seem the preferable option, considering it could look to others that you are abandoning me to flee into the night with four men you met moments prior.” Both Mihawk and you allowed a small laugh to fall between you at the notion. He retracted his hands from your waist and elevated his right hand in a gesture to the orchestral arrangement to halt their performance. 

“Honored guests,” Mihawk spoke up, his voice alerting the surrounding participants to halt their conversations and turn to face him, “My bride and I have been delighted at your attendance here this night.” Mihawk turned, interlacing your right arm within his left and presented you both to the crowd gathering.

“I trust you can all find your own way from the halls to take your leave,” Mihawk nodded to the great doors, aligned with rows of candelabras dancing and illuminating the castle’s exit’s. He smirked at the corner of his lips before adding, “Should you desire aid in your exit, I would sooner ask Perona to navigate you than Zoro. He has a knack for getting lost within the walls.” A small grumbled groan was almost audible to the side of the room, no doubt in your mind it was thrust from the lips of your green-haired gentleman in training. 

“We will be looking forward to accepting your responses regarding your future attendance at our upcoming wedding,” You curtseyed to the crowd, bowing your head respectfully; a gesture which was returned with equal enthusiasm by your prior students in attendance with their chaperones, “It has been a delight to make your acquaintance, and to see you all again.” You danced your eyes over your students, them all returning your smile with vigor. 

The guests began to file out of the open doors of castle Kuraigana, the large reptilian man once again extending his elbow in a gesture for you to take it. Paying one more glance to the side at your intended and meeting his eyes a final time, you unlaced your hand from within the crook of his elbow and interwove it within the arm of Sir Crocodile. 

“He doesn’t love you.”

Your brows furrowed, looking straight ahead and not sure where the doubts were coming from. Shaking your head to rid your mind of the thoughts, you engaged Sir Crocodile, Buggy and Shanks in polite conversation as they ushered you throughout the halls; the protective presence of Benn Beckman behind you aiding you in feeling safe with the two strangers alongside the red-haired rat. 

Perona watched your retreat with great interest; her wide eyes narrowed as she witnessed the exit with the four men. Zoro smirked, his brow arched up as he playfully gave his commentary on the situation. 

“What is it?” He smirked down, hovering over her shoulder, “Don’t like the thought of our Governess being without the great lord to protect her from the three burly men and that stupid clown?” Perona’s lips were tight in a firm line, her focus on the back of your head. She began to hover in the air, slowly finding her body drawing itself closer to your own, staring off into the distance.

“I just thought I saw-...” Perona began, cocking her head sharply to the side and holding firm her gaze, “Something watching.” 

—----------------

Beautiful. 

Everything was simply beautiful. The layers of satins, silks, chiffon, ivory, embroidered golds and silvers. The two dresses were everything your greatest fantasies could have ever dreamed up, and then exceeded the expectations tenfold. Each gentleman presented their designs to you; Sir Crocodile’s first. The hue alone was enough to make your eyes gloss over and a sigh pulled from your lungs at its mastery. Buggy the Clown’s presentation had the gloss begin to prick at the corners of your eyes and trail their diamond lines down your cheeks. 

But Shanks. Shanks. Shanks’ contribution had the change of pace from dreaminess to a bashfulness you had not experienced in some time. Excusing yourself from the other two men after bowing respectfully to the hulking Sir Crocodile, and encumbering the clown in and embrace for their efforts, you were chaperoned into a small room with both Beckman and Shanks to accompany you.

“Now, love,” he began, prompting your eyes to fall forward and dance over the mannequin’s bodice, “This is the concept only. I’m still working on the finer details, and I won’t leave the port of Kuraigana before it finally comes to me,” he took your shoulder beneath his palm and ushered you over to the bodice, the curtain draping behind you to shield the three of you from the other two gentlemen. Beckman continued to hold his eyes firmly against the sealed crack in the velvet curtains to ensure no prying eyes view the lingerie Shanks had made for you. 

“See, this is where it goes over your breasts,” he gestured to the torso of the onyx bodice of the mannequin, releasing your shoulder from beneath his palm and tugging at several robes of gold hanging limply, “And these tie everything in place. The symbolism behind it is you, yourself, are the sun. The gold is what encases you beneath it, the rays,” he released the golden rope and adjusted the sheer robe over the shoulders, “The rays are bound by each of the knots tying it together.” 

“How would you ever expect me to remember how to assemble the knots and the strings myself?” you furrowed your brows, attempting to see the vision Shanks had for the outfit. Shanks chuckled, clasping the back of his neck as he winced a little in anticipation of your reaction. 

“Well, Exterminator,” he laughed at you, prompting you to arch your brow and seek him out in the corner of your eye, “Some assembly is required by another person. I’d never do anything you, yourself, are not comfortable with, but,” He drew himself in front of you, “If you’d prefer it just me, I can use my right hand and my teeth to bind you within it.” Your eyes widened at the suggestion.

“I do not desire your sharpened rat-teeth near me, Shanks,” you reprimanded him, your brow decreasing and resting in a straight and serious line. Shanks winced a little at your elevated words, but nodded to your boundary. 

“Would you prefer it if Beckman did the knot tying?” The usually stoic man had his ears pricked up at his name, still holding his eyes firmly against the line of the curtain but listening more intently to the conversation behind him, “What say you, Becks? You keen on doing some knot tying for our most precious and beloved exterminator on her big day?” Beckman sighs, shaking his head and takes a few moments to answer that very pointed and heavy question. 

The first moment you met him, he found you effortlessly managing the crew of Red-Haired pirates from their lustful advances on a menagerie of young ladies in silks and satins. This piqued his interests, him desiring to learn more about the protective exterminator and her role in shepherding the youthful gentlemen and women in society. 

After many years of running into you from port to port, he treated you with the utmost respect and found himself hanging onto your every command as a loyal knight taking instructions from his queen. From then on, you were the friend he confided in and trusted to handle the troop easily when ushering you throughout the seas on the red-force. Of all aboard, you trusted Beckman the most to treat you well. 

“If you would prefer me to complete this task for you, teeth free,” he smirked, placing a cigarette between his lips and igniting the tip with a lighter, “Wouldn’t wanna do nothin’ you’re uncomfortable with, my lady. This would be a rather intimate experience, and I wouldn’t dream of putin’ ya in a position you’d not deem appropriate.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat, truly now realizing what task you placed on your intended when you initially requested the former warlord to complete.

“I require a dress that meets the intensity of the sun with its rays of gold and copper. An accumulation of material so outrageously forbidden, it be intended for your eyes alone with its intended purpose. A dress so scantily designed, that you will find none to ever match its equal in both color and provocative appearance.”

Your heart panged with guilt, eyes wide but frown depending as you relayed your own words within your mind. Before your words had enough time to gather more thoughts behind their intentions, you found yourself murmuring below your breath; Beckman responding in a similar tone to your question. 

“Could you do it blindfolded?”

“I will do my best, my lady.”

“You better get to planning your wedding, love,” Shanks called up from behind you, prompting you to turn back around to face him, “I think I’ll have it for you sooner than you might think.” 

—----------------------

Tucked beneath the duvet after ridding yourself of your gown and scrubbing the night off your skin, you reminisced the words Shanks spoke over you. You shook your head, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation you had found for yourself. A small shriek allowed itself to exit from your lips as you hid your face beneath the covers; yourself devolving to a teenager encumbered by their own stupidity circulating within their minds. 

“It won’t be enough. It will never be enough.” 

Your ears pricked up at the voice, prompting you to throw the covers of your bed from your face and seek out its source. Slowly scanning the room, you found no such presence within the corners of your wing. The bothersome thoughts circulating within your mind seemed to have a physical presence; a presence that continued to watch over you as an executor would watch a prisoner place their head within the circle of a guillotine. 

Laying back down against your plush mattress, you began to be eclipsed by invasive and tiresome thoughts so tangible that your body felt more tired upon reawakening than it did attempting its slumber. Once again, no birds serenaded the morn due to its distance between breaking the daylight against the purple hue of cool nightfall. 

Sucking in a breath from your nose, you flung the covers back with your exhale and began to aggressively tug trousers and a blouse onto your body, alongside your socks and boots. Perhaps pushing yourself further to exhaustion may coerce your body to allow slumber to claim you. 

Attempting to furiously walk in silence was no easy feat. The desire to allow the remaining members of the household to enjoy their restfulness overcame your own need to behave erratically and childish in the moment, but you were looking forward to enjoying stomping to your heart's content to satisfy your inner angry teenager once walking among the grounds. 

After opening the cold, wooden door to the castle; you silently crossed the threshold and clicked the latch behind you as softly as you could muster with the iron-barred door’s affinity for squeaks and clanks. You turned and hastily embarked on your descent down the stairs and onto the footpath leading towards the vast grapevines throughout the castle grounds. The pebbles kicked up with dust beneath your heels, scuffing your shoes as you picked up your brief sprint to the winding and heavily fruited vines. 

Upon reaching the first row, your steps halted their motion as your mind began to process exactly what was happening before your eyes. Your fingertips began to shake at your hips, your jaw slackened and eyes wide. 

Dracule Mihawk, lord of castle Kuraigana and lands surrounding, former warlord of the seas, current world’s greatest swordsman, your betrothed and intended husband, was gardening. Hands holding firm to the base of a mattock and humming under his breath, he slammed down the iron tip to pry the earth of its rest. His brown trousers were stained with the waxy coat of the ground, cementing itself against his calves and leather boots. 

His shirt was hanging on a post beside a small, dirty triangle of cloth and a round, large brimmed straw hat, leaving his entire chest and back exposed to the sunlight as it began to share the radiance of the dawn. Beside the hat lay an intricately designed bouquet tied with twine and lace and laying carefully within the circle of the upturned hat. 

A grunt fell from his lips per impact of the earth, halting his hum as his body continued upheaving the ground to a point he deemed far enough to stop digging. His forearms and biceps shook upon impact, his pectorals and abdomen compressing upon retracting the object from its place embedded in the earth. As he turned away from the hole he dug, he rubbed his forearm against his brow to rid it of the sweat and grime. 

He sighed as he began retrieving a small vine with bare roots and placed it within the hole, kicking the dirt beneath his boot heel to place the earth securely around it, and stomping to resolidify the ground. Straw hat, ruffled pale shirt, covered in mud, gardening, flowers in a bouquet. 

It all began to swirl within your mind, watching as he sighed once more before placing the pale shirt over his head. He secured the face shield over the lower half of his face and began spraying the hole he had just covered with rain water. The earth began to splash up under the pressure of the nozzle of the hose, dampening his pale shirt and caking the top half of his body with sticks, mud and hay from the compost. More water began to splash up into his face, him shaking his head and grumbling below his breath, verbally reprimanding himself.

“Never messy in combat, never messy in gardening,” Mihawk yelled at himself in a hushed tone, “But you slip below the vines one time and now you’re this-this-...” He sighed again, raking his fingers through his exposed locks a final time before shaking his head, “This Farm-Hand. The creature from the earth created to serve as friend and confidant to your beloved. Why must she make me so-... so-...” He growled, intentionally now splashing his body with water, raindrops falling like glass from each curl attached to his radiant head. 

Hastily, you stepped as quietly as you could away from the scene in front of you, hearing the vocal chastations echo with each angry grumble exiting from his mouth. You placed your back against a nearby oak tree and took a moment to process internally what you had seen and heard. Clapping both hands over your mouth, you began to teeter into a giggle. 

The lord of Kuraigana, your betrothed and beloved, had intentionally been attempting to woo you all this time with flowers each day for a month. The first time you had caught him was when you were wandering the halls in your nightdress, apparently the first time he had ever fallen amongst the sludge while gardening: covering his body from head to toe in an amassment of the earthly elements. 

You risked a peek at him, witnessing as he shook his head further; now completely under the disguise as your friend: the Farm-Hand. Fur, feather, straw, clay, mud, sticks and stone cover all apart from his honeyed eyes and his straw hat. He has assembled his beastly persona, a caricature of the man you had come to adore through your time spent with him. 

A portion of you wanted to continue this torturous facade for him, not one to enjoy trickery or deceit and wishing to punish him in some way for his lies. Although immediately after that single thought, you smiled for your sweet Farm-Hand, adoring the extent he was willing to go to enjoy speaking with you with no filter apart from the muck and slop he adorned on his body. After toying with the notion within your mind, you decided on behaving in the former: not wishing to allow him the upper hand in this next interaction. 

“Farm-Hand?” You called to him, weaving your body from behind the tree and exposing yourself under the first light of the dawn, “Farm-Hand, is that you here so early?” You watched as he began to scramble, at first attempting to askew the floral arrangement behind his back from view before holding it at heart-level. 

“Lost-Lady,” his voice called to you, disguising what you thought to be a small stumble in his footing as he began to clamber towards you from his prior position gardening. His boots met with the sludge, sliding the earth from beneath his footstep and successfully dropping him down to his knees. You sucked your lips into your mouth, witnessing a man full of dignity and grace be brought down to his knees while cradling flowers against his chest. 

“Sir, are you alright?” you asked, beginning your hasty descent towards him and almost losing footing yourself. 

“I would not be so hasty-!” Mihawk called at a moment too slow, watching as you lost your own footing beneath the sludge of his own making and being dropped to a low crouch; managing to collect yourself at the last moment. “My lady, are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

“I am uninjured, my darling,” you reassured him with a small chuckle, bringing your eyes up to meet with his shielded face, “It is you I am more concerned. Do you tumble often? Must be very poor on the knees.” You silently hoped he both would and wouldn’t catch onto your vocal slip up, darting your eyes between his to check over his reaction to the name. 

“I try not to lose my footing often, my lady,” he confessed, reaching out his unoccupied left hand to you to ensure you were steady enough in your crouched position, by offering you additional aid should you need it, “Contrary to what you might think, I am actually rather competent at gardening.” You smiled, rising to your feet and collecting his left hand within your right to support him in his rise. 

“I believe the world of your abilities, sir. Now, allow me to aid in your rise to your feet once more,” you smiled down at him, his eyes meeting your own with an almost overwhelming amount of adoration. You hoisted him up to his feet, uncaring at the passing of grime onto your clothes from his. 

You began to walk in silence, the destination of the castle steps once more in sight for Farm-Hand. You noticed his shoulders slouching and the weight of a mental burden begin overencomber him beneath the waves of thought. You furrowed your brows at his posture, unsure as to how to address such an issue. 

“Is there something the matter, Farm-Hand?” you asked him, slowing your step beside him to check him over. 

“All is well, Lost-Lady,” he uttered in a half-hearted manner. You purse your lips, a frown finding its home against the center of your brow as you looked him over once more. You decided against continuing this little facade further, and halted your steps all together as you both stood at the entrance of the doorway. Sighing out a huff of agitation, you shook your head before hardening your resolve in addressing the proverbial elephant in the room: although you were truly unsure as to how. 

You rotated your neck, a small crack produced from its circular motion in response. Drawing your eyes up to meet with his and stepping into his aura, you looked down at the floral arrangement in his hands. The hues were as vibrant and beautiful as each day prior, although this bunch seemed to hold an almost desperate apprehension and appreciation. There were so many intricate elements, it looked as if he absolutely scanned each leaf, petal, and stem within the greenhouse and beyond to draw each piece into it. 

“Will you be joining me for breakfast this morning?” you coyly asked him, trying to tease out whether he would give himself up willingly or continue with this little facade no matter how much it pained him to do so. He looked at you, puzzled and perplexed, and began to attempt to assemble a response to your question.

“I will be where I always am for breakfast, my lady,” he responded, his eyes looking very pleased with his retort. You hummed in response, nodding your head externally while internally agitated at his successful avoidance of the question. Your betrothed seemed to not desire giving himself up willingly; which spurred you on to push harder.

“Even now he hides his face from you. He intends to deceive you until the bitter end.” 

You shook your head of the thoughts whispering into your consciousness, casting them aside by closing your eyes and assessing your internal monologue. Reopening your eyes, you gazed back into his honeyed hues and smiled once more at him.

“Then I shall bid you farewell, sir,” you nodded politely and began to take your leave of him to only be halted by his firm grip holding firm to your right bicep beneath his left hand. You halted in your steps, turning back to look at him with your eyes filled with something Mihawk was not expecting to see from you. 

Sorrow. Doubt. A deep and upturned sadness eclipsed over your face and caused him to stumble over his next words to you. 

“I thought we were past all of those titles, Lost-Lady,” he attempted to reassure you with his words, only for you to pull away from his grasp. You apprehensively drew your right hand up to his face, hovering in front of his hat and mimicking the same movement over his features as he did the night prior. You sighed as your thumb brushed against his shielded chin before finding yourself cupping his shoulder beneath your palm. 

“Would you prefer me to call you ‘Farm-Hand’,” you sighed, a smile pricking at the corner of your mouth as you continued to watch his eyes stagger beneath your pointed look, “Or shall I return the title you bestowed onto me?” 

Mihawk was perplexed. Had you been spying on him? Did your ears hear the internal monologue he decided to relay verbally, actively mocking himself for his idiocy? Surely not. Hopefully not. He yearned for this deceit to flee from his form. No longer desiring to adorn this shield and to be the man beneath this amassment of muck for you; he wanted so desperately to cast aside titles and just truly be yours. 

“And what title may that be?” Mihawk whispered beneath his breath caught within his throat. His gaze followed your fingertips as they circled around the flowers within his hands, prompting him to release them into your grip. You slipped your hand from his shoulder and turned to begin your withdrawal into the manor with one final quip over your shoulder.

“Thank you for the flowers. I will cherish them as I do all of the others you have presented me each day.” Beginning your ascension to your wing, you couldn’t help but wonder why he decided to continue adorning the mask you had already seen slipping and cracking at the corners. 

“Perhaps it was truly because he does not truly love you.”

After retreating back into your designated wing, you shook the thoughts away from your mind and replaced the flowers atop your table with the fresh assortment he had crafted for you. You sighed out a small breath and began changing from your soiled clothes into your regular gown for tutelage of your two wards for the day. 

Breakfast was far from silent that morning. Perona had begun chittering away about which lord and lady had begun courtship. She provided her commentary on the dresses and suits adorning each member of the attendees, focussing on the amassment of silks and satins clinging to the infamous clown-captain of the east blue. 

“Did you see his frilly collar? Wasn’t it stunning?” her voice did little to hide her excitement regarding the frills and feathers, “And how beautiful his hair is! How does he keep his locks so silken on the seas, Mihawk? In fact, how do you keep them so-.”

“-Why must you continue to listen to the whining of the insufferable child? Flee from this land and find a suitor attuned to your interests and class-.”

“-And the amount of weaponry on the red-haired pirates! Did you see Yassop’s pistol, Zoro?” Perona continued with glee. Zoro grunted, reaching for a small rice-ball and placing it onto his plate before pouring himself a small, ceramic dish of tea from his ocha teapot. 

“And the green-haired boy? Do you think he truly need of your services? He is a swordsman, no mere gentleman in need of a few curt lashes upon his behind. You can do nothing to train him further in the ways you know best. Leave.” 

“I did see,” he grunted, rising the small mug to his lips and taking a sip, “I aim to tell my sharpshooting crewman about it when I get back to ‘em. Usopp would be keen to-.”

“Even now your intended ignores you. He has no interest in fostering the flames of your affection.” 

You inhaled a deep breath, a shaken hand reaching forward to grasp your teaspoon within it and stirring a spoon of honey within the mug. You placed the spoon beside the mug and began to raise it to your lips and take a small sip of the liquid within. 

Mihawk was not accustomed to this amount of silence from you. You often engaged with the wards in conversation over breakfast and went over the agenda for the day. Routine, structure and discipline were the three aspects alongside true professionalism he had come to enjoy with your mornings. Whatever plagued your thoughts held you completely in silence and unable to speak those words to life. 

“Beloved-?” Mihawk began, attempting to regain your attention, only to witness your eyes continue to stare at the teapot placed in front of you. 

“The moon, the starlit sky; they are beautiful dresses. But the golden assortment? Do you truly think that be enough-?”

“-My love, are you quite alright?” Mihawk attempted to gain your attention once more, only to become more concerned at the state of your daze. Perona halted her conversation with Zoro, looking over to Mihawk before drawing her eyes over your hunched form. 

“Why don’t you set them in a glorious blaze, hm? What would be the harm in setting fire to those beautiful gowns? It should save you both the trouble of going through this sham of a marriage-.”

“-Hey!” Perona’s booming and otherworldly voice held dominion over the room, prompting your eyes to immediately draw themselves up to your pink-haired ward in confusion. Her rounded, dark pupils were holding firm to a space beside your left ear, the internal monologue halting itself as you glanced up. Perona began to levitate above the breakfast table, her hands reaching forward with her palms presented outwards.

“Step away from my governess, Hag!” Her voice held several tones within the single vocal strand, the air sucked from its delight of the morning rays. Zoro immediately was drawn to his feet, unsheathing his sword from beside him and brandishing it with flourish. Mihawk also rose to his feet, nodding to Zoro briefly, before he closed and reopened his amber eyes; now a ruby iris surrounding its glow. Zoro did the same, his iris crackling under the new color within his orbs. 

You felt a weight being shifted off you as Perona’s hands sunk into the air beside you and cast it upwards. Feeling the rush of wind beside you, you inhaled a shaken breath and closed your eyes in a tight squeeze and held your lips in a tight and firm line. Feeling alone of the inner monologue, your hands were taken within the cool hands of your betrothed; prompting your eyes to flitter open. 

“She is gone, beloved” he crouched at your left hand side, looking up into your eyes with concern interwoven within the once more amber hue of his irises. “Have her words bring you no hindrance nor whisper of worry. She can do no harm on this plane.” He reached up his hand and claimed your cheek beneath his palm, soothing you with his thumb rubbing circles within your smooth skin. “Her words are poisonous. The only harm she can truly do on this plane is with her words alone. I promise you, you are safe.” 

“How long has she been here, Mihawk?” Perona asked at your other side, her eyes fixed on a pinned point in the roof and remaining unblinking, “She seemed so sad.” Mihawk continued to hold you within his sights, as he desired to ensure your emotional wellbeing after an encounter with the spectre of the witch that plagued him. 

“She has been here with me since the ring was placed atop our governess’ unity finger. I had heard her voice only once before such a time,” Mihawk informed the three of you within the room, “And it was when I commissioned the ring to be set within the woven band itself.” 

Drawing your eyes over to his, you danced your sorrowful eyes between his and allowed yourself a moment of weakness to lean into his palm with your cheek. He sighed at the small gesture, leaning his crouched body further into your and searching your eyes for any thoughts you desired to relay onto him. 

“She fled from me two days ago when I had began concluding the task placed on me,” Mihawk continued to confess, removing his hand from your cheek and collecting both of your hands within his own, “I thought we were rid of her, considering-,” he halted his words, continuing to leave them unspoken within the air, but written all over his face.

Considering I love you.

Your soft smile in return had Mihawk’s heart swell within his chest. He drew your hands up to his face, the knuckles on your hands brushing his mustache as his lips caressed each joint above your fingers gently and deliberately. Perona smiled an impish smile as her eyes met with the display of affection between her lord and her governess, prompting her to swiftly gather the arm of the swordsman and direct him away from the room with an echo of protestations: “Hey, but I didn’t get to finish my breakfast-!”

Mihawk used his right leg to hook beneath a chair at your side and draw it close to him. His cocky smirk continued to hold against his lips as he continued gazing into your eyes, prompting you to roll them and chastise him with a click of your tongue. He drew it close to yours, sitting directly beside you and released one of your hands to collect your teacup and present it to you. 

“My, my lord,” you smirked, taking the teacup from his hand and raising it to your lips, “offering to serve a lowly governess at breakfast?” It was his turn to chastise you with the click of his tongue, tutting you at your personal degradation. 

“I thought I told you,” Mihawk began, choosing his next words by searching within his mind, “What was it you told the clown? We are more than the titles that make us?” You giggled, watching the corners of his eyes gather as his lips drew up into a small smile, “And we are far beyond simplistic roles, do you not agree?”

“Like the roles we chose for ourselves?” you offered the first extension of the relationship between your alter-egos to unmask between the two of you. He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head down in deep thought. 

“I never thought of you as a lady who was ever lost,” he whispered, his tone low and deliberate, “I had always thought of you as a woman who commanded every space she found herself within. Even as a man far more advanced in his years,” he continued, reopening his eyes to look lovingly into your face, “I had always seen you as a woman who could have the mighty fall to their knees- much as you had me do this morning.” 

Sighing your laugh, feeling the physical weight fall from your shoulders as your smile elevated your lips with its relief, you drew yourself closer to your beau and placed your forehead against his own with your eyes shut tightly. 

“Does this mean I will no longer be receiving flowers from my beloved Farm-Hand, adorning an assortment of mud and grime?” you quipped at him, taking your bottom lip beneath your teeth. He huffed out a laugh of his own, withdrawing his forehead from yours and replacing it atop your brow with his lips. 

“If you so desire for your Farm-Hand to bring his Lost-Lady your daily gift of flowers, I will gladly become him once more for you. However,” Mihawk drew his eyes back to yours, an almost playfulness dancing behind his honeyed gaze, “I expect my Lost-Lady to be in naught but her nightdress in return.” 

—-----------------------

“I-I think I’ve done it,” the redhead captain exclaimed, his shaken right hand gathering the material beneath his hand and looking over it one last time, “I’ve done it! Becks! Becks!” 

Shank’s cries of glee echoed throughout the red-force, his crew alerted to his excitement and began gathering themselves at their posts. Beckman rose to his feet, beginning to direct the crew in their duties to prepare to board the pier of Kuraigana once again. 

“All hands! All hands on deck!” Shank’s voice called, his right hand waving a piece of parchment paper in absolute delight, “Hoist the colors, sound the alarms! We got to get the word to Hawk-Eyes! He marries on the morrow! Beckman, Becks-,” Shanks halted his feet, thrusting the parchment into the awaiting and overworked hands of his first-mate, “You reckon you could do that blindfolded, mate?” 

Benn Beckman straightened the parchment with an assortment of intricately composed directions with diagrams and mathematical equations correlating with the design. He frowned, eyeing the minute details and beginning to commit their paths to memory.

“As I said, Cap’n,” Beckman confirmed, meeting the hazel gaze of Shanks’ awaiting and hopeful face, “I will do my best for the lady.” Shanks clapped his hand over his shoulder and began making his way to address his crew as Beckman began visually putting together the guide and its make within his mind, practicing several intricate knots with the strands of the rope beside him. 

“The Vile Exterminator is getting married to the Hawk of Kuraigana! What a match!” Shanks cried in glee, the red-haired pirates cheering as they readied themselves to exit the ship and leave it behind to once more celebrate with the former rival of the captain.

“I will find your ring, Red-Haired Shanks,” Shanks’ smile dropped from his face as he snapped his head to seek out the voice, “I will find your ring and I will claim your soul as penance for your aid in keeping Mihawk’s from me.”

Shanks’ rubied eyes met with the cursed and haunting spectre of the ghoulish witch haunting his former rival and his former sailing companion. 

“Do your worst, witch,” he addressed the spectre, “I would sooner lay down my life than see those two part from one another. You should be happy! You’ve got what you wanted. They will be unified and your curse shall be lifted. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To see others have what was taken from you? To see them happy and thriving with each other?”

The spectral woman, her hair thrashing and wild, snarled at him before her form dissipated from its place in front of him. Shanks mockingly snarled in return at the position the ghostly woman was prior, opting to pay her warning no mind as he began prematurely celebrating with his crew by opening a fresh keg of ale. Gathering his den-den-mushi to inform the bride and groom of his success in completing the task, he dialed after placing the receiver against his shoulder and waited for the other end to pick up.

“It’s done, Hawks. Congratulations, you marry on the morrow!”

[bitchlessdino]

Dearest friend (m)

pairing: bsf!seungcheol x afab!reader Genre: angst, smut Word count: 2.8k tags: unrequited love, mentions reader in heels and wig, mentions of TOXIC romantic relationships, public kisses, unprotected sex, please let me know if im missing anything Summary: When you're in a toxic relationship, there's no way of understanding that right away. There's typically much trial and error, such as Seungcheol and his unsuccessful relationship with his on-and-off partner that he keeps getting you involved in. In one of the countless schemes to get them back, things take an unexpected turn with you, his best friend, who does something that may change their dynamic forever. author note: I'm back lovies. hopefully for longer this time. teh wedding planning has honestly kept me very busy but i've finally got back in tune with writing again. let's see how long this last.

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @wonuhour @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @himbocoups

He had been with them throughout high school. Throughout college. Into their mid-twenties. Before anyone could realize it, a decade had passed.

You were friends, his specifically, and you lived through every suffocating second while trying to balance your own lack of love life. Night after night, bouncing from body to body, one candlelight dinner to another, and for nothing to come out of it. You weren’t one to judge the relationship coming apart and sewn back together redundantly.

However, this on-and-off relationship had become a constant in your life–one both annoying yet entertaining depending on the circumstance–as well as their mind games that they constantly used to get back together. And they wonder why it never fucking works (you’re practically screaming it into the void).

This was their off period and for Seungcheol one of the most terrifying periods to have. This instance in particular because it’s the rare occasion that his ex was actually out on a date with someone. That’s when he conjured up a plan, a despicable one. One that not only would so-called ‘help’ his long-time former lover to realize what they’re missing being apart from him but would put you in a deeply comfortable situation. 

You’ve been a part of of schemes before, but they were usually surprise events, mitigating, or simply becoming the one end of Newton’s cradle, providing collision and causing friction until the balls lose momentum. This assistance unfortunately required more participation on the field, and you preferred being behind the scenes, but Seungcheol had forced your hand.

“You look awkward. Stop slouching.”

You offered the man a quiet, but deadly, middle finger at your waist as you struggled to stand in the tight outfit he deemed necessary for the plan to work. 

It had been a while since you’d seen his ex, enough time that they wouldn’t recognize you, especially after the extreme makeover Seungcheol decided to bestow upon you on a random Friday evening. You can’t emphasize enough that what you were doing wasn’t by your own will. Your best friend just really knew how to push your buttons. It was as if he had the manual of the ways you operate. Now you were wondering how you had yet cut him out of your life because of it.

“Fuck you, you blackmailed me into a pair of heels and a wig.”

His lips tugged up at a single corner, pulling you by your waist as he noticed his ex’s eyes flicker towards them. He mused in a smile as his lips drew closer to your ear intimately, fanning his breath against your cool cheeks. “The eagle has landed in the coup,” he whispered, blatantly ignoring your complaints.

“This is so…stupid.”

He erupted in boisterous laughter–emitting feigned warmth and life–as he trained his eyes on you. “You’re so cute,” he tucked the locks of the wig behind your ear, softly hurting his teeth as he spoke through them. “Laugh.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha.”

He scoffed lightly enough that it couldn’t be detected from afar, caressing your arm to maintain the facade. “That was awful.”

“Well you’re unfunny and this is an unfunny situation.”

“But it’s working,” he retorted, giggling to himself. “They can't bear to take their eyes off of me.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to pay attention to his hand softly stroking your waist. You’ve managed to get past its initially ticklish sensation until it became as natural as breathing. You sighed exaggeratedly, causing him to brush against you closer. He sharpened his features, stern written all over his face. “Take this seriously or they’ll see under our ruse.”

You scoffed. “It’s so painfully obvious. They’re not an idiot.”

The tip of his nose brushed against your cheek, and he could practically feel the rage radiating off his target as they too pressed closer to their date in plain sight. You felt his smile against your skin, festering body heat until it was seething. “Tell that to them who’s giving me sex eyes right now. God, they look amazing.”

“Really? I’m right here,” you said light-heartedly, trying to joke in the awkward situation.

“Shit, why do they look like they're trying to leave?”

“Uh, maybe because they’re in the same room as their ex? Seriously. Think, Cheol.”

Impatience was never Seungcheol’s favorite activity. He was as jittery as a child with sugar. “Kiss me.”

You squinted at him accusingly. “Excuse me?”

“We need to really push them to the edge.”

“Yeah, but is kissing necessary?”

He determinedly nodded. “Yes, absolutely. Just do it.”

“Now hold on, let’s think about this.”

“You do it or I will.”

“Fine!” Your hands reached out for his collar, tugging him against you to crash into his silky, pillowy lips.

Even after his persistent pestering, the kiss came as a surprise to Seungcheol, who found the pleasantry in record time. His once stiff hands on your body simply melted around your figure just as your lips have and the warmth both comforting and delicious. Arousal pooled between your clamped legs, your hands tightened their grip on the cotton of his shirt. You could feel every muscle of his firmly wrap around you like a safety blanket, while his jaw engaged in following your pace. You flushed under his touch and your knees were losing strength as they buckled, nearly falling to the ground.

Seungcheol picked you right back with his palm flat over the small of your back, feeling the thud of your unresting heart beneath your clothes. Your hand crept against his cheek, his teeth softly pierced your bottom lip and pulled in his direction, muffling your whimpers between his lips. The position of his hands, squeezing your flesh shocked you back to consciousness and finally you jerked away, meeting his eyes long enough to see the darkness in them.

Your gaze fell to your feet, the whisper of his kiss lingering on your skin. “Are t-they gone,” You asked in a flustered hush.

For the first time, his eyes are finally on you. Truly in you, as if you were the only other person in existence. “Why did you pull away? Why did you stop?”

“I-I don’t know. It felt right to stop.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” The crook of his finger pulled you by the chin and brought you right back where you were, enraptured by the spell of his lips, somewhat more intoxicating than the first instance.

Your fingers combed through his hair as the small gap of your mouth is filled with his presence. Your vessel vibrated, tingling in the dryness of your throat as he moved against you starved, not at all bothered by the marble bar counter rearing in his lower back. His grunts were addictive, drunk without the substance. Without fearing doubt, you swallowed your pride–and Seungcheol’s lips–you fully took advantage of the current circumstance.

A fire kindled in Seungcheol’s stomach, instigating a roar that could only be tamed by the furnace of your body clenched to his sides. The mumble of his name on your lips was mistaken for a moan, and maybe it was, revving Seungcheol’s engine until determined to take you here and now, in the middle of a crowded bar where anyone could see.

Before the moment could prologue, your hands flattened against his chest and shoved him, gasping for air while he was frustrated to have been interrupted again. He met your eyes, ready to scold you, until he registered how shakey your presence was with eyes barely able to level with his. His watch softened at you as he reluctantly let go, overwashed with a sense of shame. “Hey, I—“

“I’m gonna take a second in the restroom. Please.”

He nodded, guilt seeping into his throat, droughting what was inside. “Okay.”

The second the door stall closed behind you, you took a deep breath and tightly shut your eyes. You rubbed your hands over your chest, feeling it pulse under your palm. Inhale and out. Shallow panicked breaths escaped the narrow gap of your lips, trying to relive the overwhelming pounding.

Right about now his ex must be throwing themself at him and they're seconds away from being sewn back together. Just like always. You expected this. You’ve accepted this. This was how things always were.

Why aren’t you over that by now?

You mustered whatever courage you had within and forced your feet out of that restroom, facing exactly what you expected, Seungcheol’s ex on him like a wild animal around fresh meat. You tore away from the scene immediately retreating to take the closest Uber out of the bar as soon as possible.

You abandoned your disguise near the door, hearing your wig fall limply to the ground. A sound of relief escaped your lips as you trodded off to the bathroom to wash away the grime of sweat and embarrassment. Your tears fell in sync with the shower head that enveloped you in desirable heat. Heat that you wished belonged to a body instead of a body of water. Your hands felt your face as you sobbed, knowing it wouldn’t escape past the bathroom door, or your apartment being alone, once again, like you always have been.

After the night you’ve had, you’re ready to go back to your regular routine and forget the mental break of indulging in fantasy. You were only meant to ever help a friend and now that friend is back where he should be: in the arms of someone he actually loves. 

As toxic as their dynamic may be at least there is something romantic about it. You and him have been and will always be just friends, a side plot to the main story in his life. You are simply a pawn in this twisted game of chess and you have no one to point blame on but yourself. You let this happen.

Gathering your pathetic self to your room, you drowned in your duvet, cuddling up next to your pillow and burying your face in the fabric. After some time of thinking and crying, you at last find slumber, determined to erase any and all thoughts of your best friend.

As though this night couldn’t get any worse, someone else had to ruin your sleep too.

Annoyed, you rustled out of bed to head to the front door. Your heavy steps move with reluctance, fisting over the door knob as it swung open and suddenly you’re wide awake. He stared back at you, eyes glistening, shoulders falling at your comforting site. “Hey.”

“Hi,” You greeted back softly. “What—What happened? You and—“

“They asked me to come back.”

You blinked at him, stretching a faux smile on your face. “That’s great. That’s amazing! That’s exactly what you wanted…So why are you here?”

“Uh…” He closed the door behind and you let him step inside, placing himself dangerously close to you. “I said I’d think about it?”

“What? It’s all you’ve been wanting the entire time you were apart. The system, Seungcheol. The system.”

“I don’t know. I just wasn’t sure anymore after…”

You waited for him to finish for as long as you could. His steps towards you only resonated louder, prouder. Everything in you told you to back down, yet you stood your ground and met his eyes in anticipation. “After…?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Well, what does that mean…Cheol?”

Suddenly, it was so much harder to breathe and his body got only closer and closer, tightening your airways and overwhelming your senses. You didn’t push him away when his lips daringly landed on yours, hands finding purchase on your cheeks as you softly caressed them like fine china. Your torso lined up with his as you tossed your arms around his neck, deepening your connection.

He parted briefly to reassess the situation, the tip of his nose timidly tracing over the bridge of yours. “It means I want to…explore this more. Whatever it is.”

“And them?”

He shook his head. “They’ll have to keep on waiting because I can’t stop thinking about you since that kiss and by the way you're looking at me…you can’t either.”

“Seungcheol…”

“Don’t tell me I’m wrong,” he begged, “Please.”

“You can’t tell me you aren't still madly in love with them.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I was. Do you think I would be here if I didn’t have doubts?”

“… I don’t want you to end up doing something you’ll regret…forever.”

His hand clasped against your cheek, adoring the vulnerability that glows in your gaze. He admired your soft features, drinking in the quiver of your kiss-bitten lips as the flutter on your delicate lashes shielded from his bold light. He held you closer, drawing his lips nearer, and he breathed a breath of defiance. “I don’t think I regret a single second I’m with you.”

The kiss you shared didn’t express a moment of doubt, only flurries of passion as your clothes found their way to the ground. He kissed down your navel, balling fists of your flesh, nipping at your skin, inhaling your clean scent. You said his name in a swoon, bounded to him like warm clay, melting into one another with no points of separation.

Your hands roamed up his upper back, palming at his shoulder blades. He softly winced as your nails dug into his skin, his tongue lightly licking at a spot that emits the most sound from your lips. Your name on his lips comes in your ears, churning your stomach, burning your thighs. Your legs clamped to his side, feeling the brush of his cock as it twitched in your direction. 

You ached to be filled, climbing his build in desperation. His familiar tufts of hair found their way between your fingers until you pulled, eliciting his starved moans. You beg and beg, meeting his eyes with much desperation. He was kissing your body, embracing you with so much love, but you knew you wanted more. More of him.

Seungcheol seemed to be a mind reader as he was already positioning himself. He towered over you with gratitude in his eyes, gratitude for the trust you gifted him. The vulnerability you finally gave into. The body and love that you once hid. He would appreciate it and not waste a single second to do so.

With a single hand caressing your face and one on his cock, he watched your eyes change as he plunged inside. He felt your thighs come up to the sides, hooking around his torso. He jerked his hips, memorizing the shape of your walls, and how they massaged him well, squeezing every inch of him until you were filled. Your head knocked back into the sheets, your nails now clawing up his arm. “Cheol…”

“I’m here,” he whispered.  “I want to take care of you,” he admitted, “Let me know if anything goes wrong.”

You nodded back, accepting his kisses as they became signs of worship. He would touch every inch of your body, fill your warmth until it was coated in thick, sweet arousal of your own doing. He whispered your name, moaning sweet praises. “You feel so precious in my hands…I want your body and soul to bind with mine…I don’t think I could ever forget what this feels like…”

He moved faster, his hips buckled harder, and your fingers indented into the smooth texture of his back. He kept thrusting deeper and harder inside you until it was a blissful pain but you don’t remember ever replicating. With his sweet cherry-shaped lips on yours, you feel your sweat mix into a cocktail of pure delicious nectar. He mouthed a flush of your skin, clutching you to his body like a man getting mad, unwilling to give up his most prized possession. 

His groans became ingrained in your brain and you felt waves of arousal stagger you, paralyze you. Your mouth dropped. “Oh god…” Your hands trembled. Your toes curled. “That’s so good, more please.” You begged and begged and begged and begged—

A knock at the door. A panicked one that.

You rose from bed, empty, cold alone. Your hand ran over your head, feeling the clammy, distressing remnants of your wet dream. Overwashed with guilt, you reluctantly pulled the covers off and got out of bed, dragging your feet towards the door, ignoring the wig that stared back at you in your peripheral. It swung open the familiar way it does, and déjà vu hits you.

Seungcheol stood before just like once did in the dream. He walked closer towards you, and word seemed to halt in your throat.

“They asked me to come back.”

Having already rehearsed this in your mind, you stretched in another fake smile, finding its chirp through your tired voice. “That’s great. That’s amazing. That’s exactly what you wanted. So why are you here?”

“I-I don’t know…I just thought I should tell you. Um, thank you.”

You nodded solemnly. This was reality after all. “Glad I can help as always.”

“You really are a great help. I’m lucky to have you as my dearest friend.” He grinned, not quite reaching his ears as if holding back something secrets he couldn’t bear either.

You didn’t think much of it and smiled. “Of course. Dearest friend.”

[nrilliree]

Rhaenyra: *sleeps with Criston, has children with Harwin, whom Laenor, Corlys & Viserys considered Laenor's children*

TG stans: She's a spoiled cunt who doesn't face any consequences for her actions! She's a stupid, spoiled daddy's girl! She thinks she can get away with anything because no one else will punish her! She should be disinherited and exiled! She married Laenor only for pleasure, she doesn't know what it's like to be forced into marriage! Her children are high treason!

Alicent: *declares open war on the crown during the royal wedding, promotes a man who killed a defenseless man at the royal wedding, publicly shows disrespect towards the king and the crown, abuses the heiress to the throne, uses physical violence against children, plans a coup and usurpation of the throne for years , attacks the heir of Driftmark, cuts the heiress to the bone, openly undermines the birth of Rhaenyra's children in order to force her punishment, turns her sons against Rhaenyra and her children, is complicit in the death of the Strongs, is complicit in the murder of the lords and burning people in the Red Keep in which she is supported by her father, leads to the usurpation of the throne*

TG stans: