#women and their bodies are not pawns

[chryblossomjjk]

Hey kiki can you please search Manipur viral video, and share this news with your followers.two girls need support from every corner of the world please help 🙏

hi friend… so i looked into this and it’s incredibly shocking, vile, and terrifying. from what ive gathered there is a civil war happening that has led to immense violence, including public sexual violence against women. im not well educated on credible places to donate or to send aid, but i did find this from a women’s organization based in manipur that is helping those who have been displaced due to the violence.

here is a video of them explaining what is happening and what their org is doing to help in more depth:

[iceyrukia]

No but tras really seem think that being biologically female falls under “unrealistic beauty standards” ( aka femininity invented by the patriarchy). And they claim that being an adult human female ( woman) is itself a patriarchal definition??? Which is funny because they follow this patriarchal definition of an ideal woman which is to be defined by femininity. Which circles back to tras thinking and adding being ‘cis’ as part of a beauty standard instead of something neutral.

[risuola]

III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE // In the world of crime and blood, Sukuna knows what's off limits. You certainly are one of those things and yet, he's unable to stop thinking of you.

contents: smut, little angst-ish in some places, mafia!au, unprotected sex, a hint of body worshipping, violence, mentions of death, subtle threats, reader discretion is advised — 3,2k words

a/n: third part, thank you so much for support guys! it means the world to me to see how INSANELY big is the tag list now. i literally love y'all~ ❤️ also, just as the first part got inspired by the absolutely menacing quote from our king, it only felt natural to include the famous gambare, gambare (do your best) into this one.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

Sukuna prefers to think of himself as one of significant intelligence. Over the years, during which he ruled over the entire criminal milieu, he proved himself to stand atop of anyone who dared to even think of overturning his jurisdiction. All the exceptionally dumb bold ones that once wished to take the position of a boss from his hands had learned the hard way why troubles with Sukuna Ryomen are the least desirable fate of anyone who bears any volume of oil inside their brains.

It’s not only tactical or business intelligence that he’s priding himself with. It’s also the excessive knowledge about general rules of life that allowed him to comfortably push and pull the edges of what’s right and wrong, bending his own reality to his liking. Now it’s intuitive – he just knows where he can put more pressure and where it’s not worth his time. He knows what to bet his money on and what won’t realistically pay back. And most importantly, up until that point, Sukuna thought he can tell with his eyes closed which people he should consider crossing paths with, what men can be useful whilst he aims to reach his targets and which crowds he shouldn’t mess around with – for various reasons, most of which being just business and inconvenience. Same thing concerns women. Ryomen’s position works like a magnet and not a day passes by without girls, often way too young to even think of him, throwing themselves at him, led by fantasies of money and power veiled in the shades of love. If he wished, he could have a different toy every time the night falls and if he’d be just slightly less trained, he might have fallen for the temptation. But he didn’t.

Sukuna learned it from experience, not exactly his own, but of his pawns, that allowing random women in the proximity of their profession usually leads to catastrophes. Girls get persistent, they grow attached, they fall in love sooner than it’s even logical and then they threat, they blackmail; all of which eventually leads to their deaths because dealing with just barely adults that weaponize tears and screams is something he doesn’t allow in his circle. There were no exceptions, any man bearing similar power to Ryomen knows that there’s no place for romance in the world of death and bones, the one that’s stained in red and sorrow. If there happens to be love, it’s always of people from inside the criminal circle, sharing the same set of broken morals. Mafia should never tie itself romantically with civilians. Especially him, the leader, the menace that he is in the world of misdeed, murder and corruption, knew all too well why he should never, ever, even think of someone from outside of his tale as of anything more than one time plaything. That would be irresponsible, straight up naïve. It would be foolish. He knew all of that and not even once he felt any need to engage into any kind of relationship with someone that he deemed non-profitable to his general targets.

Then why the fuck he kept thinking of you? Why he kept seeing you after what was supposed to be a fun one-time fuck? Why did the taste of your lips and the sweet scent of your skin made him so completely addicted that he couldn’t focus on his own business without his mind wandering to the memory of you at least once an hour? He just liked your body, he told himself every time he thought of sending you a message. You were a good lay, it was purely physical. You did, after all, take his dick like you were born solely for this very purpose. He was meeting you only for sex and it was an accident that some of these meetings began with a dinner. All of the gifts he showered you with were just a form of payment for the service. Sukuna knew much better than to let his emotions take control of him.

“What’s on your mind?” Your quiet voice tore Ryomen out of the realm of his self-criticism. The tone that you spoked with was raspy, the testimony of the rough, throat-fucking he had used you for just few hours prior, and yet, it still somehow flowed with cottony softness, so characteristic to you.

“Nothing important,” he replied bluntly, lowering his gaze to where your face was buried into the broad muscle of his chest; your frame completely hidden in his own, much larger and stronger. It was another night you spent in his house, one of those that began with the reservation in one of Tokyo’s best restaurants that served traditional Japanese cuisine. You showed up in a dress made of dark olive silk, long enough to reach your high-heeled sandals and clinging to your shapes as if it was made to be worn over the divinity that was your body. The long, scandalous slit exposed one of your legs and the thin straps accentuated your shoulders and cleavage just perfectly. It was a dress that he himself bought and ordered to be delivered to you in an expensive box before that day. Now that very same gown was laying somewhere, discarded on the floor in the living room of his mansion.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re plotting my death,” you chuckled against his skin, the vibration of the act made him scoff because both him and you knew that the scenario you offered wasn’t exactly falling into the realm of fiction.

“If I were to kill you, I wouldn’t need to plot it. One bullet is all it would take,” he retorted with calm and despite any logic, instead of creating some distance, instead of running away you hummed at his statement and pressed your lips to the center of his chest.

You were way over fearing Sukuna and his world. The few months that you spend seeing him, you came to terms with the heavy weight of tragic fate that was now resting on your shoulders. It couldn’t end well, you shouldn’t tangle yourself with a man such as him, the path of your normal life should never come even close to the blood tainted one he was walking through. You should have never left the club with him and once you did, you should have run out his house the moment he gave you a chance. Instead of that, you stayed. That night, after the time of Ryomen’s pursue and the unfortunate event with Naoya and his gang, soon turned into two. Then just few more and then many more. The one-night stand evolved into continuous romance and though it was strewn with roses and intimacy, it came also with the realization that the more you see him, the less days you have left. There was no way for someone like you, an outsider, the mere civilian with no mafia bonds whatsoever, to be living a long life. Sukuna has enemies, there are people that want the power he holds and will eventually target you. That is, of course, if he doesn’t kill you himself over time – out of boredom or prevention. You knew a lot, he had told you more than he should.

But you loved him. You had seen him do some pretty dark things that would make most people’s eyes water, and in all honesty, it did the same thing to yours, but then, with you, Sukuna was always protective. You loved the way he always seemed to know just what you needed, the way he read you like an open book and knew just what to say or do to put you at ease. You loved the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world, how he made you feel beautiful, even on the days you felt like a total mess. He was a danger, a threat so deadly you shouldn’t play with it, he was a flame that you were bound to burn yourself on, but he was also the only person in the world you felt so safe around. Ever since you met, he had protected you. Even if his words were harsh and his own deeds rough, he never failed to envelop you in a bubble inside of which nothing and no one could hurt you.

“Oh, how much you’d miss me,” a certain sense of amusement hinted in the tone you used as the sheepish smile stretched your lips. Ryomen acted suddenly, grabbing the tiny thing that was your body and pressing your back to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around the frail of your neck; it wouldn’t take much of his strength to snap it and yet, you seemed rather comfortable with his grip secured around your airways. Over the time you managed to grow enough trust to know he won’t hurt you for no reason. Your lover was a man powerful enough, there was no need for seeding fear in you. You were also smart enough to differentiate the real danger from the playful acts. If Sukuna truly wanted you to be scared, you most definitely would be scared shitless.

“You think so?” His tone dropped an octave as he crawled above you; your bare figure now trapped underneath the weight of his presence. He got your legs between his initially, the heavy shaft of his dick rested over your lower belly as he shifted his hand from your throat down to cup your breasts. Your body seemed to never stop attract him, no matter how many times he touched and tasted it. You looked almost angelic in the dim light of that morning; the remnants of sleep still painted over your features and the only things that disturbed the innocence of your picture were the marks he had left on your plush, velvety skin. Red and angry spots that he sucked onto your flesh adorned the beauty of your frame, ultimately making you his own. “Aren’t you a little too confident?”

“I think I’m confident just enough,” you grinned playfully, smoothing over his hands, one staying on top of his palm on your breast and the other reaching up his arm to touch more of him. There was always a hunger lingering inside of you, you were never completely satiated and even if your body was utterly exhausted, you were always happy to take more. Sukuna made you feel ecstatic, like you were really his only one and though it was an illusion that you chose to believe in, it felt good to imagine yourself as his only care.

“And why would I miss you, huh? Aren’t you only a plaything for me?” The question he asked was meant to sound venomous but the sound of his voice betrayed the lighthearted intention. “Do you think I’ll blink twice when discarding you when I get bored of what you can give me?”

“I don’t think you’ll hesitate,” a chuckle once again shook your chest gently as you watched how Sukuna gently pulled your legs up from underneath him and brought one of your ankles to his face. The kisses he smeared along your shin were delicate, completely contrasting with the threatful impression that he was trying to make. He was worshipping you so openly, it made you blush every time. “But even though I know you wouldn’t think twice before killing me, I also think you’d miss me afterwards.”

Once the tender caresses finished, your calves landed on top of his shoulders as he leaned forward, squeezing a breathy moan out of you as he pushed his length into you to the very base of it, sliding on enough spit that it made the entrance easy. Ryomen learned your body through and through, he knew you can take it, he knew you’re always ready and eager to take him. Even if it’s early, even if it hurts. No matter when and where, if he told you to sit on his dick in the middle of a grocery store, you’d probably do just that and ask no questions. And yet, he knew where the boundaries are. Not once he pushed you when you were feeling bad. Not once he used you when you were not ready. The knowledge he now had about you came from observation.

“I think I would miss you,” he purred, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke. He’s got you in a mating press, filled to the brim with his bricked-up manhood and completely at his mercy. “You are addicting.”

“So keep me safe,” you whispered, cupping his face and chasing the kiss he was yet to give you. The request caught him slightly off guard. The pleading undertone made his heart clench; a feeling that he’s gone without for a decade at least and though he hated the odd sensation in his chest, he also couldn’t deny the warmth that spread throughout his body.

“You are safe with me,” the reassuring lie he followed with a heavy press onto your lips, sealing his words with his own tongue and silently promising you his protection. A vow that he wished to keep and yet, feared he won’t be able to. But now, it wasn’t important. Now you were here, in his bed, on his dick. Now there was just you and him.

Your dainty fingers found their place in his hair as he began thrusting into you. The new slick that combined with the remnants of the night made his movements easy as he dragged his hips back almost all the way out and then pushed back to the point of his pelvis clashing with the back of your thighs and your ass. The pace he set wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything of what he’d most often pick, there was no violence intertwined into the melody of his hips. That morning it was sensual, it was deep and just rapid enough to stimulate every sweet spot inside of you. Stroke after stroke he was driving you crazy, he just barely started and already you felt yourself dripping. The filthy, wet sounds filled in the early aura and the muffled moans and whimpers accompanied them.

Sukuna allowed your legs to fall lower from where they were pressed against your chest and you hooked them around his hips. The newly earned access to his neck and shoulders you immediately used by allowing your hands to wander in the area, scratching his skin just to force a low purr from his throat. Every sound he made, you swallowed greedily as the kiss continued. Your tongues were dancing to the fiery rhythm of intimacy.

The coil in your stomach tightened all too quickly, you wished it to give you more time to enjoy what he was willing to give you but no matter how much you wanted your body to calm down, he made it absolutely impossible to achieve. Your veins were running with pure ecstasy and lust, the heated flurry that now was your brain was focused only on him, on the rhythm of his hips, on every sweet little lie that he whispered to you. Ryomen knew how to make you weak, he knew just how to angle his body to hit that one spot, the most sensitive one and you could feel him grinning against your lips. He knew you were close. The delicious squeezes that your cunt did on his girth were enough of a hint to notice and it gave him a sense of pride to be able to make you come undone so easily.

“Just few moments more,” he murmured and you nodded eagerly. Tears prickled in your eyes, gathering along your lash lines like crystals that he wished to kiss away, but was now too engulfed in the taste of your lips to part. His movements got quicker, just a little heavier as he began slamming into you with more force than at the beginning. Mornings tend to rid Sukuna from the ability to last – the ones that he spends with you in his arms, with your naked body pressed against his, unknowingly shifting against his dick for hours. That makes him unable to keep his composure for too long. Sometimes he feels like you strip him of all qualities that he once prided himself in, leaving him bare only to your eyes, with only the most primal needs exposed and he felt good with that kind of freedom.

“…don’t stop, oh god, ‘kuna~”, you were whimpering, arching your back underneath him and squeezing your little hands over his shoulders. “I can’t, I—”

“Oh, you can. Do your best,” Sukuna chuckled, teasing you with such impossible tasks. Your head fell back, your thighs were trembling against his sides and he could tell he’s losing you. You were far too deep in the realm of desire to hear his words; all of your world now came down to what you felt, to how you felt him and Sukuna loved your blissed out state. He loved the way he was the one to push you so far over the edge that you wouldn’t notice if the world was ending. But what he loved above that, was how you were gripping onto him; holding him tightly, pulling him closer as if you never wanted him to move away, as if he was everything you needed. And he was.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered against your throat, painting the skin over there with wet trails of kisses and new, red marks – the ones gentle enough to fade in a matter of hours. You moaned something incoherent. “Cum for me,” he allowed, not even sure if you’re registering his words. It had to be unconscious; the way your brain caught his voice between the blurry lines of everything else.

Your climax hit you like a rock; his name was slipping over your tongue continuously, so sweet and breathless that Sukuna was once again reassured that he never wants to hear anyone else calling him. Your walls were squeezing his throbbing length, he twitched and flexed inside you, groaning with satisfaction and before he allowed himself to come, he pushed himself up. As he sat on his heels, he pulled you with him; your body now on top of him and he used his hands to guide your hips up and down his dick. You wrapped yourself around him, finding a safe space for your face right where his neck connects with his muscular shoulder and all he needed to feel the bliss was the sensation of your teeth sinking into his skin.

White seed painted your insides as he shot it as deeply as he could reach with you on top of him. Few more moves, few more groans and you could feel him relax. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he shifted slightly to lean against the headboard, straightening his legs in front of him. You stayed pressed against his chest, catching your breath and feeling the tension leaving your body as the morning went by. And as Sukuna held you so close to his heart, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it felt so right and that made the question bloom inside his brain. Was it still strictly physical? Was it ever only about sex?

taglist: @yihona-san06 @tiredscavengerskeleton @son4aras @vixorell @cecesharktales @isleqt @thickmacandcheese @captainchrisstan @bbylime @sad-darksoul @shartnart1 @kiki17483 @grimreaqueer @phoenix-eclipses @fan-of-encouragement @valleydoll @aleeeeeeees-stuff @marifujioka @going-to-californiaxx @just-pure-trash @edenofeve @impulsivethoughtsat2am @thigh-o-saur @heyohalie @matchat3a @bubblearts @littlemisspropaganda @aconstructofamind @lawislife18 @rzcnlb @sunukissed

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

[evilminji]

You know what I never see explored?

"Not on MY watch!" Superfan Dash Baxter. The young, limnal, quarterback built like a tank and willing to hit like one.

Because let's be real here. Imagine that scenario: Dash, heading to practice with his Bros. His best friends. The team. When? Oh shit! It's PHANTOM! Best day EVER right?

Except it's NOT.

Somethings wrong. He's not as graceful as he usually is. There is no clever comebacks. He looks beat up, man. What HAPPENED? Everyone looks confused when Dash looks around. But before he can call up to him?

Phantom is Shot Out Of The SKY.

Hits the football field HARD. The entire team is already running. Full sprint. It's those fucking GIW. Already driving onto the field and tearing it up. Jumping out, weapons primed.

Phantom's not... oh god, he's not getting up.

He looks hurt. Really hurt. Those bastards are closing in.

Dash's team? Has his back. They're also fans. Friends of his. Not a single one hesitates. They put their BACKS into it and welcome these sick fucks to Tackle Practice. With a follow up of "Taste Your Own Teeth". Amity special, coach would be proud.

But Dash... fuck, he can't wail on these guys AND protect Phantom at the same time. Kwan tells him to go. Throws him his keys. His car is least shit. Dash owes him SO many pizzas for this. First pick on movies for LIFE, man.

It hurts to leave his team behind. His best friend. But Dash has to GO. He can already hear the Fentons closing in. He grabs Phantom, his HERO, and runs for his life.

Barely manages to peel out of there in time. Floors it. Calls Paulina, obviously. She and Star are doing a spa day thing. She picks up because she KNOWS he wouldn't bother her if it wasn't serious. And-!

Oh...

Oh fuck.

In the rear view mirror. The Fentons and GIW just screeched onto the road behind him. Closing distance FAST. What does he do? Paulina he can't... he WON'T hand Phantom over!

And of course she understands. For God's sake, she in LOVE with the guy. He's never heard her sound so scared and furious. They'll get phantom over her twice dead body. She and Star are making some sort of noises, chanting, and...?

Giant Amazons with swords? GHOST Amazons. Suddenly in the road, jumping over his car to attack the cars behind him. Paulina what the FUCK?? She been talking to her Abuela, APPARENTLY. Who's friends aunt's "roomate" was particularly good at communicating with the dead. So OBVIOUSLY Paulina got her to send notes and studied them in secret.

Gotta be able to speak to you future husband's family in their native language. You win brownie points. Gives her a step up. "Not the point"? It's kind of a point! Giant warrior women! Who-?

Paulina made friends while practicing.

Of course she did. Why is he even REMOTELY surprised she chose the giant terrifying Amazons to be beasties with? He's know her for years. He should know better by now.

.....he feels small asking. Hates that his voice shakes. But... but what do they DO, 'Lina?

What he hates even more is the little shake in his childhood friends voice, even though she's trying to sound certain and strong. What they Do? What they DO is Dash drives his ass the her house, gets in her BETTER car, which she is going to load up, and they leave Amity.

She has LOADS of money. All sorts of jewelry. They're very last season. Frankly, she.. she can't WAIT to pawn them if they have too. They just have to drive. Get Phantom as far away from those freaks as possible. Get help.

And? It could go so many ways from there? Paulina LOVES Phantom. How will she reconcile that with her views on Fenton? How will Dash? Seperated from their roles as "the popular ones" and "the crazy people's son". Knowing that... that Danny likes her TOO.

But she's been AWFUL to him. She said so much. DID so much.

Do the even? LIKE each other? Or just the IDEA of each other? The person they made up in their heads.

They're afraid, tired, on the run. But free from school, the expectations of others, the baked in histories of a small town. Who ARE they as people? Do they like each other? COULD they?

I want to believe that Paulina really means it. That no one is at their best in middle and high school. They say and do stupid, mean, shallow shit. Because the world presses and presses and tells them it's all they are worth. Because they don't know who they ARE yet. Because she is a child. Not yet eighteen.

And Danny isn't perfect either. He saw a pretty, pretty face and got distracted by it. Didn't see how HARD she works. How smart she is. How ambitious and brilliant at reading people.

Are they trying to get to an Embassy? To Paulina's extended Family to the south, who would most certainly take them in, and would gladly fight gods for them? Or is this a crossover? Are they going towards other Heros? Older ones?

Is Paulina planning to pull a Lois Lane and Cause Problems On Purpose? Is Dash HAUNTED by "oh fuck, Wes was right." And now knows he's gonna have just... just WALK UP TO THEM. Broad ass daylight. Like "hello, I clearly know your secret identity! Please don't kill me!"?

Whatever the plan? Danny is in the back row of Paulina's once nice, now beat to hell car, bleeding irresistibly damaging acidic ecto-blood all over the seats. Wrapped up like a mummy. Texting Tucker.

The live tweets from Amity are... An Event. A Spectacle for the ages. His parents KNOW now, have speed run their grief STRAIGHT to RAGE, directed that rage at the GIW, and gone to WAR. Once a Fenton, always a Fenton. Jazz was right. "Anti-ghost" sentience testing once a week DID pay off.

Was it a pain in the ass? Absolutely. But results don't lie. He clearly passed. Is clearly sentient, emotional, and their son. All in hard numbers they ran themselves. Will it stop them attack FULL ghosts? Jazz has no idea. But it sure did convince them to put the GIW in a hole and fill it with concrete.

Danny's getting reports of "you SHOT MY BABY!" Being shouted in public. Sam has decided to channel her frustration at being unable to help him into Full Goth Dramatic Shit Stirring. Non-waterproof mascara, disheveled hair. Clutching a picture of him. Dramatic howling and weeping in the arms of her parents.

Apparently now that he's presumed DEAD, the Mansons ALWAYS loved him. Like a SON to them. A sweet, innocent child. Their daughters friend! The GIW are monsters and child killers, they decry.

And the Red Huntress is... Oh, yikes. Yeah he should call her. Val is one more bad thing happening from her villian origin story. At least she... PROBABLY... has killed anyone yet. Note to self: when Danny can actually move torso again, buy Valerie soothing anti-stress...everything. All the things. She responds to stress by punching. Deliver from safe, non-punchable distance.

All in all? My Dash? Needs more Dash! Give the popular kids a chance to prove they aren't just cardboard cut outs! That they can grow beyond the roles high-school and society has pushed them into! Give them some trauma! Why only Danny? Spread the psychic damage!

@stealingyourbones @hdgnj @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[fear-is-truth]

ONE OF THE GIRLS — KAI ANDERSON.

synopsis — you weren’t searching for love or salvation; you only wanted to be one of his girls. whatever it took, whatever you had to give up—your life, your light, your sense of self—it didn’t matter. mature content. MDNI

Kai Anderson knew how to destroy you in the most beautiful, poetic way. He didn’t just see you; he studied you, stripped you down, body and soul, until all that was left was your need for him. Then he’d fill the crevices with himself—his ideals, his control, his love. Or what he wanted you to think was love. In return, you traded your whole life—your freedom, your body, your sense of self—and you couldn’t even say you regretted it. Not when he looked at you with those dark, bottomless eyes, blue hair falling messily over his forehead, and told you, “You belong to me. There’s no world for you without me in it.”

And you believed it. Even when he left you with nothing, when he dimmed you so completely that you forgot who you were without him, you believed it. Because being his, giving him everything—even the light inside you—felt like the only thing that mattered. He’d remind you of your place: beneath him, loyal only to him, broken for him.

The way he touched you, looked at you, made you feel like the centre of his universe, even as you knew he used others before you. You’d seen the way he wielded sex as a weapon in the past, how he’d rewarded obedience with his attention, his body. You weren’t the first. You knew about the others—his other followers, women (and in some cases, men) who’d passed through his bed in exchange for his approval and attention, or simply as a tool in his grand plan. You could picture it clearly: empty promises whispered against their skin, sweet lies wrapped in the guise of sacredness.

But that was before.

Now, it was only you. He’d made that clear. The others didn’t matter anymore. They’d served their purpose, and they’d been cast aside, discarded like pawns in his larger plan. With you, it was different—or so he wanted you to believe. Kai told you that you were the only one, that your loyalty had earned you this exclusive piece of him.

And maybe it was a lie, maybe it wasn’t, but you chose to believe it anyway.

Kai loved control, and even in moments where he pretended to relinquish it, you knew he never really did. Sometimes, he’d let you push back, let you climb on top of him, tar-pit eyes greedily drinking in every minute expression you made as you spilt yourself open on his cock. Sometimes, when he felt particularly generous—or cruel—he’d tell you wrap your hands around his neck, trembling fingers pressing into his skin, his pulse fluttering. You weren’t strong enough to really hurt him, and he knew it.

That was the point.

He’d tilt his head back slightly, letting his neck arch beneath your hands, watching you with a smirk that said, Go on. Do your worst. It was a mockery of your weakness, a taunt wrapped in the pretense of submission.

Kai controlled how far you went, how much of himself he gave to you, and of course, when he’d take it away.

And when he grew bored of your feeble attempts to overpower him, the illusion would shatter the second his hands found your thighs, or when he’d grab your wrists, stilling your movements. A sharp tug, a shift in weight, and suddenly you were beneath him again, breathless and staring into those mesmerising eyes. His hands would close around your neck—not too tight at first, just enough to remind you who held the reins. But as your eyes widened and your breath hitched, his grip would tighten, thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat.

“Did you really think you could control me?”

It was a pointless question, you never could. Not that you wanted anyway.

Kai pushed you to your limits, both physically and emotionally. Hands rough, his grip unforgiving but you never once flinched. That was what he wanted—to see how far you’d go and how much you’d endure in his name. He savoured your submission, when you thought you couldn’t take one more inch of his cock, he’d whisper, “You’re stronger than this, baby.”And suddenly, you could. He’d tell you to look him in the eye, to hold his gaze no matter how exhausted and fucked out you were. When you obeyed and met the full intensity of his stare, he’d smile extravagantly—smug, victorious, as if he’d conquered you all over again. After every encounter, you felt hollowed out, empty but oddly fulfilled, like he’d taken something vital from you and replaced it with himself.

Even when you tried to pull away, he’d wrap your pinky around yours, dragging you back into his orbit. You weren’t sure when submission became second nature, but you stopped fighting the moment you realised the pain he inflicted wasn’t meant to break you—it was meant to bind you closer to him.

Kai knew how to get the best out of you, how to push you past your limits and into a space where you existed only for him. He knew exactly when to be tender and when to be cruel. One moment, he’d stroke your cheek and call you his “sweet girl,” voice low and affectionate, and the next, he’d grab your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. “Open your mouth,” and when you did, he’d spit into it, dark eyes lighting up as he watched you swallow obediently, heat rising in your cheeks. “You like being mine, don’t you?”

“Don’t pout. You know I hate it when you pout.” His hands would frame your face then, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “You want me to fill that pretty little head of yours with lies instead? Tell you I couldn’t do this without you? That you’re my whole world?” his reproachful gaze cutting straight through you like a scalpel.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” It was Kai’s duality that kept you tethered to him, the way he could make you feel like the Future First Lady one moment and Just Another Whore the next. It was a cruel method, but it worked all the same. His approval was a drug, and he was the only dealer who could supply your fix.

He never pushed far enough to cause lasting harm (at least, not in a physical sense) but far enough to leave you marked. The morning after, faint bruises would bloom along your neck, hips and thighs, remnants of his control etched into your skin. You’d trace them in the mirror, fingers ghosting over the mottled flesh as pride and shame twisted in your gut.

Kai was fascinated by those bruises. They were a signature he left behind for you to carry. He’d run his thumb lovingly, obsessively over them, “You look so beautiful like this.”

God, you hated how genuine he sounded.

Even his tenderness came with strings attached.

He granted you the privilege of touching him—fingers ghosting over the faint dimple in his cheek, brushing against the coarse stubble that shadowed his jaw. Your palms slid hesitantly down the sculpted plane of his bare chest, trembling under the weight of his smouldering gaze. But it was never without his permission.

Kai would let you kiss him—slowly, deeply, his lips clinging to yours like warm molasses, reluctant to let go even as you pulled back. Sweet in its calculated pace, as if you could draw something genuine from the depths of him. Occasionally, his lips would part just enough to let a few moans escape, and for a fleeting moment, you’d think you’d found it. But then his hands would tighten on your hips, reminding you that this was still his game.

He let you take what he wanted you to have, and nothing more.

It wasn’t love. Hell, it wasn’t even lust. You didn’t want murmured sweet nothings or gentle caresses. All you wanted was Kai, Kai, Kai. Always Kai. His chaos, his cruelty, his relentless desire to tear you apart and rebuild you. You didn’t need to be the only one, the first, or even the last.

You just needed to be his.

p.s : i recommend you listen to One of Your Girls by The Weeknd, JENNIE, Lily Rose Depp

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 1 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob is happy for his friends, but feeling like the fifth wheel every weekend has gotten old. Anna's main goal is to fly under the radar as she starts work at San Diego State University with her shiny, new graduate degree. She is convinced that the only company she needs is her own, but a specific flyer in the faculty lounge catches her interest.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Bob hated it when Natasha was deployed without him. He always ended up feeling like the fifth wheel now that Bradley was married and Jake was dating Jessica. Well, both of those were actually understatements. Bradley was devoted to his wife, and Jake was soppy now that Jessica moved in with him. And Bob's feelings on the matter were never more evident than on nights out at the Hard Deck. 

Without fail, a girl or two or three would hit on one of the other guys, and they would deftly try to pawn said girl off on Bob only for the girl to look rather disappointed and kind of wander away. He just had that effect on women. He was a lot better with the written word than with the spoken, and something just didn't translate well for him when he was met face-to-face with an intriguing smile and an attractive body.

He groaned as he watched another woman head off in the direction of the bar as soon as he nervously stumbled his way through a sentence where he tried to introduce himself. How exactly was he supposed to compete with Jake Seresin anyway? Nobody who originally wanted him was going to settle for Bob. 

"I got you more peanuts." Bob looked up to see Bradshaw's wife smiling at him and holding out a cup. Ever since he visited Chippy's bar, he didn't want to admit to Penny that hers weren't quite as good, but if someone went out of their way to bring him a cup full, he was going to eat them. And it was also nice of her to make sure he was included tonight while Mickey was babysitting his nephews.

"Thank you," he replied softly, and she patted his shoulder.

"I saw you talking to that girl?" she asked, nodding her head toward the bar. "She's really cute."

Bob shook his head as he looked down at his ginger ale. "I mean, yes, she was very pretty, but I wasn't really talking to her. She didn't want to talk to me, actually." He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he looked up at her from his stool. "She wanted to talk to Jake."

She rolled her eyes, and Bob kept his fingers occupied by cracking open a peanut. He craved the familiar intimacy he saw when he looked at his friends and their partners. Maybe jealousy wasn't the right word, but he always felt left out of the loop. They all knew something he didn't, and he craved to be on the inside with someone of his own.

"I'd choose you over Jake any day, Bob. You're smart, and I like talking to you."

He smiled at her as he said, "That may be the case, but you'd choose Bradley over me."

"You got me there," she said with a laugh as she kissed his cheek, making him avert his eyes to the floor. "I'm probably not the best judge of character though."

Bob looked toward where she was smiling now and saw Bradley with his hideous tie dye shirt and idiotic looking backwards baseball cap as Jessica slaughtered him in a game of pool. "Yes, you are," Bob told her quietly. Because as soon as Bradley looked at his wife, his expression became one of complete wonder. 

"Sugar! Come here! Jessica is being mean to me again!"

She squeezed Bob's shoulder and then took him by the hand, bringing him along with her to the pool table. He blushed again as he looked a little nervously at Bradley, but everyone knew Bob was harmless. He was the one just drinking a ginger ale since he had to drive home.

"Baby," Bradley whined. "She won't even let me try to make a shot."

"That's not her being mean to you. That's her being better than you," his wife replied. "And what's the moral of the story again?"

"Women should never be underestimated," Bradley and Jake said in unison.

"That's right," Jessica said as she sunk the 8-ball into one of the corner pockets. "Especially ones who have a PhD and tenure." She handed her pool cue to Bradley and did a little dance. Then she reached into Bob's cup of peanuts and said, "Chippy's are better."

"They are," he agreed with a nod and a grin. He cleared his throat as Bradshaw's wife finally dropped his hand. "So I heard the new semester starts on Monday?"

"Yes," Jessica gushed as she fixed her glasses. "And Brian took a position at the community college, so this should be my best semester yet."

Bob already knew that Jake was relieved that his girlfriend would be going to work in a more comfortable environment every day, but it was nice to see how excited she was. 

"You know what I was thinking?" Jessica asked Bradshaw's wife quietly. Bob wondered if he should step away and give them some privacy, but they both kept helping themselves to the cup of peanuts. "Maybe we could put something up on the notice board in the main building, kind of inviting the other female teachers at the school to have lunch together one day? I felt so embarrassed and excluded from things because of Brian, I just thought it might be nice for anyone else who feels marginalized?"

Bradley's wife nodded. "I think that's a great idea."

Bob listened to them for a few more minutes before he wished them good luck as they started back to school for the fall term, and then he excused himself for the night. He stood outside in the dark parking lot for a few minutes and listened to the sound of the ocean before he climbed into his truck and headed for his silent house. 

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

"Dr. Webber."

Anna looked at the name placard on her office door and bounced up and down. "Dr. Webber," she read out loud again. She had the worst office on campus, no doubt about that. It was miniscule and kind of smelled like stale bread since it was so close to the cafeteria, but she loved it. All of the shelves were crammed with her books, and she could lock the rest of the world out when she needed a minute to herself. She just hoped that the tiny office wasn't a sign of bad things to come after San Diego State University willingly hired her less than a month before the start of the term.

In a matter of eight weeks, she had finally- finally- graduated with her PhD in English Literature and secured a job on the other side of the country. She sold everything she could think of, including her rings, and moved from gloomy New Jersey to a studio apartment in sunny southern California. Sure, all she had in her kitchen was a toaster oven and a mini fridge, but she was on her own. She had nobody to answer to. And she never would again.

"I guess everything is smaller here," Anna told herself as she locked her office door and went in search of the classroom where she would be holding the first lecture of her teaching career. She was too early for the class, but she was filled with nervous energy and decided that walking around would help. 

She looked in classrooms and listened to a poetry lecture on the third floor. She found a really secluded ladies' bathroom as well as a reading nook. Eventually, she and her copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn managed to wander all the way to the main building where she found a faculty lounge.

It smelled like coffee, and there were snacks out on the counter, and everyone was talking in pairs or small groups. She should probably get to know her colleagues, but she also didn't mind the anonymity that came with observing everyone without engaging. She was good at that, and she'd spend too much time around people who needed to be in the spotlight all the time. As she reached for a donut with pink frosting, she saw a notice board across the room and went to take a look. 

The hum of conversation around her was comforting as she read about a yoga class in the quad, alumni night, and a teacher appreciation banquet. Then her eyes caught on a single piece of paper with a plain black font. It wasn't flashy, and somehow it reminded her of a page from a favorite book.

WELCOME BACK FOR THE FALL SEMESTER, LADIES!

If you're interested in getting to know some other women who work on campus, let's meet for a friendly lunch on the first Tuesday of the term! Noon in the quad next to the weird tree.

Anna laughed. She knew where the quad was, but she wasn't sure which tree was the weird one. They actually all seemed a bit out of place to her since she wasn't used to living near palm trees. She started to skim a notice about how to recycle old textbooks, but she didn't get far before she was re-reading the one about meeting up for lunch. 

If it was truly meant just for women, then it sounded kind of nice. She could eat her sandwich outside. She liked weird trees. The idea of having zero men around made it even more appealing. The last thing she wanted was to develop an interest in anyone right now. Or maybe ever again. 

She took out her phone and snapped a picture of the page before checking the time and leaving with her donut. Twenty minutes later, with her class assembled before her in a small lecture hall, she cleared her throat and said, "Welcome to English 205. I'm Dr. Webber, and this semester we will be covering the classics."

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

"You can do this. You'll be fine," Anna said as she walked slowly across the quad toward a palm tree that looked like it somehow started growing sideways about six feet up from the ground. "It's just some people."

But she wasn't good with people. Kevin had been quick to tell her that all the time. He liked to point out that she was awkward unless she was talking about literature or poetry or something from the New York Times bestseller list. Apparently she didn't know how to talk about normal things. Her hands started to sweat as she held onto her brown paper bag and can of ginger ale. 

"Oh god," she groaned as she got a little closer. Truly, there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just two women smiling as they talked to each other with their lunches. But they were both beautiful. Like the kind of stunning girls that Anna was always afraid to talk to when she was a teenager. One was wearing a suit and high heels, and the other was wearing cute brown loafers and some tweed, and she felt like her own outfit looked awful now by comparison. 

It wasn't too late to just walk past them and loop back toward her office and never try to socialize again. "Yes, let's do that." She nodded and picked up the pace a little bit. She could turn left at the weird tree and then maybe even make a run for it. "What are you doing?" she whispered, slowing down again. It was one thing to swear off men, but it wasn't going to be an enjoyable existence if she never tried to make a single friend here.

With a deep breath, she forced herself forward, and then soon two sets of eyes were on her. All she saw was matching smiles as she approached and said, "Hi. I'm Anna Webber. Is this the weird tree?"

"It's the weirdest tree I've ever seen," said the first woman as the other one jumped to her feet. 

"Hi! Are you here for lunch?" she asked as she adjusted her glasses. "I told you someone would come," she whispered to the first woman before sticking her hand out. "I'm Jessica Reed! I work in the physics department, and this is my friend, and we are so, so happy you're joining us."

Anna smiled at how bubbly she was as she briefly shook her hand. "I just got here," she said with a wince. "I mean... it's my second day working here? I just got hired. In the English department. I'm teaching literature." God, could she sound like any more of an idiot right now?

But Jessica gasped in response. "Advanced Literature!" Then both women squealed, and soon the other one was introducing herself and talking about the math department and pointing out a building Anna had never been inside yet.

"It's silly, we know, but we kind of have code names for each other. I'm Advanced Calculus, and Jessica is Advanced Physics. You can be Advanced Literature. If you want." Now she looked a little uncertain while Jessica bounced in her high heels. "Wow, we sound like absolute nerds."

"We are nerds," Jessica confirmed with no shame as she looked at Anna. "I collect scientific journals. She uses math as foreplay with her husband. Do you want to eat lunch with us, Anna?"

Her response came with an ease that she hadn't felt in a long time. "Yes. Please." Then both women were shifting their lunches down and making room in the middle of the bench. Anna took a seat and watched Advanced Calculus pick a carrot stick out of the most beautifully organized lunch container she'd ever seen. She also had a tie dyed lunch box that was charming in a hideous way.

"How's your first week going?" Jessica asked as she bit into a delicious looking sandwich on fancy, multigrain bread. Anna knew she didn't fit in here at all as she pulled a plain turkey sandwich and some peanuts from her bag, but it was all she could afford right now. 

"Well," she said with a sigh. "It's better than New Jersey."

Both women squealed again. "You're from the east coast!"

"Yeah," she replied as she opened her ginger ale. "I grew up in New Jersey. I went to college and grad school in New Jersey. I attempted to move to New York, and then somehow I ended up here." She left out the heartbreaking parts about Kevin, because he didn't really belong in a conversation where she was surprisingly kind of enjoying herself. 

She learned the two women were from Massachusetts and Virginia, and that they both had PhDs from prestigious universities. They were both in committed relationships with naval aviators who also happened to work together. And both of the men loved packing their ladies lunches. 

"Lucky," Anna muttered as she popped a peanut into her mouth and thought about the kitchen in her studio apartment. It was so small, it almost didn't exist. She was almost thirty and essentially still lived in a dormitory. How sad.

"Hey," Jessica said suddenly. "If you like peanuts, you'd probably love Chippy's!"

"What's Chippy's?" Anna asked curiously.

"Eww, no. Don't listen to Jess. Chippy's is a disgusting dive bar on the other side of campus."

"It's not disgusting! He just doesn't clean the floor."

Anna laughed. "I actually do love peanuts, but I'm not a big drinker." Then both women silently studied her, and she could feel heat rising in her cheeks. She'd said something wrong already. Of course things couldn't be this easy.

"Huh. You like ginger ale," said Advanced Calculus as she sat paused with a carrot stick halfway to her mouth.

Anna nodded as she said, "My... well, a guy I know used to make fun of me for being a ginger and loving ginger ale." She gestured to her auburn hair which was clipped up at the back of her head. 

"Are you married? Or in a relationship?" she asked, and she finally bit into the carrot. 

Anna didn't even have a chance to reply as Advanced Physics gasped on her other side. "You like peanuts. And ginger ale. How do you feel about men with glasses?"

"How do you feel about men with greenish blue eyes?" 

"How do you feel about sweet men who blush?"

"Would you ever date a guy in the Navy?"

"Are you fond of beat up pickup trucks and country boys?"

"Do you want to come to the Hard Deck this weekend?"

Anna was starting to get whiplash as she looked back and forth between the two of them. "Wait, I'm sorry. What? I thought we were talking about a place called Chippy's?"

"We were. But now we're talking about a man called Bob."

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

Omg omg omg. Okay, here we are with a story for our lovable Bob. Thanks for reading about the Sugarverse. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

@thedroneranger

@theamuz

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@yuckosworld

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-magnolia

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@wkndwlff

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@sio-ina-bottle

@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@novastories

@xoxabs88xox

@rileyanntoinette

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

@smileybouquet

@paintlavillered

@seitmai

@noonenuts

@amiets2

@sylviebell

@imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

@lonelysoul50

@sweetwhispersofchaos

[strawberymilku]

Checkmating You

featuring: Jing Yuan x Fem!Reader

genre: smut, friends to lovers troupe, kinda vanilla sex, semi-public, oral receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: wow, wow i didn't knw blade and danheng smut would get a lot of notes, tysm for tht. he's my first 5*, and forever has my heart. its basically friends to lover, and jy being freaky deaky on the chess board, wink wink.

word count: 3.9k

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Yeah I will win this time," she replied, organizing the chess pieces, she looked rather calm, unlike the other times, she was so mad that she wiped all the chess pieces off the table in rage because she hates to lose over her friend, Jing Yuan, the general of Xianzhou Luofu. She sipped her tea, coming up with a strategy in her head.

Jing Yuan couldn’t help but chuckle at her determination, picking up his own hand of pieces. He took a sip of his tea, his eyes narrowing as he studied her body language and tried to understand the strategy she was planning. He raised an eyebrow playfully. “You sure? Because I know that look you’ve got…” He paused for a moment before breaking apart the silence. “I’ve got something up my sleeve this time. You won’t be so sure you’ll win this time.”

"How sure are you, that I won't win this time?" her eyes shifted boringly into his golden ones, moving the pawn two steps forward, she won’t lose this time, for sure.

“Pretty sure…” he replied with a yawn, his eyes glinting mischievously. She could tell he wasn’t lying.

“You think that pawn’s going to save you?” the general asked, almost mocking her. This time, his hands were hidden underneath the table as he moved each piece strategically.

“I’m feeling more ruthless this time,” he continued, his eyes narrowing on her while she made her next move. 

She made the left knight move forward, eyes looking up to see his reaction and focus on the board. She rather not talk to give herself a mysterious appearance.

His golden eyes narrow as he takes note of her move.  The general's face remained stoic as he moved his pawn forward to keep it in check. His smirk shifted into a small smile as he glanced at her eyes, studying them. "Hmm... not too bad," he says, his lips tilting upwards, she just reminded him of when they were teenagers, and how silly that he used to have a crush on her.

The general moved one of his rooks forward, and they exchanged glances again. He seemed to be analyzing her every move and thinking ahead, his heart thumped more when he stole a few looks at her determined face. 

"I have a question, how come you're not married yet?" she brought up another sensitive topic, she knew how to tick him off as she moved the right side of her knight forward. It was too much for Jing Yuan to double-check if he heard her correctly and if she was really asking about his marital status.

Jing Yuan shifted his eyes up to hers, and she could see how the general was thrown off just as she expected.

"Why is that a topic of interest?" he asked, his voice even and steady as he moved his rook to a good position. She was trying to throw him off his game for sure.

"No, it's funny how you are popular, and yet you're single, aren't you close to your thirties?" she spoke as if time was a warning, she waited for him to finish his move.

"Popularity and romantic relationships aren't correlated," the man said in a calm voice, avoiding the question about his single-ness entirely. It was true that he was popular, and many women had an interest in him, but he seemed to prefer being alone.

He moved his knight forward, but then looked back at her, his voice slightly lowering. "Are you asking because you're interested in me?"

She never knew that question would backfire on her, she furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head. She was obviously blushing from the unexpected question from her one true friend, she cleared her throat to maintain her composure, with a simple ‘no’.

‘Bullseye’, he tilted his head back before chuckling and his voice in a husk, leaning in towards her slightly. "Maybe I should ask another question in return. Why are you blushing all of a sudden?" he seemed to know how to play with her strings, leaning in a little closer, making eye contact with her.

"I-uh, let's just finish the game shall we?" she cleared her throat once more as she could sense his breath so closely towards her, throwing her off, he indeed made her lose words and for a moment she forgot what strategy she was using for chess. He has the upper hand here, of course. He is Jing Yuan.

The general can't help but smile lightly. She was flustered. There was a silence between them before he spoke up again.  "I take it that means you lied about not being interested?" his eyes weren’t on the board, his eyebrow raising suggestively as his fingers tapped the table playfully, patiently waiting for her answer.

"What?!" she looked up at him. "N-no way, I only see you as a friend," she started stuttering, she knew he was playing his psychological tricks on her. She already fumbled on the chess moves, making a grave mistake.

Minutes passed by, and the general was enjoying seeing her get nervous and flustered. He had her all to himself, and he was going to take advantage of the situation while he had it. “Checkmate,” he was smugged with his tactics. The girl was left speechless, she looked so hot and bothered, she didn’t like losing like this again, was he playing with her feelings this time too?

“Then… what’s with the blushing?” asked Jing Yuan, leaning forward as if he was going in for a kiss, his breath grazing her lips. It was only just a centimetre apart.

"No, no it's the weather obviously-" her words were cut off with a kiss, really? Right in front of the game?

He had made his move, not the chess, he couldn’t lose her like he lost his chance before; he never really cared about playing chess with her, it was the time he enjoyed with her. He kissed her, enjoying the feeling of their lips meeting and the surprise that crossed her expression.

He pulled away after a magical moment between them, smiling down at her. "You didn't seem very interested a moment ago," he whispered into her ears, leaning his forehead against hers.

She knew he put her in a cupid’s chokehold, she covered her face out of embarrassment, red spreading across her cheeks, it was time. Time to confess all the feelings they had suppressed for years: 

"Yeah, I like you. A lot, since we were teenagers," she admitted with a blurt, not daring to look into his powerful eyes.

Jing Yuan's lips curved upward into a small smile. Actually, it was the real checkmate he was aiming for earlier, his breath tickling her ear. "You have feelings for me? Really?" he whispered, one of his hands coming up to rest against her cheek. He was genuinely surprised at how this love game turned out.

"I, I do, I thought it was impossible so I tried to move on.." she coughed up all the words finally, she had been holding, gazing into his golden eyes. 

"You thought it was impossible to love *me*?" he asks with a light smile, his eyebrows creasing together curiously.

He didn’t seem to understand why she thought it was impossible to love him, but the general took in her reaction. Her eyes are so soft, and her blush is so adorable. How could he possibly refuse her?

He shifted his seat closely before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him.

As he looked deeply into her eyes, "How could you think it was impossible? My entire being and heart belongs to you," the general whispered like sugar was a thing before he ate just now, his eyes beginning to shine in the dim lighting of the courtyard.

"Not like. *Really* like. You're not just a good friend or my best friend to me..." Jing Yuan spoke in a softer tone, still hugging her in his broad shoulders, his voice barely escaping his lips.

"Would you like to be my love and my other half? I want to care for you, protect you, and love you till the end of my days... and beyond," Jing Yuan finally had the urge to confess and asked her out, his heart pounding in his chest, as he waited for her reply.

"I would love to become your lover..I want to nurture you and support you and love you until my days end.." she said in the sentence with more boldness, it is time, Time that they develop this relationship more extremely matter.

He liked that answer, how much she was giving in towards his proposal. His face brightened like a warning sun to her response, his smile growing wider than ever. The general's heart pounded in his chest rapidly, and his eyes were on her lips. This was a moment he's been waiting for since they were teenagers.

"You'll be my lover? Is that a yes?" the general asked again, wanting confirmation before he pulled her into another kiss. 

"Yes.." she replied, leaning her face closer towards his lips, as their lips collided together like two worlds bonded. It was just him and her, them against the world. The background noises of sparrows didn’t seem to be in the picture or the sound of the waterfall at their back. 

Their lips moved in unison, not hiding their feelings away, his hands wrapping around her. He pulled her even closer, wanting each piece of her to be pressed against him. They kissed passionately - neither wanted to let go easily for now...

Their lips didn't break away from one another for a long time, even though it was probably quite late. He had always known he loved this woman, and now, finally, he could call her his lover. 

He wanted to claim her, no he needed to claim her

Hence, he went feral for his desire for her. Their kiss suddenly became a hot mess, as Jing Yuan placed her on the large chessboard, not even wiping the pieces away, 

"Jing Yuan?!" she gasped as he made her lay down on the huge board with some of the pieces remaining on the board, he had been longing to do this whenever they played chess. He wanted to claim her as his, right on the board, he had been holding his patience as it was wearing thin.

“Nothing,” the general replied nonchalantly, his voice thickened with desire and as he leaned closer towards his body.

He placed one hand on her cheek, another hand pinning her wrist to the board for a moment, kissing her for a few seconds, his eyes looking down at her in pure adoration - wanting her. His other hand travels down her neck, gliding her collarbone, and down to her thigh, where his hand finally rested.

Kisses weren’t enough, his breath was getting closer to hers. His hands move to touch her, exploring her body, but he pulls away for a moment to give her a chance to respond. “Is this too fast? *Can I have you right here, right now?*” begging for her permission to please her right on the chessboard.

"N-no, go on.." she looked pretty on the chess board with the chess pieces lying around in his eyes, a body sculpted to look beautifully aligned with the other chess pieces, her breaths hitched on his neck, making him go crazy with her warm vanilla scent, he wished to smell further.

The general whispered into her ear, his breath brushing against it and making her warm. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, letting the moment sink in as he moved in to kiss her again, bruising her soft red lips with his rough ones.

His lips met her neck as he parted away from the gentle kisses, and his hands slowly began to glide up her arms. He wanted to take her shirt off, but he still wanted to make sure she was comfortable for a while. But the general is losing control of his thoughts - his desire for her is growing out of control. 

He couldn’t control himself as blood rushed between his thighs, she was so beautiful enough to want to claim her right on the chessboards, she was his wildest dream.

"You're my queen, you know that?" he replied putting the queen piece in her mouth, making her bite on it. "Good, I will now make you feel like one," his hands were touching her whole body, ready to please her, as a queen should be treated right.

He made her the queen in more than one way, and Jing Yuan loved every second of it. 

He couldn't help but touch her and kiss her neck, he wanted to worship her. He wanted to be devoted to his Queen. His lips nibbled on her neck, with a red mark, his voice filling her with admiration and want. 

A king needs his queen on the board, doesn’t he?

Jing Yuan didn't even care anymore that they were outside in a public area. Not that Lieutenant Yanqing would intrude right now, he was off to a prolonged mission to chase the Stellaron Hunters, and he let the prisoner escape on purpose just for this moment.

The general leaned down, his breath on her neck making her skin feel hot. "Are you... okay with this?" he asks calmly, as his lips move to kiss her neck marking her, he was strong enough to tear up her clothing with ease, ripping them apart, they were covering her beauty indeed.

He gasped as he took a moment of appreciation for her curvy body, naked, he loved every part of it. His lips pressed on her chest, kissing it with each praise, the general taking his time to make sure she was comfortable with him. “Your skin is so soft, my love,” he whispered after kissing her stomach too, showering with every possible kiss until his hands reached her soaked-up panties.

The heat on her skin quickly gets intense, and the general's fingers begin to gently touch her wet folds, rubbing her nub making the queen piece she was biting, fall out of her mouth as he rubs against her wet slick, making the sloppiest noises and a moan escaping from her lips.

“So wet, for me, maybe it’s true you have feelings for me, yes?” he chuckled near her ears with a coy tone, prepping her entrance with her juicy coat on his double digits of fingers. “Can I have your taste, queen?” he was such a gentleman for wanting to please her, pushing in her wet cunt, in and out with a pace upwards, his fingers could feel her velvet walls tightly.

“And so tight for me, I can’t wait to feel that on my cock,” his lips let out a few moans, ramming her tight hole, taking his two sloppy fingers, licking the white liquid on his hand, admiring as if it was an artwork he has done on her, tasting every drop of it.

“You taste nice as well, I think I want more~” he teased as he spread her thighs with the force he had on her, “Please?” he demanded if she wanted more as well, giving a peck on the thighs, looking at her hungrily. He literally wanted to eat her right away, like a wolf, pouncing on his prey. His golden orbs glistened, waiting for her pleas. 

“Y-yes, general. I want you to taste me too,” her breaths became heavier, and there was embarrassment still written on her face, therefore, he placed his head between her thighs, kissing all her wet folds, licking her up, tasting the hot liquids melting on his tongue, pleasing her as much as he wanted. 

The boner in his pants grew further, hot pre-cum leaking out of his underwear, as he let out a growl, licking her sensitive bud aggressively, he looked up for a while to pause if she was having a moment of her life as well, with a smug look. He is indeed, doing a good job in giving pleasure towards his queen. God, he couldn’t wait to prove how much love he has for you.

“Would you want me to continue more, my queen?” he gave a teasing look, and she couldn’t help but give a pathetic whiney noise, saying yes and please, with moans in between, sometimes, his name as well, which turns him on, his cock was absolutely aching for her touches, but he has to be patient somehow, there is no way he could hurt her if he didn’t prep her enough, he resumed his eating out activity by abusing her clit, circling on it, fingers inside deep inside her, moving in a vigorous movement, that earns more higher pitch whines and pants from her throat. 

She was a literal hot mess for him to claim him, just for her. He couldn’t maintain further, he had to do something more that than. “May I?” he unbuckled his military white pants, right away, the monster dick full of veins and heat, sprung out from his black boxers. 

There is no way this thing could fit inside, yet he knows. Does he even care if it would fit in? No? The look on her face was priceless, seeing his huge cock for the first time, which amused the general. 

“Any questions, love?” he let out a few manly chuckles, not surprised how surprised she looked right now, giving his large dick a few pumps from his hands, pre cum still oozing out from the tip, dripping on the wooden board she was placed on. 

“No way, no way that will fit in me,” she shook her head, still amazed at the size of his shaft. 

“Oh, yes, yes it will, just relax, beautiful,” his words were comforting, as her back eased up on the wooden chessboard, listening to the general’s words like an obedient pet.

He played on her folds with his tip a few times, wanting her to beg for it, edging her wildest pleasure by placing his tip against the clit several times. But it was an unexpected swift move, as he obviously, entered her tight wall in one pace, stretching deep into her warm pussy. He felt proud as a loud moan was filled across the area, it would be enough for the cloud knights to know what they were up to. “God, you are so warm, love,” he did give her time to adjust to his gigantic size, which let out a grunt, kissing her lovingly, showering her face with kisses, by cupping her cheeks, giving her time as much as she needs, so she could be distracted from the sudden pain. “I-I” the female tried to catch some breath, “I think I’m ready,” she exhaled softly, wrapping her arms around his back, feeling every inch deepening into her warm cunt, his tip almost kissing her cervix a few times, he began to move slowly, but sensually, she could feel herself wrapped around his cock. 

His thrusts were slow and romantic. “My queen, you feel so good, I can’t get enough,” he let out a few moans, kissing her lips again, praising how warm she was, pumping his dick into her tight walls, feeling every part of her cunt clenching on his wrapped up dick. He could cum in any second, but he has his own policy: she must cum and feel satisfied before him.

The gentleman, put his hands on the chessboard to adjust his position further, sweat dripping on her body and on the chessboard, the place smelt like a mix of their scents, sweat and sex, he growled as he could feel her cervix, he went over and over again to the sweet spot, kissing it with his tip, earning more moans from his queen.

She looked very beautiful at that moment, hair spreading across the board, under him, vulnerable from his unfaded desires of wanting to fuck her until her body squealed in pleasure, the place was filled with filthy noises from their sex, pressing on her cunt with sloppier noises, his base of his cock, slapping her skin with a different pace, he was going faster. “You can take my cock, pretty well right?” he asked more questions, wiping the sweat across her forehead, not stopping his fastening motions while she moaned more with immense lust. “Yes, general. I can take it in well for you,” her voice was getting hoarse, praising him like an Aeon she needed to worship and give her everything to him. He kissed her lips once again, his hands on her waist so he could get better access in slamming his cock again, this time, abusing her cervix. “I want to fill you up, queen,” he confessed his filthy sins in her ear, giving a playful bite at the end. This man knew how to come with his words, he wasn’t even pausing his merciless thrusts, making her stomach turn into butterflies and her guts tightening from every praise. 

She gripped his back, fingers deep in his skin, Jing Yuan doesn’t mind the little pain, he received on his bare skin, it was too little to compare to how much ecstasy he has been having while fucking her raw, feeling every part of his desires fulfilled by his one and only. “Cum for me, queen. I want to make you feel good, I should be the only man you could please you well,” he was demanding, as his movements weren’t stoppable, the girl was getting more of his love, and he wanted to show her what she was missing out for years. “Ahh, Jing Yuan, I’m close,” she panted as her warm breath tickled on his neck, there he felt her hole orgasming, spasming on his cock, before he didn’t even come inside her. She doesn’t really care how her back was hurt from the hard board, she just wanted him at this very moment. “Good job,” he helped her catch her breaths, wiping the sweat, admiring how he made her feel good with his dick. “But I must first, do my part as well,” he continued rolling his hips, deepening inside her hole again, dick twitching and aching from cumming inside her. White liquids started to fill her post-orgasm insides, arriving after her pleasure, there was a burning sensation in her womb. He finally let out a few satisfied moans, saying her name like a prayer, as if she were the drug he took this morning. “You are so beautiful like this,” he bent over after he took out his cock, admiring the masterpiece of finishing her up. “I love you,” he kissed her forehead gently, whispering on the chessboard. “I love you too,” she replied lovingly, falling in love deeper into his golden eyes, putting his white strands away from his face, and pulling him in her embrace.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ “Master Jing Yuan, the board seemed to be so wet, did Y/N rage again and spill tea on it?” the innocent Yanqing happened to be the one playing after her, touched the board and the queen piece was still missing from the board on the general's side.

It made the general recall the memories she had with him together, making him giggle like a maiden falling in love. “Ask Y/N that for later,” 

Yanqing just gave a weird look not sure what was going on but he knew after that chess play, the two friends both had become lovers instead.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

[tonixe]

goverment hooker..

a/n: I'm back again, there is no surprise. I'm feeling devious so I might post again, wowzers. Also, the sped-up version of the government hooker sound so fire, like it feels like I'm in one of those edits, anyways lemme stop rambling. I hope y'all enjoy, reblogs, and comments will be also appreciated.

warning: smut, penetrating, p in the v, unprotected sex, creampies. proofread (?)

pairing: Young!Coriolanus Snow x reader

word counter: 1.4k

What appeals to you to most men, maybe it was your cute antics, your siren eyes that attracted anyone toward you, or your body, sculpted with your delicate curves, and a perky bosom to match the appeal of your young face that can lull a man to sleep.

Or was it how you talked, deliberately making a slur of your words, with your ribboning voice, that can make anyone feel safe and warm with you. You fooled some powerful men, their hearts were already tainted and covered in greed, easy to control someone with their needs. You were in command of it, you made them your pawn, you played the cards, and made a charade of it.

Every time you talked or did anything, you automatically moved your chess piece forward never back. But..what were you doing in a low district as a 'prestigious' woman like yourself, doing in the slum like this. Well, these 'slums' they would call, these 'desperate streets' were your home, even though you won't admit with your own mouth, your words, it still was your home...

Trying to lift yourself from the slums called your homes, to a place where it is much safer than here, maybe to Capitol, but you would need a ticket in. They wouldn't allow just anyone, would they?

But here you were standing in a speakeasy, in a tight little red dress, with a lacey red lining. It was odd to see polished women like you in a bar in District 12, you looked like you were for the Capitol, but all things you see and hear aren't what it seemed. Drinking up on the cheap liquor they offered, looking at the scene in front of you with the happy and dancing couples on the floor, as live music played. The 'Covey' they called them, and the main star, Lucy Gray. Staring at the stage, as she sang into the mic, playing her guitar.

She was familiar to you, the only reference you saw was when she was fighting in the Hunger Games, it was a surprise seeing her still living, breathing, and standing up there, but needless to say, she was still good at what she did. You waving your body to the relaxing music, fixing yourself on the stool, swaying to the music. "What is a lady like you sitting in here" You turned your head to the gentleman talking to you, staring at him.

"I'm just sitting here, enjoying the show," You said, taking a sip of the alcoholic liquid, "How about you" you tilt your head to the side.

"Just enjoying my show" He gestured to your form, and you giggled at his compliment as he sat on the stool beside you. You really got to see the man that was next to you. He had a handsome face and a chiseled face, he wore a blue open-collar shirt and a blondish-white buzz cut, He seemed like one of those Peacekeepers lurking around the district. "Do you do this every girl you see?" You were amused by the blonde man who sat beside you. You wouldn't lie that he was indeed attractive in your eyes. Scanning his frame, his body, his face. "Not to every woman, but to the ones that look beautiful like you my dear" You couldn't help to smile at him, "��And your not bad-looking as well" You admitted, crossing your legs together. As you deliberately lean towards him, revealing a white lacey bra.

Pouting your lips together, "An attractive man indeed" giving him a sultry look, with your eyelids drooping down slightly. "So, what is your name, handsome" You took a sip from your drink, "Coriolanus.." He took your hand and kissed it, "Y/N" you smirked taking your hand gently away from him,

"Should we..take our business elsewhere for a private scene?" You whispered into his ear with a suggested look on your face.

Your hands were with his as you walked in the night street, your body already feeling hot. "Where are we going?" He was amused with your antics, as you batted your eyes at him, "A place, special" you gave him a smirk, your heels clicking down on the wet cement road. A neon sign coming into view, a little motel still opened near the bar. As you opened the door, walking down the lobby of the motel, the clerk managing the reception, "A room for one" The clerk nodded his head, and gave you the keys, "room 9" He said, as you walked away with his hand with yours. Your hips sway sensually, your heels stepping into the room and opening it.

Turning yourself on your heels, stepping closer to the man, "So..what are we going to do?" You pouted, your eyes dilating feeling the feeling of being aroused.

Feeling his hands on your lower bottom, as you hoof your legs around his hips, wrapping your arms around his neck, as you both leaned into a kiss, feeling his hands groping your body. Feeling him moving, as he withdrew from you, your chest heaving. "You do know how to make a man crazy, don't you" He groaned, Feeling him putting your body onto the bed gently,

His body touching you recklessly, his hands going under your dress, slowly taking off your red lacey panties, discarding it on the floor. Biting your lip down in excitement, crossing your legs together covering yourself. Staring at him, taking off his pants and his boxers, feeling yourself getting aroused, as your cunt pulsed.

As his dick sunk into you, the pain writhing through your body, feeling the pain in your lower abdomen. Feeling your cheeks getting flushed, as you groaned in pain. His hips push into you, slowly before increasing his pace.

The bed rocked with your back on the bed, your skirt flipped and your legs being held up with his arms. Your sinful moans came out of your lips, his cock splitting your open, as you bit your lip down. His hands massaging your waist down, "F-fuck" stuttering out of your lips, your lipstick already messed up, smeared on your cheeks.

Your skin felt sticky, your lacey dress sticking onto your skin. "C-corio—" You were cut off from his hips smacking into your pelvis, your hands gripping on the sheet, holding down for support, leaning back in pleasure and relief, feeling a rush of pleasure.

Your slick lubricating his dick, makes him slip inside you easier. Your face burning up, fixing your legs on his around his waist. Your cunt clenching down around him making him groan in your ear. Feeling lips and your crashing into each other, into a hungry kiss. His tongue abused your mouth, making you moan against him, before you withdrew for air, your chest heaving, up and down.

Feeling his cock reaching to your cervix, "Hmm" You whined, your eyelids getting droopy in the process, feeling his slender fingers rubbing the nub of your clit, your legs wrapping around his waist tighter, "Corio, I'm sensitive" You whined, his hips grinding onto yours, with his unrelenting pace, arching your back. His hands on your hips tilting up, plummeting into you.

"Don't be greedy, darling" He asserted, harshly rubbing on your clit, making you scream in bliss. His body leaning toward you, his dick still throbbing inside of you, making you go crazy. His mouth sucked onto your flesh, as the blooming mark left your neck.

Your body getting overstimulated, as your body trembled, skin prickling and your cunt dripping out.

Feeling a wave crashing down on you, clenching down around his cock. The pace of his hips getting slower, feeling his hands on your waist, gripping down making you wince. "I'm close" He groaned into your ear. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your legs, "Inside" you mewled, feeling his hips stuttering against yours. His dick pulsed inside of you, as he thrust into you one more last time, painting your walls white, as your cunt fluttered around him. Your body feeling tired.

Falling down on the bed. Feeling his warm essence leaking out of you, feeling himself still inside you. "Don't leave...please" You whimpered, feeling his soft lips on your lips, before he withdrew, looking at him, pursing your lips gently. His hands lift your chin up, "I have to.." He looked at your lips, scanning your face. Taking your appearance from your smeared lipstick to your ruined makeup, before he drew you into another kiss, a longer, more passionate one. For the first time feeling your heart swell with a man you slept with once at a bar, "Please.." you said, breathlessly.

"I'll be back" he gently traced the shape of your lips with his finger, his voice was tender to your ears, lulling you to an endless abyss. As drowsiness took over your body, your eyes shut and closed.

[attackurheart88]

How would Hisoka, Chrollo, Kurapika and Killua react to a dominant and possessive reader? They would like to? and I mean in every way lol, everyday life and nsfw

Killua is a minor aged up or not so I’ll be skipping his nsfw. Thanks for your understanding.

——————

Hisoka

• He likes it

• Hisoka will often flirt with others just to rile you up

• Seeing how angry you get when other women or even men touch him

• turns him on (everything does)

• Hisoka is used to taking that role in any relationship, so to find someone like himself attracts him

• The two of you would be that lovey-dovey couple that everyone envies.

• You match each other's energies

• Each of you wants to control and dominate the other

• He thinks of your possessive side to be really sexy.

• And often pushes to see how you’ll punish him later

• Which comes in the form of whips, knives, and wax play.

• Hisoka is tied to the bed while he endures every scar and wound you leave on his body

• It's only after a few hours of pain and orgasm denial that Hisoka is forgiven until next week

Chrollo

• Doesnt mind it

• You’re devotion to him will serve as a pawn to play

• He knows he can trust you with anything without you ever turning against him

• Sometimes you scare him

• If push comes to shove and he wants to break it off he fears for his life.

• Secretly Chrollo likes how dominant you are

• It can be exhausting to constantly being the one to make decisions and put on a brave face

• Having you take that role sometimes gives him a sense of comfort

• In the bedroom the two of you switch back and forth over who will be in control

• One second you're on top the next you're on your knees as he takes you from behind

• The look on your face in tears begging and pleading for more underneath him is a huge ego boost

• Knowing you behave the opposite of a submissive person

• Chrollo will relish any situation where he has power over you

Kurapika

• Doesnt like it

• Kurspika is extremely independent and often takes the leadership role in any situation

• Having a partner who obsesses over him will make him feel uncomfortable at first

• Your dominance might even scare him

• Once he gets used to your behavior he slowly allows himself to enjoy it

• Part of him believes he doesn't deserve to have someone who cares about him so much

• He should be alone and focus on this goal of killing the Phantom Troupe. It would be the safest option for you and anyone he cares about

• But after your insistence on not leaving him alone and finding ways to follow him and assist him in some way

• Kurapika has no choice but to let you in

• Kurapika wouldn't admit it but coming home to you pushing him in the bed and having your way with him is the highlight of his day

• After a long day of work and stress Kurapika doesn't want to think

• Having you take the reins and tell him what to do feels so right

• He likes it when you tease him

• Him tied to the bed as you fuck him hard and play with his nipples

• It's perfect

Killua

• He feels on edge at first

• Killua feels like you remind him of his brother

• Trying to be in control and limit him all while saying you care

• He would argue with you constantly

• He isn't a fan of being told what to do or being the “submissive” one in a relationship

• You taking charge of initiating PDA or any romantic gestures makes him get shy and embarrassed

• He would always find a way to return the favor and get even

• Killua can be really petty

• If you tell him to do one thing he will go out of his way to do the opposite just to feel like he has some control

• When it's late or Killua is in a good mood he puts up less of a fight

• He’ll let you be the big spoon

• Or drag him around letting you take charge

• It's times like that Killua really feels like a child and enjoys the feeling of being taken cared of

[flattocatto]

Gym glow

a fanfic based off the art by the TALENTED @thatbunnibaby on X. i drool at their art at least 5 times a day. idk if i should make a part two heheheh

synopsis: Sevika had the gall to invite you to the gym with her. She wanted to spot you, help you build muscle. All the meanwhile, she’s a terrible distraction… a terribly sexy one.

sevika x f!reader (lets be real shes for the girlies), gawking, reader has like never been to the gym (sorry gym girlies), writer hasnt been to the gym jn four years…, i dont know the currency but google told me, probably incorrect use of gym equipment, reader has 0 muscle built (that is the only body description)

nicknames she used on you: doll, princess, munchkin

WORD COUNT: 3,590

The fact that Zaun had a gym was news to you. Last time you checked, all Zaun truly advertised was bars, gangs and Shimmer. The address that was given to you on a napkin was messy, some back alley off of the Lanes. Under it read, ‘5:30 am. 5 silver cogs per admission. Don’t be late. - S’. The ‘don’t’ had been underlined four times.

It boggled your mind that you had gotten into talking to Sevika last night. You barely remembered it. Probably because of the several rounds you recall her ordering for the two of you. All you remember about being invited to the gym in the first place is you got caught staring.

“Is there something on my abs or something?” The woman had teased you.

You had said something along the lines of, “No! I like your muscles,” or some other. It was so much easier to remember Sevika’s voice. It almost demanded authority… and well, it was hot. What could you say?

And the next thing you know, you were roped into not only waking at the crack of fucking dawn, but waking up still hungover. You had only gone to bed at 1 in the morning too. Your brain was not agreeing with you at all, stumbling to get something to wear. You changed into some suitable clothes to leave, and packed a bag with some gym clothes. Also known as that one pair of sports shorts you splurged on for a New Year’s resolution years ago, and an old tank top.

You began the walk down to the general location of the gym. At 5 am, The Lanes were quieter, minus a few people sleeping or passed out drunk. The directions on the napkin were odd. ‘Pass the pawn shop, turn into the alley on the east. Walk past the food stall — first door on the left.’ You had to check the napkin at least 10 times before you stood in front of the door. A sign on the door said in big, bold letters, ‘gym entrance.’

Pushing open the door, you were met by a woman at the front counter. She was messing around with the chipping wood of the desk before she looked up at you. The door to the gym (you assumed) was blocked off by a gate — that the woman at the counter could probably open.

You approached the counter and placed the 5 silver cogs down. The woman took them with a grin, making sure they were real. She analyzed each coin, before she nodded. “One hour. Be out by 6:30.” She moved over the desk to open the gate for you. “Change rooms are to the left.”

With an exchange of thanks you headed past the little gate and into the gym. To your right was indeed the change rooms as the lady said, but then in front of you was the gym. You looked around, to not see Sevika at all. Only some other stronger women were working out. A frown fell on your lips, but you quickly allowed your face to relax. Maybe she was changing. Going up to the change room, you see there is no sign to separate genders. Odd… every gym you had seen in magazines and heard of in books normally separated men, women and others.

The door squeaked as you pushed it. The hinges definitely needed some sort of TLC, grease or whatever. You headed to a nearby bench and began to change into the clothes you had brought. Face to the wall of the bench. Not wanting to stare at anyone else potentially changing.

Just as you were taking off your shirt, the light you had around you was cut off by a dark, larger shadow. You almost felt frozen. Well, you were. You didn’t move past your arm half stuck in your sleeve. A chuckle came from the figure at that. “Don’t be so scared now. Surprised you even remembered to show up.”

You let out a sigh of relief, knowing that voice. You look up and back to confirm your suspicion, meeting your eyes with Sevika’s. The older woman stepped back some, arms crossing over her chest. “Well? Don’t let me stop you from changing,” Sevika spoke firmly.

It was obvious she wasn’t leaving until you were finished. You nodded, a little too fast, continuing to get undressed. It didn’t take too long, all you knew is she was watching you. Which, of course, made you go quicker. Not like she needed to see all that. Even if you wanted her to…

You turned around to face her and — for the love of all that was holy, whatever she had on? Was not making you feel holy. Whatever it was, it was tight. A sports bra that hugged every aspect of her chest… though terribly. It rather exposed it, as well as her abs. They were toned and defined from her efforts, and down… a lovely happy trail. You couldn’t help but ogle at it, a little too long.

“My eyes are up here,” Sevika said lowly, a smile to her face. It caused you to look up again, meeting her eyes.

“Sorry,” you apologised, then looked away. A flush rose on your cheeks quicker than you’d like to admit, the embarrassment hitting you as quick as a chilly wind.

The two of you headed out to the gym part, it only being you two this early. The place had seemingly just opened. Sevika didn’t even mind the solitude, she just walked to the rack of dumbbells. They were worn down. To you, it was obvious the equipment wouldn’t be top class. This was Zaun, after all. Sevika grabbed one, for her one organic arm. A 40 pound one, then motioned toward the rack for you.

“Grab some. We’re gonna warm up.”

“With these?” You grabbed a set of 5 pound ones. Too light… you went up to 10, which was comfortable enough. But you set them back, grabbing the 15 pound ones. These were better — if you went up any more in weight, it’d be a jump to 25. A gap in the pattern.

Sevika just nodded, looking at you. Blank faced. “You’ve never worked out like this before, huh?”

Embarrassment quelled within you again. Like a gnawing anxiety. You felt scrutinized, even though Sevika didn’t look like she was scrutinizing you. You shook your head left and right in response, earning a chuckle from the other woman.

“It’s a new place, I wouldn't expect as much from a girl like you… no offence. It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. You gotta warm up so you don’t break your muscles.”

You just nodded as she explained. The dumbbells in your hands had gone down with your arms to your sides in her explanation. She then moved one leg in front of the other, bending it forward. The one behind her was slightly bent too, yet not on the floor. Like she was getting down on one knee, except wider in the length of the stature.

She looked over at you, “Copy me. Come on now, don’t just stand there like a deer in headlights, doll.”

Quickly you copied her movements, lunging down as she did. You were a tad wobbly with the dumbbells on your side, but eventually you found balance with your hips.

“Good.” Sevika nodded, “Now curl the dumbbells up like this,” she demonstrated, moving the one in her hands up to her shoulder. “All the way up, just above your collarbone. 10 reps — that’s 10 times.”

You did it 10 times, as she had said. It started off quite easy, but the strain in your legs began to develop. You made a little face, one of which Sevika noticed, but made zero comment. She had already done her 10 reps. After you finished, you let out a sigh.

“Okay. Switch legs now. Do it all over again, the 10 reps.”

There was more?! You did as she said, though. You didn’t want to look weak or anything in front of her. This was essentially like a first meeting. The first one you were sober, that is. She was already in her position, and once again you were still finding damn balance.

You curled the dumbbells up, then back down, then up again. She was doing some extra reps, before she stood. You finished your last rep, standing up as well. She went to set her dumbbell back, and you did too.

“We’ll do more with those some other time,” Sevika said, before moving over to a mat again. She pat the spot next to her with her mechanical arm, to which you immediately sat next to her. “We should stretch those hamstrings of yours. Also good for the hips.”

She put her legs out in front of her. You copied. She reached out, grabbing her foot with her hand. You copied again. “You feel a pull?” She asked you.

“Yeah, kinda hurts…” you mumbled, but kept there.

She looked over at your form and tutted, “Full hand. Not just those fingers on those toes. Put your palm over your toes.”

You tried, but you could feel your knee bending a tad. With a frown, you looked over at her. “I don’t think my arms are long enough.”

“Then with your fingers, bend your foot back some. It’s gotta pull to stretch ‘em out.” She sounded much more relaxed like this. Not as gruff as she did at bars.

You did as she said and took a deep breath. It burned, it hurt. But not too bad. Nothing unbearable.

“Next leg,” she said after a few moments. You both switched legs at the same time, and repeated the motion. She was mouthing something. Numbers, counting the seconds per each ‘rep,’ it seemed.

After that, she moved her legs to sit crisscross. Almost. Except her feet were together, hands holding them that way. You mimicked her, as usual, silently. She moved her legs up a little then down, almost pressed to the floor. Then she leaned forward as her legs were down. It was a pretty sight, you had to pick your damn jaw up to copy the movement.

While you could only get your head slightly close to the floor, her forehead was much closer to the mat. She was focused, face tense with it. You kept staring, even as you copied her movements.

When she leaned up again, she looked over to you. Catching you staring. Caught, again, staring at her. Again. She did tell you to copy her, though, so she couldn’t blame you too much. “You enjoying the show, princess?”

You looked away, sitting up again like she did. Swallowing, you avoided the question. “You’re a good teacher.”

Sevika let out a breath of a laugh at that, standing up again. “Sure thing. You ever deadlifted?”

You shook your head, and she went over to grab a barbell. She set it on the ground, motioning for you to go by it. As you did, she grabbed another, a larger one. Yours was thinner, a little bit shorter too. She didn’t grab any of those little worn out plates, though. She set her bar next to yours.

“Put your feet apart like this, not too much, like shoulder width.” She moved her feet, about a foot and a half apart. You copy that, again. It felt like you were a toddler being taught to walk at this rate with how much you mimicked her. She nodded at your form then continued. “Make sure the bar is at the midpoint of your foot here. Like over the middle. Then bend over, like there’s some stool or whatever behind you. Kinda like a squat…”

You do as she said, but you leaned a little too forward. She noticed, and shook her head. “No, that’s how you’ll hurt yourself and fall on your ass. Y’gotta make it so your shins are parallel with the bar if you were gonna lift it up. Now grab it, get a good grip there. Not directly shoulder width this time.” She demonstrated, and you nodded, doing as she said. “Good, yeah. Now, pull up, but don’t be all limp. Keep those muscles tense. Again, so you don’t fall on your ass.”

You did as she said, lifting the bar up. It was quite light. Sevika nodded at your movements, heading over to you. She placed her flesh hand on your back, the mechanical one just under your boobs. She straightened your back out. “Keep your back straight. Won’t strain as much. Always keep your gaze forward, to prevent neck strain. Put it down.” She moved her hands away, resting them on her hips as she stepped back.

With a nervous swallow, you set the bar down. Reversing the motion from before. “Lift it back up,” Sevika commanded, to which you complied, heeding her earlier advice. Back straight. Gaze forward. It felt more natural. Less… well, less tense, despite being tense to lift it.

Sevika nodded and smiled a little. Just a quirk of her lips upright. “Now y’won’t throw your damn back out lifting, huh?”

“Thanks,” you said in response.

“No issue. Can’t have a pretty thing like you gettin’ hurt.” There that smile was. Slyer, gap toothed and… well, attractive. She went over to the rack of worn weight plates, grabbing two 25’s. “Here, put these on your bar.” She handed you one.

You both began putting the plates on your barbell, then clamping them on so they didn’t slip off. She grabbed two 50’s for her bar, as if it was nothing. With her prosthetic arm, of course, it would be nothing. After she made sure her bar was all set, she got in formation as she had taught you. “Let’s do 10 reps again, mm?” She already started before you could argue.

You stood there and just stared at her a little bit. Ogling, sure, but damn was she something. That focus back on her face, lips slightly pursed, muscles bulging… it was doing something to you. The way her thighs swelled with each up and down, it was mesmerizing. You snapped yourself out of it and began to do your own reps, as she instructed.

It was easy to start, as usual. Then once your muscles tired it grew more difficult. Still, you pressed on, once again wanting to impress her. When you finished, you set it down almost shakily. Your arms were sore, they felt like noodles. You looked over at her, catching her being the one looking.

“Not too bad for your first time, munchkin.”

“Munchkin?” You looked at her, brow slightly furrowed.

“Yeah. You ain’t got any muscle on ya. Essentially a munchkin.” She smirked, and began to take the plates off her barbell. A few more people were coming in now, seeing as it was a little past 6 in the morning. You took the plates off yours as well, tossing the clamps in the little bucket with the rest. You put your barbell back in the stand, and Sevika didn’t. You looked over at her, hand going to grab your barbell again. “Nah,” she shook her head, picking hers up easily with her mechanical arm. “I’m gonna teach you how to bench press right. Keep that bar there, c’mon.”

She led you two over to a bench, setting the barbell down on the bar catch. She motioned to the bench. “Lay back on it. Legs on either side, head at the little separator part up top. You want your shoulders at about where the bar is so you can put your arms up comfortably at a 90 degree angle there.”

You did as instructed, once again. To test, you lifted your arms to grab the bar. It was a tad too high, and you were a bit too forward, so you shifted down. Sevika, on the other hand, took the bar off and moved the bar catches down one slot.

“Try that. Is it low enough that you can bend your arms slightly to put it in the catch?” Sevika asked, and you reached again. It was much more comfortable, you tested by lifting the bar a bit. You could lift and put it back.

You nodded, affirming more with a soft, “Yep. Seems alright.”

“Good. Take it off the rack. Arch your back slightly, then bring the bar down comfortably…” you did as directed again, as she spoke. “Yeah, like that. Then push it back up.”

It felt a lot easier than the deadlift so far. Yet you were scared you’d drop it and snap your damn neck. But it wasn’t too heavy, not with any weights. Still heavier than your deadlift bar, but not overwhelmingly so. You did a few reps like that before she could even tell you, before you put it back on the bar catch.

The stronger woman had her arms crossed over her chest, nodding a bit. “Keep that form. I’m gonna go get some plates for you.”

She left you. Lying there, staring at the ceiling. You didn’t bother to move an inch, not wanting to defy her. She was back in a few moments, applying two 10 pound weights to each side of the bar. Then she grabbed some clamps to stick them on.

“I’ll be spotting you,” she said, and moved back toward your head. “Do a couple reps. As much as you feel you can.”

She rested her hands on her waist as she watched. You grabbed the bar and when you set your head back against the bench again… you got a face full of boobs. Well, not literally. They were like the only part of Sevika you could see. You swallowed your saliva, your throat suddenly dry. Like you ate a cup of sand. Drank? Ate…? Whatever. You did your reps as she said.

You kept pushing on. You could do a few more, you said in your head. Trying to look cool for her. Knowing Sevika, she was probably counting. Your arms shook slightly, each time getting more shaky. You went to put it back on the catch but slipped. This was it, you were about to be choked out by a damn barbell on your first time. All because you tried to impress the woman whose boobs were the only thing you saw going out. An honourable way to die. Eyes full of a pretty lady’s breasts.

Except it never fell. And you were breathing, alive, startled. You had shut your eyes at some point, and opened them to find Sevika setting the bar in the catch herself. She looked down at you, and you could actually see her face now. “You can’t let yourself be distracted,” she said lowly, “and you shouldn’t push yourself past your limits. If I weren’t here, you’d give the front desk lady a messy clean up job.”

Before you could say anything, she scooted the bench forward. “C’mon. Our time is about up anyway.” She took the weight plates and clamps again, beginning to put them away.

You grabbed the bar, heading generally to the same location she was. You put it back with the rest before you followed Sevika to the change room, flush in the face. She saved you… and you embarrassed yourself. Not too badly, but still! You would think about that too much later. When you were in bed, alone… stuck on the thought of her over you like that. Then of course your brain would remind you of your mistake.

Sevika began to change — next to your spot. Of course. Why wouldn’t she have put her stuff there. You pursed your lips and kept your eyes to yourself, changing into the extra clothes you brought. You wanted to look over so badly, but you told yourself you were one, not a pervert, and two, not looking for any trouble from the lady with a mechanical arm.

After you packed up, you looked over to Sevika who had begun to head out as well. You both left the gym, almost immediately after one another. Sevika nodded at the front desk lady, and you mumbled a quick thanks. Before Sevika could turn to leave, you couldn’t help but shoot your shot. After all, you live once, right? Well, obviously, you almost lost that ‘once’ today.

“Hey, um, Sevika,” you called out, causing her to stall. Her head turned to look at you, the look in her eyes prompting one thing — to get out with it. “Thank you for teaching me all that today. If there’s any way to repay you… let me know.”

Sevika’s lips upturned at that, and she let out a huffed laugh. “I’ll let you know for sure, doll. You’ll know.”

And with that, she turned her way. After staring, letting her words sit in your head, you turned your own way and headed back towards your place. You’d lay in bed tonight, thinking about everything. Her last words rang in your head. What did she mean by that? How would you ‘know’?!

Maybe you’d catch her at The Last Drop tonight. Maybe, just maybe you’d get drunk enough to ask what she meant. Or there’s a chance you run into her after today. At the gym again… you should really start working out more. Then you definitely would know, and it would come from those slightly asymmetrical lips of hers. And you could watch it spill past them.

| ©️ copyright flattocatto, 2025

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

Forbidden Crown - VII

Summary: You and Kit prepare for your escape, everything seems to fall apart at your engagement party, and your mother reveals a shocking truth…

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: kissing, angst, reader prepares a murder, some boob touching, non-explicit mention of vomiting, medieval partying, drinking, drunk behavior

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: hope this one knocks your socks off

“Strike once. Through the heart.” Kit instructed, handing you a sword before stepping back.

You stood over the training dummy lying on the stone floor of the armory, the tip of your sword hesitating over its straw chest. The dummy was made to mimic a human form, and while its thatched figure was less than realistic, the very idea that it could one day be Kit filled you with a deep sense of dread. “I… I c-cannot…”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “You promised me…”

“Suppose I don’t intend to keep my promise?”

“Then we can’t go.”

Your face crumpled in defeat as your shoulders slumped, the sword dropping to your side. Kit softened her stance, placing a hand on your shaking shoulder. “Don’t… don’t think of it as me, alright? Because it won’t be. It’ll be… a walking infection, with an ashen face and lifeless eyes. Nothing but an ensorcelled servant to the Wyrm.”

She repositioned the sword in your hands, helping you hold it properly before stepping back again. “Protect yourself, Princess.”

You took a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut before plunging the sword straight through the dummy’s heart. Straw flew up at the impact, drifting around you and making you sneeze. You dropped the sword with a loud clatter, body trembling as you stumbled back into the armory wall. Tears began to spill down your cheeks, and Kit was quick to comfort you.

“It’s alright,” she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. “You did perfectly.”

You spoke between ragged breaths. “I don’t… ever… want to have… to do that… again…”

Kit’s thumb wiped your tear-stained face. “Perhaps you won’t have to,” she said, though her words rang hollow, and deep down you sensed she didn’t believe them either.

The fortnight that followed was filled with planning, mapping, and gathering for your escape. Kit regularly pilfered smaller weapons from the armory, stashing them at the bottom of storage chests, beneath her bed, or anywhere she knew a chambermaid would overlook. You were tasked with securing food—a much more difficult endeavor, as stealing from the kitchen without arousing suspicion from the staff proved quite challenging.

It was Kit who had the brilliant idea to procure the help of the kitchen maid. However, the one she called ‘Muffin Girl’ held you both in little favor—Kit due to her relentless teasing, and you for more… obvious reasons. The only one she did seem to favor was her paramour, Airk, so it wasn’t long before he was enlisted as an oblivious pawn in your scheme.

“Remind me why I’m sneaking you extra provisions?” Airk inquired one evening, delivering a basket of bread and fruit preserves to your chamber.

You accepted graciously. “I’d simply like to… fill out my bridal gown a bit more,” you lied.

Airk’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “You mean to say you eat all of this? Each night? By yourself?”

You shrugged innocently. “Kit intends to fill hers out as well.”

He remained puzzled, but a quick mutter about ‘a secret matter of womanhood’ had him bidding you goodnight and taking his leave. It wasn’t a lie, per se—you and Kit were both women with a secret, after all.

As the days passed, your diligent efforts began to bear fruit and your journey was well underway. Of course, your meticulous scheming was not without consequence. Sex became nonexistent, as you both were so preoccupied with getting your affairs in order that it was the furthest thing from your mind. That's not to say either of you wouldn’t benefit from some physical release—coordinating an escape could be vexing—but there was a time and place for everything, and you two would have ample opportunity for such matters once you reached Nockmaar.

Eventually, all packing, planning, and preparations were complete, and right in the hour of necessity, as your parents had arranged an engagement party just two nights before the weddings.

You stood in your chamber, gazing at your reflection in the mirror, clad in the golden ball gown your mother insisted upon. It was a fine dress—you would surely be the envy of every maiden at the party—but it had been awhile since you’d worn a gown of such opulence, and truthfully, it was not to your taste. Your everyday dresses were simpler—looser, allowing a wider range of movement—and never so ostentatious.

“Gold,” your mother had emphasized when she presented the gown earlier that day. “It signifies wealth, luxury, nobility.”

It was difficult to fathom why your mother had been so insistent upon a color denoting status. Azarenth might have been a smaller realm than Tir Asleen, or even Galladoorn, but it was a kingdom nonetheless, and you a princess. Perhaps your mother was overcompensating, simply seeking to appear at equal stature with the other kingdoms.

Suddenly, the sound of a doorknob turning jolted you from your reverie. You smoothed your dress one last time before leaving the mirror to find your mother in the doorway, donning a rust-red gown.

You should have known; your mother wouldn’t knock, nor have any regard for your privacy.

“The guests will be arriving shortly, you’re needed in the ballroom,” she proclaimed.

String music from the consort echoed through the lofty ceilings of Tir Asleen’s grand ballroom. Long tables encircled the dancing area, with place markers clearly labeled for each guest. You were stationed at the front of the hall, joining your parents, the Tanthalos’, and the Hastur’s in greeting the guests as they arrived.

“Thank you for coming. “A pleasure to meet you.” “It’s an honor,” each phrase rolled from your lips, spoken with the practiced formality of routine. Despite your efforts, your wooden smile couldn’t reach your eyes, and a glance at Kit showed she wore a similar mask of indifference.

Kit had worn a dress. You shouldn’t have been surprised; it wasn’t as if Sorsha would have allowed her daughter to wear breeches to one of the most important events of the year. But you had never seen Kit in a dress before, at least not that you could remember, and it certainly was a sight to behold. The fabric hugged her figure in a manner foreign to her usual tunics, and its v-shaped neckline dipped low enough to reveal a bit of cleavage—a stark reminder of the recent lack of intimacy. A metal asymmetrical corset enveloped her waist, complementing the silver motif that adorned the rich green fabric.

Green. The color associated with Galldoorn, and also known to symbolize fertility. You could vomit.

Once the concourse was seated, the feast began. At the high table, you watched as servants poured wine and served roasted meats to the guests. Among them was the one Kit had dubbed ‘Muffin Girl,’ her long blonde hair secured with a linen coif. She kept her head bowed among the other cupbearers—ashamed to be working at her forbidden lover’s engagement party—but occasionally cast furtive glances at the high table, her gaze lingering on Airk.

“Muffin Girl has her sights set upon your betrothed,” Kit whispered from beside you. “Are you prepared to duel for his hand?”

You snorted, quickly concealing your amusement behind your goblet. “Have you spoken to your intended yet?”

“I have,” she replied, her lips curling in amusement. “I even curtsied. Like a real lady. And he sort of… grunted… and shuffled his feet. Like a real… winner.”

“So he’s a mouse,” you said, turning to look at Graydon, who sat with his father at the other end of the table. The way he choked on his wine, sputtering it down the front of his doublet, spoke volumes; much like your father, he was a royal only by blood. Otherwise, he was a meek, reticent man—undoubtedly lacking the ability to keep up with a headstrong woman such as Kit.

As you and Kit exchanged giggles and gossip throughout the meal, Sorsha rose, tapping her silverware against her goblet and commanding the room's attention. “For many moons,” she began. “Tir Asleen has maintained civility with both Azarenth and Galladoorn. Three kingdoms, joined together, but ruling separately… until now.”

Kit slipped her hand under the table and rested it upon your upper thigh. You shivered at the unexpected contact, quickly ensuring no one saw before returning your attention to Sorsha.

“In two days time,” she continued. “My son and daughter shall wed the Princess of Azarenth and the Prince of Galladoorn, respectively. At last, our three kingdoms shall be united—strengthening us and ensuring a harmonious future.” She raised her goblet. “To the brides and grooms; may they rule wisely, and justly, and foster unity and strength within our kingdoms!”

The crowd raised their glasses, clinking them together amongst cries of “To the realm” and “Hear, hear!” You turned towards Kit, studying her expression for any sign of guilt at forsaking her kingdom, but her lips were curled in a celebratory smile as she tapped her glass against yours.

You stood to the side like a hawk perched in the rafters, watching as Graydon awkwardly led Kit around the dance floor. He was a dreadful dancer, unable to meet Kit’s eye as he watched his own feet stumble over here. As humorous as the display was, your gaze focused solely on the hand he rested at Kit’s waist. You shouldn’t have been jealous, you had no reason to be; Kit barely tolerated this poor-excuse for a prince. Yet, the way he was able to hold her close, to take her hand in public without hesitation, ignited a burning envy within you.

The goblet in your hand was nearly empty, and the song had just begun. Visiting the wine table for a refill sounded tempting, but your gaze refused to stray from Kit. You told yourself you were protecting her, simply ensuring Graydon’s fingers refrained from wandering, though you knew it was senseless; Kit could take care of herself, and she would if she deemed it necessary.

Brief visions of Kit drawing her sword at the mere twitch of Graydon’s thumb crossed your mind, and you couldn’t suppress the snort that escaped.

Your amusement caught Kit’s attention, and she turned from Graydon momentarily to face you. Her eyes softened with pity; Kit had been your companion for fifteen years, and as much as you tried to hide it, she could recognize how bothered you were watching her dance with Graydon.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed. Her face shone with concern before crumpling into another wince as her partner stepped on her toes once again.

“In need of company, Princess?”

You spun around to find Airk facing you, his lips curled in a sympathetic smile. Airk had always been handsome—a trait perhaps the reason he was so popular with the ladies—and tonight was no exception. His usually loose brown curls had been slicked back, highlighting his sharp features and piercing green eyes. A doublet the color of coffee beans decorated his torso—understated, much less ornate than Graydon’s grandiose gettup, but Airk didn’t need magnificence. Unlike Graydon, who would likely disappear into the walls of the castle if it weren’t for his crown and jewels, Airk stood forth without assistance. He was simply… Airk, prince of Tir Asleen—all the young women pined for his affections, and you were the one to marry him.

Perhaps if things were different, if you were different, you would be the happiest maiden in all the land.

”You appear lonesome,” Airk spoke again. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were completely disinterested in this entire ordeal.”

You smirked, taking the last sip from your goblet. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to, there's nowhere I’d rather be.”

He chuckled, offering his hand. “Care to dance?”

You accepted his invitation, grateful for the distraction, and let him lead you to the floor. Kit caught your eye as you made your way, her face scanning yours for any sign of trivial revenge, but your warm smile reassured her and she turned back to her partner.

Airk kept his hand in yours, but moved his other to sit at your waist, while yours rested on his shoulder. Neither of you were very interested in dancing properly, so you simply swayed to the tune of the consort’s playing. As you enjoyed the silent comfort of Airk’s company, you caught sight of your mother across the room, standing with your father and Queen Sorsha. You began to realize why she had insisted you wear such a fanciful gown; the brick-red of her own garment seemed dull in comparison to Sorsha’s deep crimson one. If it wasn’t for the splendor of your golden attire, Azarenth would appear poor in comparison.

While you pondered the monotony of your mother’s attire, Airk suddenly moved closer, mere inches from your face. Your breath hitched, shoulders tensed. He wasn’t, no, he wouldn’t…

He smirked. “Surely you didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?” He whispered in your ear with a chuckle. “I know where I stand.”

You sighed, relieved. He wouldn’t. “Of course.”

“I was simply going to ask if our parents were watching,” he whispered again.

You peered over his shoulder, locking eyes with your mother. She wore a beam of approval you hadn’t seen since you inadvertently agreed to marry Airk as a child. It pained you, somewhat, that smile. From her viewpoint, her daughter was dancing intimately with her betrothed while he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. It was all she’d ever wanted. And it was a lie.

“At last, I’m the daughter she’s always wanted.” You muttered solemnly. Airk’s mouth formed a straight line of sympathy, squeezing your hand in an attempt at comfort. “You should see their faces.”

Airk spun you around so he could see for himself, and as he did you met eyes with the blond servant tagged as ‘Muffin Girl,’ clearing tables with the rest of the staff. Her glare wasn’t as cold or threatening as it usually was towards you; instead she just appeared… sad, defeated even. You couldn’t help but feel pity towards her; you knew how it felt to watch your lover dance with another, to be promised to another.

”They do seem quite pleased,” he commented.

“Unlike your mistress,” you spun him back around, shrinking under the weight of her unbearable stares.

He glanced over at her, a momentarily flickering of longing in his eyes before turning back to you. “Is your paramour present this evening?” He asked, scanning the hall. “Wherever he may be?”

You forced a smile, fighting back the urge to correct his pronoun misuse. “Closer than you might think.”

Before Airk had the chance for further inquiries, the music ceased, signaling the end of the dance. You broke away from each other, joining in polite applause with the rest of the partygoers. He bowed, bidding you adieu before exiting the floor—perhaps in search of closure from his forbidden lover.

The dancing area was nearly empty when the consort began to play a new song—still slow, but far less somber than before. Sounds of a vielle’s plucked strings filled your ears, giving the emerging melody an almost romantic air. Your eyes met Kit’s—who had also been abandoned by her partner on the far side of the room—and you exchanged glances full of unattainable longing.

In the center of the floor stood two women, close companions from a nearby village, caressing each other with cheeks rosy from the flush of wine, their laughter louder than the music as they swayed. They drew little notice, these ladies, dancing together in their tipsy states; they appeared as merely two friends, carousing as their husbands were elsewhere.

Husbands. Surely they had arrived with their respective spouses. No one would question a married woman dancing chaste with her female companion.

Your gaze returned to Kit, and an unspoken understanding passed between you. Slowly, you moved towards each other, each step forward echoing within you like a heartbeat. Your breath caught as you finally stood face to face, skin mere inches apart, the closest you had been, had been allowed to be, all night. She didn’t speak. She had no need. Her hands moved to sit at your waist, while your arms floated up and draped around her neck.

In every story, all the romance novels you’ve read, this was the moment when the world around you was meant to melt away, only leaving you and Kit together in its sanctum. But as hard as you tried, as much as you longed to lose yourself in the arms of your beloved, you were acutely aware of your surroundings. Whispers from the concourse seemed to drown out the music, filling you with a pertinent dread. It was one thing for the two commoners to dance together at a party, but you and Kit were royals—yet to be wed—and your closeness perhaps breached propriety more than the women you sought to emulate.

“Are you well?” Kit whispered, sensing your trepidation.

All you could do was nod, mind still absent. The arms you had wrapped around her neck trembled as you buried your face in her shoulder, desperate to block out the world.

Kit chuckled. “I’m not complaining, but you needn’t hold me so tightly, Princess. You have no reason to be so envious of Prince Graydon.”

You pulled back, mouth agape, but giggled upon catching the glint of mischief in Kit’s eye. “I most certainly am not.”

“You most certainly were,” she countered. “Enough so you engaged in dancing with my brother to enact your revenge.”

“I was simply dancing with my betrothed,” you retorted with a grin. “Just as you were.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I saw you, watching me from afar. Envy practically radiated off your body, green as my array this evening.”

“You forget yourself, Tanthalos,” you laughed, smacking her shoulder.

And in that moment—the moment where Kit held you close, her nose scrunching and eyes sparkling as she laughed with you, where you had momentarily forgotten your environs and allowed yourself to be silly with the person you loved, the one who loved you—that was the moment the world around you finally seemed to melt away, leaving only you and Kit together in this melodic bubble. Even so, you could feel your mother’s eyes boring into you from across the room, but for once, you could cast all cares and worries of her judgment aside. She had gotten what she wanted; you had danced with Airk. It was your turn to indulge.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Kit said, drawing you from your thoughts.

You gave her a small smile. “You have nothing to make up for.”

“I do,” she argued. “And I will.” Her thumb stroked the plush of your sides as she leaned in closer to whisper. “And if it weren’t obvious, you are a much better dance partner than Graydon could ever be. I haven’t checked yet, but I’m sure my poor toes are as bruised as they feel.”

You winced in sympathy, but then chuckled along with her until the song came to an end. Applause filled the hall once more, you and Kit joining in after breaking away from each other. With an exchange of curtsy’s, and a final squeeze of your hand, Kit turned and exited the dance floor, vanishing within the crowd like the last note of the consort’s melody.

As the night wore on, bottles of wine seemed to disappear from the tables, replaced only by the staggering and raucous laughter from the party guests. Servants bustled about, clearing empty bottles and mopping spills, while the retinue danced to lively music.

You were no exception to the tipsy merrymakers, the apples of your cheeks tinted pink from the mixture of claret and revelry. Strands of hair had strayed from your once-neat pinup, clinging to your forehead and the sides of your face through beads of sweat. You took another sip from your goblet as you swayed out of sync, comforted by your boozy blur and the warmth in your belly.

Kit had faded from view long ago—not that you were particularly concerned. The gathering was quite large; she could have easily merged with the throng. Although it was unlikely, given that Kit—much like her brother—was difficult to lose in a crowd, it was still a possibility. Moreover, it seemed Graydon had little taste for festivity, choosing instead to hover in the shadows or remain close to his father, as if he were a lost youth amidst a horde of strangers.

As long as Graydon didn’t wish to be seen, Kit had no need to be seen.

The night was certainly alive with the company in high spirits, but for all the sport it provided, you were beginning to grow weary. Finishing your drink, you sought solace near a window at the far end of the hall, partially concealed by heavy velvet drapes. You leaned back, catching your breath while allowing the cool glass to temper your heated skin.

As you began to relax, your breath evening out, a disembodied hand emerged from behind the curtains, seizing your arm and pulling you out of sight. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, but another hand quickly covered your mouth, stifling your cries of protest. The dense curtains eclipsed any light, and fear coursed through your veins as the shadowy figure loomed over you, overpowering your struggles…

“Shh… shh… My lady, it’s me.”

The familiarity of the whispered voice immediately calmed your nerves. You blinked, allowing your eyes to adjust to the darkness until Kit’s sweet face came into view.

“Kit, what are you…”

“I promised I’d make it up t’ you, didn’t I?”

Even in the dim light, the flush of her cheeks was evident. Her hair, once elegantly arranged, now hung about her head in a tangled mess. Each word she spoke reeked of fruit and spirits, her sentences punctuated by giggles and hiccups. Kit was thoroughly inebriated, perhaps even more so than you.

“Yes, but, I…”

Before you could finish, her mouth was on yours. She kissed you sloppily, her hands lazily gripping at your waist to pull you closer. Her lips, the heat of her breath tasted flammable, almost, yet still so intoxicating. You wanted so badly to give into her, to melt under her burning flame, but you pulled away.

“Kit…” you breathed. “Not here…”

“Why?” She groaned. “S’ been so long.”

Your eyes flickered down to her chest once again, gulping at the sight of her bare décolletage. She had a point—a dangerously tempting point—but her invitation posed too great a risk.

“If someone from the party were to find us…”

She dismissed your concern with a wave of her hand. “They’re all b’scotted. Utterly foxed. ‘S fine.”

“Kit,” you giggled. “You’re quite muddled yourself.”

“You’re one t’ speak,” she snorted. Her hands tangled in your hair, destroying what was left of your pinup as she stumbled. You had to laugh, despite yourself; although your soused stupor was much more relaxed than Kit’s, it was far from negligible.

“Alright,” you held onto her hands. “Perhaps we should retire for bed.”

“Fin’ly…”

“Kit,” you blocked her advance, despite every inch of your body screaming to give in. She groaned again, and you sighed, struggling against thoughts of what those groans might sound like under different circumstances…

No. “Surely they’ll notice our absence.”

“Graydon ‘s busy in the corner,” she slurred. “Airk ‘s gone ‘s well. We won't be missed.”

You frowned, knowing just how right she was; with your suitors missing, no one would be searching for the two of you. Beyond that, every moment spent with her in this pocket of darkness only made you want her more—to feel her on you, her mouth against your skin, her hands roaming your body. It truly had been too long, and the sight of her in that bedeviled dress did nothing to soothe your desires.

Almost as if she could sense your thoughts, as if she had planned on interrupting them, Kit pressed her lips to yours once more. This time, you didn’t resist and allowed yourself to burn under the heat of her body. You could never tire of her taste, her touch, her feeling; you could get drunk off her alone, even without the vine’s blood plaguing her breath.

The world seemed to spin faster with your oxygen now compromised, but Kit remained your anchor. You reached for her shoulders to steady yourself, but your hands inadvertently fell at her breasts. A soft whimper escaped her throat, almost inaudible over the roar of the party, but still resonant in your ears. Your fingers slid down her skin, dipping lower, lower, until they grazed the edge of that plunging neckline that had tortured you all night. She only spurred you forward, seizing your hips and pressing them against hers as your touch ventured beyond the fabric of her dress, fingertips exploring the delicate flesh that lay beneath it.

God, she was soft. How was she always so soft?

Her breath quickened, the hot air tickling the skin around your mouth. You took it as an incentive to lose yourself further and further in the arms of your lover, drowning in her warm embrace and the taste of Falernian wine that still lingered on her tongue. She was all-consuming, and the way she gripped at your sides told you she felt the same way about you.

You were both so absorbed in each other, so immersed in the private world you had created, that neither of you noticed the blinding scourge of light that intruded upon it.

Followed by a shrill scream.

That you did notice.

Pulling back, you ignored Kit’s whines of protest and squinted at the disruptive brightness. There, in front of you, was none other than Muffin Girl, clutching the velvet drapes and wearing a look of terror. Behind her stood an equally-stunned Airk, and you swore, for but a fleeting moment before they separated, their hands were intertwined.

You were frozen in place; her scream had alerted the party’s multitude. All eyes fell unto you as the music ceased, the hall became as still as the private chapel during prayers. Your gaze surveyed the room, taking in the varied facial expressions of your party guests—shocked, horrified, disgusted, perhaps even some lascivious interest from a few less-than-respectable individuals. Sorsha’s visage was different, however—still aghast, but not directed towards you, rather slightly lower, and that’s when you felt Kit tugging at your wrists.

Realization hit you like the strike of a battering ram; you had yet to remove your hold on Kit’s breast. Queen Sorsha of Tir Asleen, your hostess, your future mother-in-law, had just happened upon you with your hand down her daughter’s dress.

Immediately, you stepped back and let your hands fall to your sides, yours and Kit’s faces flushed and fear-stricken as you desperately tried to smooth yourselves out. But when you looked up for the final time, catching sight of your own mother’s face, you knew then and there you had reached far beyond the point of no return. You expected her to yell, to scream as Muffin Girl had, or to react with the fury of a siege engine, but she did not. She merely composed herself, turned on her heel, and walked briskly out of the hall. Your father trailed after her, and you knew you were expected to follow as well.

The rest of the party wasn’t far behind. Never before in Tir Asleen had a gathering disbanded so quickly.

Your mother didn’t bother to escort you to your guest chamber, nor even to her own. The first private place outside the ballroom happened to be the solar, so that’s where you ended up. You hadn’t been in the solar before, but it left much to be desired; tall wooden walls matched the floor, nearly barren save for a lone table in the center with benches on either side.

It was ironic, almost, that they called this room the “solar;” it was practically as frigid as your mothers demeanor.

She paced about, waiting for your father to shut the door behind you before dropping her pretense. “Do you loathe me?” She asked, taking you by surprise. “Do you? I can’t fathom what I’ve done. My own daughter, to hold such malice…”

“Mother…”

“I chose a fine young man for you to wed,” she interrupted. “I even granted you fifteen years to grow accustomed to him. I thought it would be cruel, then, to force my daughter into marriage with a stranger, but I now see that would have been best.”

“Mother…”

“After all I’ve done for you, after everything your father and I have done for you,” she turned towards him, seeking his support, but he merely shrunk under her piercing gaze. “Is this how you repay us? Such grievous betrayal…”

A storm of conflicting emotions roiled within you—anger, guilt, fear—but none of them were for your mother. “It is not about you!” You shouted, catching her off guard. She did nothing but stare back; mouth agape; never before had you raised your voice to her. “It was never about you.”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, as if she was choking on her next words, before her eyes narrowed. “I never held her in good favor, I’ve always been wary of her influence on you.”

“Pardon?”

“That wretched friend of yours, she has corrupted you. Brought you to the ways of this unnatural lifestyle…”

“It was not her doing,” you snapped. “And we are not friends!”

“How are you not ashamed to speak such words?” She exclaimed, her face twisted with a frenzied fury you were unfamiliar with. “How are you not as abashed as I am? My daughter. Princess of Azarenth. Consorting with her betrothed’s sister, and at her own engagement party no less!”

You hung your head, not ashamed of your love for Kit, but at having been discovered. She noticed your change in bearing and sighed, casting her eyes to your father as she wrestled with her thoughts. “Perhaps… perhaps Airk could still agree to marry you. You were quite wine-sodded tonight, yes? As was Kit? If we offered that as an excuse, and an apology, of course…”

“I do not intend to wed Airk, Mother,” you confessed, your gaze still lowered.

That made her freeze. A tense silence hung in the air before your father’s voice broke it, his tone cautious and uncertain. “Princess… do you mean to say… you intend to wed Kit?”

“Of course not,” you replied; though the idea was compelling, you knew it wasn’t feasible. “I do not intend to stay here at all. And neither does Kit.”

Your parents' faces twisted in confusion, and your pulse quickened as the weight of your words settled over them. As you stared back at them silently, defiantly, their expressions slowly shifted to terror, despair, and… fear?

“Darling…” your mother hesitated, her eyes wide with panic. She displayed a vulnerability you had never seen before in your usually imperturbable mother, and it filled you with unease. “You must stay and marry Prince Airk. We need our alliance with Tir Asleen!”

“Why?” You demanded. “There are many kingdoms with which we could ally, some where I wouldn’t need to marry at all! What could Tir Asleen provide that is such a necessity?”

As your mother stammered, desperate to find the right words, she turned to your father for help, but alas, he tucked his head like a turtle retreating back into its shell. She sighed. “Princess… Azarenth is penniless.”

“Pardon?” You exclaimed, shocked. “Penniless?”

She nodded. “As a poet without a patron. Fifteen years ago, Queen Sorsha agreed to offer financial aid in return for your engagement to her heir.”

You looked to your father for any sign of jest, but his eyes softened only with pity. “Without your betrothal, our union will be severed, and our people will surely starve.”

The world seemed to crash down upon you as everything suddenly made sense—your parents’ insistence on abiding with Airk, how they always seemed to sycophantize with him and Sorsha, the size of Azarenth and how it lacked resources compared to Tir Asleen, how you always seemed to visit the twins and rarely the other way around, your mother’s dress, and how she was so importunate about your appearance, insisting that you look as wealthy as possible.

Your head swam, feeling as if the floor were slipping from underneath you. You pushed past your parents and collapsed onto one of the wooden benches. “Impoverished…” you whispered to yourself, contemplating where your priorities truly lay—your loyalty to your people, or your loyalty to Kit…

It didn’t take long for the Tir Asleen ballroom to clear, but if inquired, Sorsha would swear she spent years of her life stationed near the doorway, cheeks afire as she bid farewell to each scattering guest. The King of Galladoorn barely paid her any mind as he stormed off to his guest chamber, Graydon in tow, both visages aglow for varying reasons.

While his mother busied herself with mending the falloutl, Airk moved his sister to a nearby table, handing her a goblet of water to dilute the alcohol in her stomach. Kit groaned as she sipped from the goblet. Her head pounded; even while seated the room still seemed to spin. She lazily tugged at her corset, its constriction suddenly becoming too much for her to bear.

Airk sighed, reaching back to relieve his twin of the restricting garment. “I must say, I’m intrigued to see how you plan to explain this,” he whispered as he gently undid the laces. “I haven’t seen Mother so enraged since she caught me reading the lewd literature as a lad.”

Though the corset was loosened, Kit still felt her stomach clench as she glanced at her mother. Sorsha’s calmness, though eerie, was intensified by her flushed face, as crimson as her gown. As soon as the last guest departed and Sorsha closed the ballroom doors, the atmosphere shifted to one of unease. Airk noticed immediately, and busied himself with clearing tables, determined to stay out of his mother’s line of fire. Kit gulped as her mother approached, the dread forcing her mind out of its drunken haze.

“I’m not sure why I’m surprised,” Sorsha began, her expression stoic. “Twenty-one years I’ve endured your antics. I once thought it was mere childish theatrics, that you’d surely mature beyond it, but it seems I was mistaken.”

Kit also remained expressionless as she continued to sip from her goblet. She was used to being scolded, berated by her mother, to the point that it had lost its sting long ago.

Sorsha, however, was far from finished. “I just never imagined my own daughter would go as far as to make a mockery of her own kingdom, and for what? To thwart a betrothal? To evade your royal responsibilities?”

Her voice grew louder with each sentence. Kit groaned, clutching the side of her still-throbbing skull.

Sorsha knelt to her daughter’s level until Kit could feel her breath warming her face. “Goblet’s ache? You should give thanks to the gods above for your intoxication tonight,” she continued. “Without wine’s influence, the inquisition would surely have your head after your misdeed this evening!”

Kit’s earlier dread settled like a pit in her stomach at her mother’s words. Sorsha was right; in her lustful, wine-soaked stupor, she had risked not only a scandal, but possibly your lives as well.

Nausea bubbled inside her; she clutched her stomach, desperately fighting back the bile that threatened to rise. Airk quickly noticed his sister’s disposition, and rushed over after grabbing a maid’s bucket off a nearby table.

Sorsha scoffed at her son’s compassion, watching in disbelief as he held Kit’s head over the bucket. “Honestly Kit, did you ever stop to consider how your brother might feel about all this? If I were him, I’d leave you to wallow in your own excretion.”

Upon being mentioned, Airk’s head lifted to look at his mother. As betrayed as he knew he should have felt, as shocked as he was to learn his intended’s paramour turn out to be his own sister, he couldn’t deny, he had been keeping his own secrets. And if Kit’s was so harshly exposed against her will, perhaps alluding to his own could alleviate her burden. “I care little, mother…”

His words grabbed Sorsha’s attention, drawing it away from Kit momentarily. “How can you not?”

“I don't love the princess,” he admitted. “And she doesn't love me.”

Sorsha merely waved off his confession as if she were flicking away dust. “Marriage isn’t about love, Airk! Few engagements begin with love, you learn to love!”

“I have been in the princess’s company for fifteen years,” he argued, beginning to raise his voice before using her own choices against her. “I have not grown to love her, and you and father’s union was not arranged!”

“I married a reckless man because I was ‘in love’ with him, and look where that got me! I ruled a kingdom alone while raising two children, and he’s dead in a ditch somewhere in Nockmaar!”

“That’s where I shall be, too,” Kit interjected.

The raspy sound of her voice took Airk and Sorsha by surprise. They slowly turned to face her. “Kit…” Sorsha began. “What do you mean, that’s where you shall be?”

Kit glanced up from her bucket, her eyes red and watery. “Nockmaar,” she gurgled. “The princess… we’re not staying…”

Both Airk and Sorsha’s jaws dropped in horror at Kit’s remark. Airk was the first to speak. “Kit, you’re not serious…”

“Nockmaar?!” Sorsha cried. “B-but your father… and the Wyrm…”

“Safer than here…” Kit muttered, dropping her face back towards the bucket.

It was Sorsha’s turn for her head to spin; visions of the dire fates that might befall her daughter danced in her head—nightmarish scenarios her mother had long foreseen. She could practically taste her own heartbeat; she knew her daughter better than most, and recognized her obstinacy derived from her father. When Kit had her mind set on something, there was no stopping her, regardless of the peril; Kit would willingly risk everything—even her own life—if it meant being with her beloved.

Without another word, Sorsha turned on her heel and exited the ballroom, leaving her twins behind as the doors shut behind her.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @lovinglynny @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13 @detmarmalade @at1nyzen @ikyk-leeknow @ingigisworld @willowthegremlin

[vivalarevolution]

𝓐 𝓛𝓾𝓬𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓸𝓷

Feyd Rautha x Reader

Request: „Feyd with Reader from a lower house. Readers family has been making good moves to gain the barons favor and they have resources the Baron can't turn down. He offers Feyd in a marriage alliance, much to his nephews suprise.‟

A/N: I apologize in advance for such a delay but I was out of town , unable to write. Request written by anon. A very interesting concept that I thoroughly enjoyed writing.

Please remember that english is not my native language, I do not use it on a daily basis, so mistakes can or will happen.

Work contains smut, so minors do not interact.

She was a pawn. From the moment she left her mother's womb she became a pawn. The galaxy forced this role on her without her knowledge or consent. And she could only watch helplessly.

When Baron Vladimir Harkonnen proposed an arranged marriage between her and his youngest nephew her role was reminded once again. And just as before, she could only watch helplessly as her father agreed , without even looking at her.

Because he was driven by greed , greed for which he had to pay the price. A price in the form of his eldest daughter.

And when she found herself in front of her betrothed something crawled to the surface , something erotic. From the moment their eyes met , there was a lustful tension that grew and grew.

Feyd had never met someone like her. He was used to women who were pale , hairless, slender and almost melancholic. She was different. Her head was adorned with soft hair ,cascading down her back like a waterfall. Her face was decorated with rosy cheeks and full, kissable lips. Her body was curvy, shaped almost like the goddesses from the ancient books of Old Terra. Her eyes hid the passionate desire that he wanted to feel in every way imaginable.

And when he found her alone, wandering through the dark corridors of the keep , he decided to capture her.

-Are you following me , my lord na-Baron? - she asked , with a shadow of curiosity in her voice , looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

-You are walking around my fortress. I want to make sure you don't do something you shouldn't - he replied, approaching her, slowly, like a predator to its prey.

-That doesn't change the fact that you're following me - she whispered, turning her head so that she could get a full look at the man's face, his sharp jawline, full lips and cold eyes that made him even more handsome and dangerous.

-And what if you were right ,what if I did ? - he purred, coming closer and closer, so close that their breaths mingled with each other.

-Then I would wonder what have I done to caught the attention of Feyd Rautha himself - she replied , brushing her lips against his with every word she spoke.

-You are to be my wife - he said , placing his hands on her hips, moving them unnoticeably higher ,towards her waist -Isn't that reason enough?

-I do not entirely believe that this is the real reason my lord na-Baron -she proclaimed , covering his hand with hers , stopping his movements.

-What do you think the real reason is? - he asked, touching her cheek, moving his thumb lazily over her skin, making her shiver because of his cold , silver ring.

-You desire me as much as I desire you my lord na-Baron - she whispered into his mouth , looking deeply into his blue eyes , which were burning with want.

Feyd pushed her roughly against a nearby wall , hanging over her smaller body. His hands captured her loins , drawing her closer to him.

-You're walking on a very thin line - he growled , sliding his lips along her neck.

His tongue tasted her flesh , while his teeth bit the soft skin of her throat.

-Forgive me - she breathed out, placing her palms on his muscular torso -Forgive me because I said words that I shouldn't have.

-What do you mean? - he asked, looking at her from the corner of his eye, his nose gliding over the pulse on her neck.

-I feel a need that I have never been able to feel…And I can't control it - she confessed, looking at him from under her long lashes.

-You don't have to - he stated , whispering directly into her ear.

-I have to…because this need…I want my husband to feel it, my lover - she replied, escaping from his embrace.

However, the Baron's nephew did not let her go , even for a single step, before she again found herself in his arms.

-You think I will let you run away? - he asked, pressing her body against his -That I will let you awaken in me a desire I have never felt before and watch helplessly as you leave me…I will not let you.

The woman turned her head in his direction.

-I thought you prefer a challenging chase , easy prey is not of value to you - she admitted , running her gaze towards the dark corridor , the end of which could not be seen - Besides…the walls here seem to have eyes and ears my lord na-Baron , and this could ruin your hunt - she whispered , feeling how besides Feyda's eyes , there was something else hiding in the darkness.

The man followed her gaze , watching the void engulfing them until he heard a single movement , which made him move like a beast of prey , having found his victim.

The woman seizing her chance , disappeared into the abyss of the corridors , leaving na-Baron , who returned to their meeting place moments later , with blood on his hands and a thirst that burned him alive. But she was no longer there.

When there was nowhere to run , he captured her once again. His gaze alone held her in place , as she stood before him so innocent , so delicate , in a white , lace dress that changed color when their blood merged with each other , uniting them forever . Feyd relished the sight of his wife , once so pure , now soiled with the blood he wanted to lick off her body , exchanging his oaths in a voice as cold as ice while his eyes burned with lust.

And when it was finally time to hunt , he felt the beast inside him tearing his way out.

-The time for the hunt has come - the priestess announced.

Na-Baron watched as the woman looked at him confused , but he only grasped her body in response , drawing her close to him.

-You won't run away from me this time…but I'll let you try - he whispered, before he let go of her body, watching as she moved in haste , flying away like a small bird that finally got its freedom , not knowing that a hungry wolf was right behind her.

Feyd let her disappear from his sight before he went after her. His steps echoed through the abandoned halls , but he didn't care , because he wanted her to know that he was coming for her , that he was close , so very close. He stalked her every move, always being one step ahead of her, even though she was still far away.

Until there was nowhere to run.

He found her in his chambers, naked , kneeling on the black satin sheets adorning his bed. She was looking at him, waiting.

He cupped her chin between two fingers, stroking the soft skin of her cheeks, while his thumb traced her full, red lips.

-I truly believed that you would give me a worthy chase. But you're lying here ready for me to devour you - he groaned , sliding his hand down her throat.

-Maybe I've grown tired of waiting for you to catch me, my lord husband - she confessed, rising gently, just enough to brush his lips with hers.

He tightened his fingers on her neck , pulling her closer , attacking her mouth. His kisses were sensual and brutal like him , taking the breath from her lungs as her hands tried desperately to strip him of his clothes , which kept her from feeling his pale skin on her fingertips.

-Aren't you desperate , little wife? - he murmured , inot her mouth

-Please…- she whispered.

Feyd moved away from her , leaving behind the feeling of need on her flesh. His hands stripped off his clothes at a slow pace , relishing in the way his wife , gazed at each , new piece of the skin he uncovered.

And when he got rid of everything that could separate them, he hovered over her just like the night they first met , kissing the skin of her collarbones , heading lower and lower , towards her ample breasts , her round hips and firm thighs.

-Feyd - she whispered, addressing him by name for the first time - What are you doing? - she asked, looking at him.

-I want to taste you , I need to know if you taste as sweet as your blood - he murmured, kissing her inner thigh.

Before the woman had time to reply to his words, his tongue touched her swollen clit, swirling around the pink pearl, making her uncontrollably thrust her pelvis forward, imprisoning the man in the softness of her thighs. Na-Baron , in response, growled, clamping his hands on her body, drawing her impossibly closer, feasting. His mouth explored her womanhood, kissing and licking every part, leaving nothing without his attention. He was bestial, greedily sipping her juices, which tasted like the sweetest dessert of his life, as his eyes stared at the woman before him, who was consumed by the convulsions of pleasure that tore through her body, making her burst into flames that consumed her mind. Feyd watched in delight as she broke under the impact of her orgasm, licking everything she gave him, feeling her muscles go limp under his fingertips and seeing her eyes cloud over with uncontrollable desire.

Without giving her time to recover , he lifted her trembling body , laying it on top of him , sitting down himself , leaning against the headboard of the massive bed.

-You will ride me my little wife , you will ride me until darkness appears in front of your eyes and your body stops listening to you - he growled , marking her neck with purple marks and angry red bites.

The male, grabbed her thighs, entered her slowly, unable to wait a moment longer. His shaft was so big, so thick, that his wife felt as if something was tearing her from the inside, feeling it deep in her belly. So deep that she couldn't breathe properly.

The movements of his loins were strong and rough. His member was kissing her cervix alternately with hitting a spongy point that made her walls clench so tight that no matter how hard he pressed, he couldn't move. The woman was coming out to meet his thrusts, trying to catch up with him, trying to catch the sweet release he had given her a few seconds ago , already addicting to it. Arching her back and exposing herself completely, she wanted him to touch her and don't stop , never stop. And then she felt it. A mass of burning heat flooding her belly. She didn't know anymore whether it was her body that gave her that electrifying heat or maybe it was Feyd's warmth, but she accepted it, she accepted everything.

[notlhecxzsa]

Never Be So Polite You Forget Your Power - N.R

Summary: After many years, Natasha has never felt so powerless until a decision was made. There was no way out in sight, but Natasha being a woman of power, pride, and determination, a new door towards the future she yearns for opens. With multiple sinful plans and ruthless games, she knew she would win it. But, will she? When a piece of pawn in the game of her father will get her caught up in so many ways she did not expect will trap her.

Author's Note: Part 2 is out! Did I forget to mention that Natasha is beefy here? (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ I apologize immediately for the wrong grammars and wordings, I didn't have much time to proofread since School have started already. 4.6k words.

Warnings: Warnings: Arranged marriage, cursing, violence, emotional abuse, physical abuse, deprivation of many things as a child, G!p Natasha

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

3rd Person's POV:

"Natasha Romanoff, once again outdone herself with her new multi-million project that has been the talk of the town in the business world..."

"Tony Stark, our favorite philanthropist praised and I quote; "She is deadly, really deadly, but if she's up for a collaboration with my company, my name's up in the building, Ms. Romanoff, I am in favor of anything with you...."

"In a world of men, she is the only woman who can dominate the world like this..."

"Multiple companies have been trying to engage with Romanoff's corporation, but still, our lady kept silent, standing tall -alone."

"...you know, sometimes it makes me think how hard it is to compete with someone like her. God, you haven't even started, you're already losing."

"Men and women, lining up for the nation's favorite redhead with such determination... who would be lucky?"

"You know, if that is a person, they would be dead by now." A voice with a thick russian accent echoed throughout the huge gym room. A mix of silver and black lacing the walls with so much sophistication, heavy metals lining up the matted ground.

Another groan left the redhead's lips, not from how hard her punch was sent on the punching bag, but from annoyance and a bubbling anger building up towards the new presence inside the room. "Not like you would care about the bodies lining up on your ground." The blonde woman added, her hand wiping an invisible dirt on one of the biggest dumbbells that was by her side.

"What do you want, Yelena?" With her teeth gritted, she asked harshly towards the younger woman. Unwrapping the protective cloth that she was wearing around her knuckles.

Beads of sweat rolling down her toned body, heart chest heaved with each breath she took before bending down to get her water bottle, quickly taking huge chugs out of it. Her buff and muscular arms flexed as she did so.

"Mama and Papa's upstairs..." The blonde started, trailing off as she hesitated to continue what she was saying, waiting for her older sister's reaction, knowing that the information alone could explain why she stepped foot inside the monstrous house of her sister.

"Hmmm, well, might as well tell them they could leave anytime." The redhead said nonchalantly, turning on her heels, walking past the blonde girl with her head held up high, her steps heavy on the floor.

"Natasha-" Yelena started, only to be cut off by her sister.

"You're wasting your time, Yelena." Natasha snapped, still looking ahead with Yelena following her hot on her heels.

"Papa has a new proposal." She said quickly as soon as the redhead stopped talking.

Natasha's steps faltered for a moment, but she never stopped walking. With a frown on her head, she stayed quiet until her eyes landed on her parents that were sitting on the expensive couches of her living room.

"Ahhh, Natalia, good to see you again, darling. You should get ready and change into something more presenta-" Her father started, which caused the bubbling annoyance inside her to fill up more. Without hesitation, she stopped him from talking much more, knowing where it will lead.

"No. You already know that I am not in favor in your plans or whatever it is that you badly want-" Now, tables have turned, she was cut off by her mother.

"Natasha, listen to your father first." Melina said, intervening, the atmosphere around them changing into a more tensed scenery.

"What? No! All of you know I will never do whatever it is that you want me to do. That privileged of yours to just order me around was already gone years ago. Dad." She said, an edge on her voice at the end, looking at her father as she sat calmly on one of the single sofa she has.

The other two women sat in silence, as a dark humourous chuckle filled the air. "You know, I can take it all, Natalia." Her father started, standing up as he marched around the room with so much dominance in his aura, turning around to stand infront of his family, with the beautiful view of the beach outside.

Her daughter really does a have a taste, that he can't ever deny.

"I hope you still do remember, half of your company, is under my name. I take it, you'll be free to watch it burn on the ground. All of this?..." Her father taunted, a smirk on his face that Natasha couldn't wait more to wipe out when she can finally be able to scream out the success of the plan she's been making and waiting for so long. "You wouldn't have done it, without me..." Oh what a lie.

Natasha's jaw clenched, knowing she can't do anything but let herself received all the things that was coming out of her father. Not yet. Natasha have been building up her company for god knows how long, with her own determination and knowledge.

Her father's company is even 1 step behind from hers. But, knowing if she fought him back now, all her plan would be nothing but a dream.

"I have a new proposal, Natalia. Imagine, what you can do and get, if you got it all? Hmm? Also, having someone to be with you... for you to control, to use, while also getting everything you've ever wanted." Natasha frowned, her father's presence now beside her.

What her father was saying was very different from what he wanted from her. For her to combine her company to their family's company, which is owned by her father. She won't ever let someone touch what's hers, not ever her own blood. Her possession is her pride, she'll bleed first before it can be taken away from her touch.

"What are you saying?" She muttered, her eyes boring into her father's with such coldness that the two other women felt a chill ran down their spine.

"I'll get to the point..." Alexie started, breathing out with a smile that even Natasha couldn't figure out what was behind it. "Y/L/N's clan... Remember?" A hint behind Natasha's eyes glimmered.

They were one of the most known family in the business world, also one of the powerful people underground. She knows that their family has a bond with them years ago, but, she was too little to know much. Too innocent.

"They have a daughter. A nuptial from the both of you can bring us so much more. Imagine, Natalia..." Her father came closer while she continued to stay silent, her gaze scold and her lips tight in a line. "Imagine what power we can hold... What we can dominate in both of our worlds, with a union between the both of our families... Natalia, we will be unstoppable." Her father stated, Natasha thought of one word. A madman.

"Why me?" She questioned. "Why not Yelena?" She continued, throwing a gaze towards her little sister.

A humourous chuckle once again left Alexei. "You are better that her, Natalia. You know that. You..." Alexei came more close, Natasha leaned back, her face full of disgust, but it seemed to go unnoticed by her father.

Caressing her cheek, not noticing how her other daughter's face was filled with sadness. "You are my creation. I built you. Out of all people, I know it's you who can bring such honor in our family." Alexei smiled widely, pulling away as he stood tall with pride while Natasha continued to gaze towards the nothingness.

"You have no choice, Natalia..." With that, she looked up, her frown almost deep as the ocean as her heart pounded.

"Every documents have been made. Plans are being done. The only thing that's left is a feastful dinner with our soon to be extended family."

Everything stopped, the world seemed to have also stopped from turning. She wanted to scream, to yell, to thrash, but she was stuck in her place.

She knew, once her father had set his mind on something, it is to be made. But, when he already made an action, it was a complete different story. Nothing could stop him, god, not even her at this moment.

She thought quickly and know that if she interfered, everything she had worked hard for will turn into dust. Even the plan she was making outside her father's knowledge will be nothing.

As soon as she snapped out of the dazed she was in, she realized that she was finally left alone. That was when everything she was feeling came out of the bottle she was holding her emotion into. She threw the tumbler she was holding towards the expensive painting in the living room, causing the protective glass to crash on the ground. After that, she swiped off the vases that was beautifully set up on the small table beside the couch she was sitting on.

Her chest now heaved with so much anger, her jaws stayed clenched as her fist balled up.

She'll make him pay. Not yet, but soon enough. He will be underneath the ground she was walking on.

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^

Natasha's POV:

"That's the 5th girl you've brought home in just 4 days, Nat. Are you trying to break a record or something? Damn." I winced at the loud booming voice of Maria, Clint chuckling beside her as they came inside my office.

"If you don't shut your mouth, I will throw this glass of water in both of your faces." I grumbled, putting my hand up on my spacious office table, closing my eyes as I sigh.

"You always ovulate so hard when you're stressed." Clint stated, before I heard a small thump and yelped from Clint.

I frowned, opening my eyes to see them both trying to hold their laughter. "The heck are you talking about?" Rolling my eyes, I sat up, stretching my aching body.

"Why don't you just get this all done, god, we all know you can finish your dad in just one slam." Maria said, fake exhaustion lacing through her voice while Clint took his gun and started cleaning it.

"Hmm, you know I can't." I muttered, having absolutely no energy to talk about this again.

"Do you? Or you just don't want to?" I frowned at the sudden tone of Clint.

"Can you guys just get out? Why are you both even here? Where's Bucky? I told him to get me painkillers." I said in annoyance, rubbing both of my hands on my face harshly, as if it would make the thumping pain on my head go away.

"Well, he said we would guide the girl out, guess after that he went to make 'Stevie' some breakfast." Clint said, Maria chuckled along with him and I rolled my eyes, already getting used to their antics and behaviors.

They've been with me for years already, they are close to what I can call home. They are the ones whom I trust the most, with everything I have.

"Oh, by the way, that girl- who is she again, Clint?" Maria started, and I looked at her with my brows still frowning.

"Mary?" Clint said, still focusing on his gun.

"No, no. Clara? No, something close to that. The one who called earlier!" Maria exaggerated.

"Ohhh, the girl who kept calling you because Nat gave your number instead of hers? It's Carol." He said nonchalantly and I rolled my eyes at the memory, putting my face in both of my hands again.

"Yeah, that one. She went here earlier wanting to talk to you, but Bucky said after she saw the girl walked out of her, she went away immediately. She even screamed at Bucky's face to tell you that you're an asshole." Maria stated, chuckling as she said the story.

I grumbled, not even remembering what that Carol looks like. Maybe one of those girl who wanted more of me.

"Bucky should've praised her." Clint side commented with a smirk on his face.

"I don't have time for those. Is there a news from the greatest father of all time?" I asked, leaning back on my soft office chair, crossing my arms as I look to the both of them.

I saw how they gaze at each other, signaling to tell whatever it is. I raised one of my eyebrows, indicating that I am waiting, and they know how much I hate to wait.

"Well- that was actually why we're here." Maria started before looking over at Clint once again.

"They're here." Clint blurted out which made me frown and falter for a moment.

"And they want you to come with them. It's time, Nat." I sat up straight, gripping both sides of my chair.

"What? He can't work that fast!?" I exclaimed, my frown deepening as I did so.

"You know Alexei, Nat. He probably pulled some strings just to get it done quickly." Maria shrugged.

God, I am surely not ready for that to happen so quickly. It hasn't been a month since the news was dropped on me like a truck from the sky.

But, maybe... This is a sign. As quickly this would come will be result for my plans to get started and done immediately.

"Get everything ready. If they want to do this now, well then I guess I have no choice but to finish this sooner."

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^

3rd Person's POV:

Natasha and her family sat at the luxurious table, along with Phoveus and Carmilla. As the elders chatted away about everything, mostly about business, Natasha and Yelena sat quietly, with Yelena eating whatever finger food she could reach as Natasha sat with a distant and cold look visible in her face. Looking like she would rather to be anywhere but here.

A hurried voice interrupted through the atmosphere around them, but Natasha never looked up, her eyes stayed glued to the platters that held foods that was probably cooked by one of the highest paid chef around the area. "Madam, Sir, your daughter is here." A familiar voice echoed throughout the large dining area.

"Ahhh, Y/n, come here, sweetheart." Again, Natasha didn't do anything, if anyone would throw her a glance, none of them would have the courage to talk to her or even approach her.

But, if they would only see what was going on inside the redhead's mind as it run miles and miles with her lower stomach doing flips upon hearing the unexpected name.

Y/n.

Y/n.

Looking up, her eyes immediately landed on the woman who she had a vague memory of, but know too well at the same time. Her breath caught up in her throat, making a lump to form that she can't seem to clear. With her heart thumping its way out of her chest, after finally putting a face on the name, she remembered one thing.

"Sweetheart, this is Alexei and Melina... remember them?" Y/n nodded, staying silent but gave off a small smile and a wave, not used to the attention she was receiving as one of the men pulled a chair for her to sit on.

Hiding her casted arms underneath the table, as she thought deeply what the occasion was all about, her eyes averting to Lucy through her lashes who stayed standing far behind the people that was infront of her. Gulping an invisible form that was sitting inside her throat she muttered a greeting. "Hi..."

Unaware of the weary eyes that was set on her figure that was glimmering with such familiarity.

There were a couple of conversations that went on, with Y/n not clearly understanding what is it all about, only sitting quietly, playing with her finger, silently hoping for this to be all over.

Upon looking up and gazing around her surroundings, her eyes stopped at a certain redhead, who she thought was looking at her for a mere moment. A small frown appeared around the creased in between her eyebrows, a small tug of string in her memory as she tries to remember where she might have met her, or if she even met her already before.

She doubted, barely having the chance to go out as a child. Barely having the chance to live her life.

Her eyes continues to graze along the beautiful woman that was sitting in front of her. She may look a little bit intimidating, but to Y/n, there was a familiarity in her heart, a familiarity that screams something good. Enough for her to feel some sort of comfort towards the redhead, some sort of a breath of a fresh air.

She was really pretty, Y/n thought. Especially her short hair that looked almost fake with how perfect it seemed to be.

Her gaze faltered for a moment, catching a glimpse of the set of green eyes landing on hers as more foods was being put on the table, as if the foods that was already on it was not enough for the people in the table.

Her eyes, of course, finally taking in every food that was presented in front of them. Her, oh so, familiar hungry eyes, once again, tug a string on Natasha's mind, her jaw clenching as the annoying and blurry memories came rushing in once again.

She looked like she would devour every food in the table as soon as she could eat. But, with her doe eyes that held such innocence, Natasha, now felt a tug, not on her mind, but in her heart.

A familiar tug that she had felt years ago when she looked into the same pair of eyes. Shaking her head and averting her attention, Natasha cleared her throat and composed herself, breathing through her nose as she tries to wash away the thoughts that was eating her up like a virus.

"Today..." Y/n looked up upon hearing the booming noice of her father's voice, holding up a glass of an expensive wine. "Today marks the start of unending victory and success to both of our family." She watched as the elders cheers, clinking of glasses could be heard, her eyes averting on the redhead and the blonde who only leaned their glasses towards where the others were meeting. She felt so out of place.

So, she took a hold of her glass, the one filled with what seemed like a fresh squeeze of orange juice, just how she likes it, holding it up. A blush on her face appeared, embarrassed on how she might have looked so stupid, immediately putting the glass down, her head did the same, finding the golden platter much more interesting.

Again, oblivious to the set of eyes that was burning holes through the side of her head. Fighting off a smirk that wants to be let out, Natasha cleared her throat again, listening to Phoveus ramble about the upcoming union that will be held for the both of them as they started to eat.

Upon looking at the man, her eyes once again averted to the younger woman who was sitting beside him. She saw how the girl's munching on the food suddenly faltered, looking up at her father confusedly, so much curiosity in her eyes but seems like there was no answer coming up.

Her eyes looked like they held no thoughts behind it, as she looked down, Natasha noticed one her arm that has a cast around it and frowned before her eyes averted to the young woman's face.

She saw how deep she was thinking, trailing her eyes on every food that was on her plate, trailing the designs that adorned it, as if it would give her the answer.

Wasn't she aware of what was happening? Natasha thought, only to be snapped out of her daze as she heard the sudden screech of the chair, and a soft voice, pardoning an excuse, muttering about going to the bathroom real quick.

"...she'll managed, don't worry. You won't ever hear a word from her, trust me." Her eyes landed on the disgusting smile that was present on Phoveus face.

"Would it be more easy if Y/n knows about this? I mean... this is a lot... to be honest. And... she's so young." Natasha frowned upon hearing what her mother had said, for the first time finally catching up on what they were talking about, her ears ringing as she caught what they were pertaining to.

"Nah... just trust me on this one. She would agree to everything we would say. I mean, if it weren't for us, she wouldn't be having a life like this..." Natasha's eyes caught a movement from behind Phoveus, a shift from one of the maids that looks like the head of something inside this manor. She saw the hardened gaze of the woman on the back of Phoveus's head, her jaw clenching like a steel. "If she does see eye to eye to what we attained her to be, she know exactly what would happen." A laugh that sounded almost like the devil came out of the man, her father following by, nodding his head unconsciously.

"You trained her well, Phov." Her father said which fueled to the news she just received.

Before anyone could utter a word, she sat up straight, blurting out words. "She doesn't know?" Natasha's cold voice echoed throughout the atmosphere, and it, alone, changed the tension around the room.

Melina shifted uncomfortably, Yelena's chewing faltered for a moment as all the eyes was set on hers. "God, how old even is she? You can't expect me to marry someone without their consent. Let alone marrying someone who has not come of age." She ranted, her voice in monotone as her cold and hardened eyes gaze around the people that was sat with her on the table.

"She's eighteen, Natasha." Carmilla said, an uncomfortable smile playing on her face as she tried to calm the growing tension inside the room.

"Her parents has the consent, you don't have to worry about that, Natalia." Her father added, causing her fist to balled up, her face finally showing a slight emotion.

"Everything is all set, all of you won't have anything to worry about. My daughter knows where her place is, and I'm sure, you guys won't want to back out from everything... right?" Phoveus taunted, her face getting serious before a laughter from Alexei filled the air.

"Of course, of course, now, why don't we just enjoy this lovely dinner." With that, the young woman entered the room, Natasha was left with so many unsaid words.

She wanted to protest and say her part freely, but the new presence inside the room somehow made her back up. Her tensed shoulder relaxed as she watched the girl sit back to where she was sitting earlier, her head down as she gripped the spoon with her one hand, her other hand stayed underneath the table, as a new flow of conversation as thrown in the middle of the dining table.

Swallowing the words, she stood up, excusing herself without any more explanation coming out of her mouth. Before anyone had the chance to say anything, she was met with the wind blowing through the large patio that gives her the best view of the backyard.

Putting both of her hands on the railing, she took a deep breath, stretching her neck from side to side to release that stress that was building up like waves.

It felt like there was something pinching her insides at the thought of you. You've grown so much, grown so different... yet still the same. Grown so beautiful, still like a porcelain doll. God, how could they treat you like that? Like a puppet, no reason to be heard or to be seen. She felt almost guilty, feeling so down about the arranged nuptial, but what about you? Who doesn't even know what tomorrow will bring.

Her fist clenched as her breathing became labor, seeing you again, it brought so many things to her. Things she didn't know she would feel... again. She may be too young before, but she was already being trained to be something more. She was not innocent or naive about what she was feeling.

My, she can't feel like this! She wouldn't get any benefit from feeling like this for you. It has been years, you might not even remember her. She's nothing to you and you are absolutely nothing to her. You were just a pawn in your parents game, and she wouldn't be like you. No, she would never be like you.

"...for you to control... to use." Her father's words rang inside her head. Her jaw clenched, thinking how dumb her father was, how ugly his personality is and how high his ego.

She's nothing like him. Nothing like anyone. She may be ruthless, cold, hardened by the years, but she would never, ever do something like that to someone so innocent... especially someone like Y/n.

Shaking her head to throw away her thoughts, she breathed in and out. She should stop thinking like this, she should not think like this. Not to anyone, especially not to someone who means nothing to her.

The creaking of the large doors made Natasha's ears perked up, following by the sound of footsteps she had learned after years of growing together. "Needed a breather?" The voice of her little sister rattled in her ears.

Natasha let out a rather harsh sigh, rolling her eyes as she stood up straight. "What do you want, Yelena?" Natasha asked, ignoring the question that was thrown at her.

"Hmm..." Yelena only replied with a hum, stepling forward to step beside her sister. Her big sister whom she looked up to while growing up. "Was it hard?" She added in the midst of silence, looking up at Natasha briefly before gazing at the scenery in front of them.

A confused frown appeared on Natasha's face, her eyes narrowing as she tries to figure out what she was referring to. Upon sensing her sister's hesitance in replying, she continued. "Learning to live your own life... fighting your demons..." There was a whole paused as Natasha waited while Yelena contemplated how to put her words together. "... finally having the chance to make up your own decisions and choices?" Words hang around the atmosphere.

Natasha may be looking at the vast space in front of her but her mind is elsewhere, so as Yelena's. She knew, they both knew how hard it was growing up, especially with their lifestyle and a father like Alexei. They weren't given a choice, just as how they weren't giver a choice while growing up. Natasha couldn't whisk out why Yelena is asking her that, they weren't used to this kind of conversation, something so personal... so vulnerable. But, she found herself building up words to tell.

Natasha's demeanor faltered for a moment, before she started speaking. "Everything is hard. It's all complicated. Nothing will seem right, especially while growing up..." Natasha started, slouching down to rest her elbows on the railings, gazing intently towards the green grass and trees that surrounded the backyard. "You could get lost... not knowing where you want to be-... who you want to be. It has been hard, it still is. What is worse... is not having your own choice. Not being able to control your own actions. Your own decisions." She let out a chuckle, maybe it was just the wine taking cover of her whole system, god has she been drinking that much? She's not a lightweight, that's for sure.

"You know... I'd rather-... I'd rather die than to live for someone else." There was a big blow of a wind. She received no reply from the shorter woman, as Yelena only gaze at nothing, her heart and mid in a raging storm.

For a moment, Natasha felt so weak, so vulnerable. Everything is coming at her, once again, she let someone control her, but then again, it is for the better, right? She was choking in her own words of wisdom, finding no way to recover but to spit it out.

The familiar sound of the glassy door opening reached their hearing once again, but this time, there was an unfamiliar footsteps. Yelena shifted to look behind them while Natasha only closed her eyes while taking a deep breath, god, she'd do anything just to get away from her.

"I'll-... I'll check on mom." Yelena muttered, excusing herself before walking pass the smaller woman with a small smile on her face appearing, something to exchange the welcoming smile of the girl.

"Na-... Natalia?"

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Author's Note: Gollyyyyy! Finally, I'm able to post this ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ Been sitting on my draft for too long, something came up earlier after I showered that concerns about my school ¯⁠\⁠_⁠ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ⁠_⁠/⁠¯ but, nowwww here it is! I am very very sleepy right now, so this is not proofread, I'm sorry, but I hope you guys enjoy! ಠ⁠ᴥ⁠ಠ

Tags: @transparentflapfarmsludge @dvrkhcld @esposadejoyhuerta @natsxwife @justspance @cheekysnake-blog @wandasreallover

[blackpilljesus]

It's wild how women are called selfish for not wanting to have children when one of the most selfless things to do is to not harm others by committing to something you know you can't.

Besides the people who say this are the actual selfish ones, they feel entitled to womens bodies & labour to produce pawns for their games. Fuck that.

[psycheetamore]

His, or how Feyd-Rautha will protect those loyal to him

Summary: you are a concubine of the youngest uncle of the na-Baron, but those days are count as you catch the eye of the young lord. Although you are visited several times by a man, you are initially oblivious by which man exactly (just imagine the emotions when finding out…). His uncles will not accept this change of ownership without a fight with their nephew. Or: how you become a pawn in the rise of Feyd-Rautha to Baron, with loyalty (which you though secretly) pledged by exchanging bodily fluids.

A little play on the story of Psyche, who initially also does not know she is visited by Amore.

Tags: the works – MDNI, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Is His Own Warning, dead dove dont eat, explicit smut, Feyd-Rautha is physically imposing, oral (FR giving and receiving, bc he deserves it), public (but not in a good way), humiliation, punishment (also not in a good way), angst, dubious consent, violence, deaths (revenge), non con/rape - the author regrets nothing, no beta we die like duke leto

Word count: 6k

+++

He saw you, fulfilling your duties as one of the many concubines of his youngest uncle. The brother of the Baron. Not as powerful but equally physically appalling and cruel. Usually you resided in Lankiveil, but Giedi Prime would be your new home for the coming months.

Feyd-Rautha saw you, as you participated in the many parties Igor, the name of this hideous man, hosted. Parties that would inevitably end up in orgies, with you standing by, seeing your owner feast on the willing or less willing bodies presented to him. Never would he allow you to participate, not that you wanted, but he did require all his women to look as he soothed his urges yet again.

The na-Baron saw you, as you tried to spend the hours between your obligations as useful as possible. Training the limited fighting skills you were allowed to: bow & arrow and other commands Igor deemed useless pastimes for weak women. Reading everything you could get your hands on. Observing the people surrounding you. Learning in all forms available to you. Being on this planet, however inhospitable, presented potentially life-changing opportunities to you. Options to make something out of yourself, somehow regain some agency over yourself, knowing that concubines often ended up gifted to allies to fortify relationships. Rumour had it that a few women managed to organise their own way out, sometimes even through a man of their choosing. It surprised you that the other girls kept by the Baron’s brother did not try to explore similar escapes. They seemed to be happy just entertaining themselves through lavish baths and gossiping.

Despite all of that, you somehow never noticed that you were being seen.

Not, until a soldier approached you one day in a library. He was standing in another aisle, whispering through the openings left between the books to you to come closer by. “Your presence has caught the eye of my master.” You responded after a moment of contemplation: “your master” you spat “will know that I am already bound to a man.” A reply came quickly: “he knows. He will visit you this evening.” Leaning in, deeper into the cupboards: “if I may give you advice, milady: entertain my master, entice my master, and he will reward you handsomely. He may even save you, as he saved me from the dark bellows of this society.” Thoughts ran through your head. It could all be a test. It could be an opportunity. It could be a risk that may cause your death. You needed to consider all options.

Just as you wanted to ask who his master was, you heard the doors to the library close. The soldier had left as quietly as he came in.

That night you had locked the door to your room as you did every night. Guards patrolling the wing of the palace you resided in, only accessible to them, to your master and to women. Although the words of this soldier had ran a marathon through your head, you still expected it to be nothing more than a test from Igor.

Once the adrenaline in your body had faded, you – somehow reluctantly – accepted that this was all a test. It still made you somewhat content with your response; the right response given that this was nothing more than that.

That night, you dreamt of lemon, orange blossom and musk. Never had you imagined a scent so vividly. You dreamt of an all-encompassing feeling of external and internal warmth. As if you were wrapped in warm clouds.

You woke up to find the pillow next to yours turned and used. The bed coverings having been dragged from under the matrass, where you would otherwise leave them tucked in. Your night garment left open, while you would typically carefully close the buttons.

Not knowing what to think about it, the only logical explanation was that you must have absolutely thrashed your bed and perhaps even woken up at night to sleepwalk. You clearly needed to get your head in order; the soldier had disturbed you mentally, without a doubt.

After having splashed ice-cold water in your face to wake up, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You kept punishing yourself for having these silly thoughts. A silly little girl. You continued to batter yourself, until you noticed spots in your neck. On closer inspection it was a round spot of a couple of centimetres in diameter. It did not hurt. You were not wounded.

Your heart sunk to your feet as it started to dawn that this could not have been anything else than the result of someone creating a vacuum on your neck with their lips.

The rest of the day went on in a blur.

+++

You found yourself in the spa at the edge of the evening, trying to set your mind to something else than whatever had happened last night. Sitting in the middle of the steamy hammam, seeking to empty your head. You needed to accept that you would not be able to make sense of all of this. Not without any other clues. You could not recognize the soldier that had approached you, not even if your life depended on it. You could not imagine he would have done this to you; this castle was too safe for kept concubines. You just hoped nobody would think too much of the mark that was left on you.

As your mind wandered off, your eyes closed, only to be shaken up by a sudden shift in the air you felt, barely but still. As if someone moved past you. But you did not hear the door open or close. You had also been careful enough to check the log upfront to ensure nobody was in. Franticly looking around you, you could not see anyone in the white fog.

Your mind must have continued to play games with you.

But still. You were so certain that you felt someone. Something. You knew someone or something was here. Nearby. As you wrapped your legs tightly against your chest while sitting on the elevated platform in the middle of the room, foreign fingers brushed over the mark on your neck.

You froze, only allowing your eyes to move. It has nearly always been your reaction in fearful situations. Freeze and let everything go past you. Ignore you. Leave you.

But you would not be ignored this night.

Lips touched your ear, as if to allow you to capture sound. But no sound came to you. Softly these lips mapped your ear, moving to your neck. The tip of a tongue found its way as well. Gently grazing over your sensitive skin, as if to bring you in a trance. Somehow, the tenderness of the touches, the warmth of the room, the deprivation of sight and sound as senses; it felt like you were in a different world. Instinctively you started to hold your chin up as high as possible, to allow the grazing to continue across your neck. You did not register the small moan that left your mouth, ever so slightly breaking the monotonous sound of running water from the corners of the room.

No further invitation was needed, as a hand was placed on your cheek, moving to close your eyes. With sight being deprived from you, obedient as you were, your face and your lips met theirs. A callused hand, warm and with long fingers. It could not be of anyone else than a man who had kneeled in front of you, a hard chest pressing against your legs. While lips pressed themselves on yours, teasing you, seeking to find your tongue, you felt a quiver transferring from him to you. His strong hand had moved steadily to the back of your neck, and guided you securely to lay flat on the middle of the platform.

Your chest rising quicker and quicker, the tongue soon left your mouth to find other pastures more south. With slow yet steady movements the towel protecting your modesty was laid open, with only the steam limiting sights to your regions that should have been monopolized by Igor.

The tongue and lips smoothly and confidently graced your chest, your breasts, your nipples, your ribs, your belly button, until they reached your core. You did your best not to shiver under the touch. Somehow you felt that if you were only receptive, obedient, fearful, you would not be punished for this unacceptable altercation. But at the same time, you had never felt more alive. You grew desperate for the teasing touch; you burned for more. But you had no way of showing it.

Or so you thought.

Two hands parted your legs in ease. It would become a difficult story to argue that you were overcome. Yet, you also knew Igor would not care less whether you were forced or not. You would always be the one punished. Still, you somehow felt that if this would merely be done upon you, you were less to blame. As if you had then acted less shameful.

Those thoughts were soon abandoned, by a guttural moan no less, as two fingers had found its way into you. Easier than ever before. A sloppy sound came from your core, indicating so much wetness and welcomeness that humiliation filled you.

Shame was apparently enough to get you out of your state of freeze, as you closed your legs with force. No man should experience you in this state. But your legs did not come far, as they were stopped in their path. His head must have collected the painful sounding blow, considering the grunt that left his body. You lifted your torso to get a better view, but to no avail as the fog kept blocking your view. You could hardly see as far as your own breasts.

Your hand would need to act as eyes for you. Finding his head between your legs, your touch replaced your sight. Hairless. That was the first thing you noticed. Round and bold. A sharp jawline. Lucious lips, that drew your fingers in the moment you had found them. A deep sigh escaped from you. With your eyes still trying to pierce through the mist, his other hand found its way up to your chest and pushed you back to your previous position. He came just close enough to allow you to see the paleness of the skin, perhaps as pale as the clouds within this room. A ring on his little finger, a ring that looked like it bore significance; another clue.

But you had no time to think about that, no room left in your brain, as his hand quickly found its way back down, leaving a painful trace with his nails to where his tongue had started to explore this other orifice. Skilfully beyond anything that you had ever expected. You had learned that being intimate with a man required you to always be focused on his pleasure, and that an increase of your enjoyment meant inevitably a decrease of his. You were taught that you should not gain any physical gratification out of any interaction with a man. Yet, here was a man, presumably young and strong, doing nothing else than serving you joy.

As his tongue found every pleasure point around and within your pussy, you decided with a clouded mind that this was worth dying for. For the first time in a long while you felt alive. You felt a woman. A person. You felt seen. Coveted. Desired.

The blur of the evening continued, as he brought you unprecedented heights. In the protection of the fog, you lost all inhibitions. Soon you moaned and growled as response to his touches, hoping these sounds would die in the fog.

After he had taken the last of the sweet juice you had to share, he wrapped you in your towel again and laid a small warm piece of cloth over your eyes and ears.

It took several minutes before your brain had recouped and noticed he had left. It took more minutes for you to start moving, and get ready to get back to the seclusion of your room with wobbly legs and a foggy head. There, you dropped your clothes to look at your body. Nobody could know about what had happened. It should be your secret and your secret only, as your life depended on it.

Yet, more tokens of new ownership were left, another bump next at the top of the inside of your leg, and three even scratch marks from between your breasts until your hilt. Fear started to compete for your attention.

+++

Another morning went by in a blur. You started to consider that you might be going crazy, were it not for the blemishes on your skin. Everywhere where you looked around you, you tried to spot men and assess whether they may have been the one that had visited you.

In the afternoon, you accompanied Igor and his brother, the Baron, during games in the arena. It did not interest you too much. The outcome was already known, as his heir would always end up victorious.

Obligatory you glanced through the binoculars every now and then, to vein interest.

That was, until a hard reflection hit your eye. And hit your eye again. And a third time.

Suddenly more awake, you grabbed the binoculars to search through the stadium. Maybe you would uncover your mystery. There were thousands of bold men cheering. Nothing set any of them apart. You zoomed in on their hands, but there were so many hands. There was no place to begin.

You sighed and wanted to lower your binoculars, thinking it was just a coincidence. But right at that moment a fourth burst of reflection hit you. You suddenly realized it never came from the crowd, as it came from within the grounds of the arena itself. Focussing on the hands of the na-Baron, you saw a sigil ring on his pinky.

The shock caused you to drop your precious optical instrument, clashing on the floor, inviting everybody’s attention. With a red face you fell to the floor to collect it, making yourself as small as possible, scared for reprimands. But there was no need, as the young lord had slaughtered his last opponent at exactly that moment.

You had brought the binoculars to your eyes just on time to see that he was staring at you. His gaze directly piercing through your body. Any doubt left.

After a lengthy applause, the Baron and his brother moved to participate at their party, followed by you, the other concubines, servants and slaves.

+++

Over the course of days thereafter you would see Feyd-Rautha several times. A glimpse of him while passing as entourage of his uncle. Gazing at him for longer stretches of time while standing lined up against a wall with the other concubines as the Harkonnen family consumed their diners.

You now knew he had been observing you all this time, and was yet to stop.

Every time you locked eyes on him, you saw him staring back within seconds, if he wasn’t already. There was no escape.

Every time your glares locked, your heart jumped. Your breathing stopped. Your face turned ever so slightly more red.

On a few occasions he grazed himself so closely to you that you could smell the delirious making scent that came from him. The smell that still lingered in your head. Even in your bed. Every time he walked past you, you inhaled as deeply as you could muster without making a sound. How you desired for him to grab you, hold you, kiss you, make you his. He must have seen that you closed your eyes to reside in fantasy every time he strolled past you. He must have been aware of the impact he was having on you. Surely, he would be having this impact on every woman that dared to think about him. He was dangerous, yes, but also so appealing and covet-worthy.

You needed to get out of his hold, but you couldn’t. It was torture. Ever so sweet torture. You could not endure it any longer, yet you desired for it to never stop. Never had you felt this alive and deprived at the same time.

+++

During an afternoon of training your skills with bow and arrow, now focussing on long range distances, a soldier approached you from the shadows of the exercise area, whispering: “the na-Baron requests your attention upstairs. Please follow me.”

Scared you looked at him. “Don’t worry. You have served my master well. You have pleased him.” With a face starting to bloom red, you froze again, knowing that more than two people knew about what had happened. He sounded like the man that you first met, in the library. As he grabbed your wrist to drag you into the darkness, he stated: “my name is Ivan, and I serve the na-Baron loyally.”

It was Feyd-Rautha himself who had visited you. More than once. A brutal man, who had drawn the lives of enemies below your feet just days ago. An imposing man, coveted by women throughout the universe. Giedi Prime’s prime playboy. Its most coveted bachelor. Why would you ever catch his attention, if duchesses and princesses were laying themselves at his feet?

Ivan must have felt how you were dragging yourself along, as he comforted: “don’t fear. I would never touch anything that is his.”

‘His’ you thought. You are not his. You are his uncle’s. With your mind clouded with these thoughts, you did not register that you had landed in the throne room. A heavy door closing tightly behind you was needed to pull you in present times again.

Looking around you, nobody seemed to be there in the scarcely lit room.

“Up here” a dark voice said from within the darkness.

You glanced up and a reflection from high up the stairs to the throne. It took a few seconds for you to realise where you were and with whom. “Apologies my lord. Please forgive me for not addressing you correctly immediately” as the front of your head tapped the ground while nearly laying on the ground.

“Come here” the na-Baron instructed.

Reluctantly you stepped up the stairs. Somehow it had felt safe not being in direct contact with him, despite everything that had happened. A sense of security and distance had protected you. As if it was all but an elaborate fantasy. But now, now you being all alone and him having chosen to reveal who he was: it was so direct, so unfiltered. So real.

The space between the end of the platform where the throne stood, and where he was sitting was not even half a meter, so you waited on the last step. To keep your distance. To further increase the distance between you, you had averted your eyes to your feet.

“Is this how you approach your lord?” he grunted.

Your eyes glanced up for just a fraction of a second, to see his beautiful lips curled in anticipation, his head tilted as if he was looking at prey, his eyes locked on you. You had been caught in his net. There was no escaping.

He caught your eyes, smirked and looked at your feet, while sitting relaxed on the throne with his legs hanging wide. You immediately knew what he was referring to, and fell to your knees again.

“Closer” he instructed you, causing you to crawl up to the platform.

His left hand was found your cheek, with his thumb running over your jaw.

You were dying of nervousness. You tried to control your breathing, which only caused you to run out of breath quicker.

“I feel you are tense. Why? There is no need” he purred, either oblivious of his reputation or perfectly aware of it.

“My lord…. I… I…” you hesitated.

“Speak up girl” he growled, as he pushed your chin forwards.

“I should not be here my lord. I am terribly sorry. I have made many mistakes, and I do not want to draw you into them as well” you said, as you tried to salvage yourself.

He laughed: “woman, who do you think I am?” He pinched you, causing you to gasp: “never doubt me again.”

“Yes, my lord” you replied while keeping your gaze down.

“And stop being so coy. We both know you are not. I want to see your true colours. Who am I dealing with? Show me you are worthy of my time” he said, nearly threateningly.

“My lord… I do not understand” you replied, frightened to make a wrong comment.

“I am disappointed. Mere days ago, you were much quicker to understand what I needed. You knew exactly what I wanted and you gave it, after a bit of convincing though. You appear demure, but you hardly are. There are not a lot of women on this planet who are so warm, so wet, so inviting” as he used his thumb to play with your lower lip. “Don’t be ashamed. Be proud. Not often that my playmates survive if they are not my pets. Not often that I come back.”

The eyes from your face, that turned red full of shame, briefly leaped from the floor to how high you could see without moving your head. He was sitting on the throne with leisurely clothing. Not prepared for fights this time, or war councils; he was settled. Through the softness of his clothing you could see that what lay below that was less soft and pliable. You saw how he did not make any effort to prevent you from seeing the arousal that was running through his veins.

“Show me where your loyalty lays. Who your master is” he stated, nearly declared, pushing his thumb towards your teeth as he pulled your chin down.

You looked up at his, ever so briefly, wanting to say that it was his uncle Igor. But you couldn’t. This young lord was mesmerizing. He was known for his brutality, but also his protection over who are his. Nobody spoke with joy or compassion about Igor; not even with fear, only with disdain. You created an opening between your teeth to draw him in, tasing the saltiness from his finger through your softly lapsing tongue.

With his digit hooked on your teeth he drew you closer.

His hand evicted your mouth, to reach the side of your head, which he started to caress. He knew what he was doing. He knew what impact he had. You hardly registered that he had placed his hand around the front of your neck, tilted your head and asked: “tell me,” with a smoky voice, “tell me who commands you”.

Your breathing got irregular as you opened your mouth to whisper without thinking what could be your own death sentence: “you, my Lord.”

His hand moved to the back of your head, as he started to fumble your hair: “prove it” with a husky low voice, tilting his face to look down on you as he spread his legs just a bit wider.

He left no doubt to his intentions.

As you sat kneeled in front of the-Baron, you placed your hands his upper legs. It must have been clear to him that there was still internal turmoil, battling between excitement and fear. Your tender fingers scouted the fabric, as if to find out how to untie it, how to unwrap him, almost as if he had concealed a present.

You had seen male excitement before, but it seemed different now. Everything seemed different. Larger, grander, more imposing. Not covered by layers of fat, but surrounded by chiseled muscles. With this cock no longer hidden after your unpacking you gulped.

Your fingers glanced over his nakedness, followed by allowing his tip to enter the warm and wet environment he had been so keen to explore. Every step you took was still deeply contemplated. There was no ease, not yet. Your animalistic instincts were still to kick in. To your surprise he allowed you to dictate your own pace. His uncle would have already held your head and shoved himself in your throat. If the young lord would have done the same, the impact would been considerably more painful, looking at his size.

He was big. Long, girthy, veiny yet smooth, pale, throbbing, the tip already shining of anticipation. Physically impressive, as every part of him. As he allowed for small groans to escape him, the same as you had heard in the hammam, you started to feel euphoric, victorious, capable. You would undertake this pursuit, and you would succeed. That is what you had always done, and now would not be any different.

You still needed to see how he would respond. There was no rush. So, you started mapping the area, before making any further decisions. He felt how you allowed your hands to roam, see how he would respond to your touches, trailing him, moving him, increasingly with rhythm to match his moans.

Your tongue slid up and down his shaft, the same motion repeated with your lips, followed by a combination. Feeling more confident with every sound he allowed to escape, you allowed your tongue to glance through and around his tip, seeing how far he could go in. You pulled away the coverings repeatedly to expose the protected top.

His naked tip was smooth and round, dripping, almost like ripe fleshy fruit. A bacchanal it offered to be. It begged to be licked, sucked, eaten, have its juices captured and spilled all around her mouth. It had the fatal cry of the siren, drawing its victims in to never let go. You was lured in, just as your cunt had lured him in a few days ago. Perhaps you were made for each other.

He felt so good inside you, warm, tongue lapsing, being sucked into you. It was equal to a worship. He belonged in your mouth.

You had kissed more life in him than he had ever known, but he could not endure this any longer. You felt how he longed to just reach out to grab you and hold you. Thrust himself in you, take you head and push you down on him. Your warmth, the heat in the back of your throat, the wetness that would only be secreted from a treatment like that. Feeling you gagging around him.

You placed your hands on his hips again, looked up and softly shut and opened your eyes again. You gave him permission to do exactly that.

Within seconds he filled your throat with black cum, as he moaned. Animalistic. Rough. Pure. You had pledged yourself to him through this ritual. And he had done the same.

You both had signed a death sentence, committing you to each other.

+++

You still did not know why you of all people caught the eye of the heir to the Harkonnen throne and all their fiefs. Perhaps it was due to your background; contrary to the other mistresses you have known a life beyond Lankiveil and Giedi Prime, being a recent spoil of war from the sacking of Caladan? Perhaps it was due to your appearance? Not pail, but with an olive-coloured skin. Not bold, but with long luscious hair. Not moulded into staying small and frail, physically enacted on this planet through years of being deprived of food and mentally through deprivation of education. You knew you stood out. And however much you tried to blend in with the never-ending walls you were standing against, you could not help but observe your surroundings, process, and learn.

Despite all of these considerations, you still did not truly know why you of all women who crossed the path of the infamous Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen were lucky enough to gather his attention.

+++

Within a matter of days, you found yourself thrown on your hands and knees in the same throne room. Kicked to the ground, below the steps were Igor sat, together with his brother, their nephew standing behind them. A treatment he could not give the na-Baron, causing you to take the penalty for both.

You knew what this was all about. It became difficult to breath. Your mind started running to find a way out. To salvage yourself.

Ivan was called in: “do you confess that you have stolen this concubine from me, and allowed her to desecrate the sacredness of the Baron’s throne?” You glanced to your side, seeing how Ivan was battered, barely alive. Dried up blood surrounding his face and neck, bruises covering his arms, his clothing stripped to pieces on his back as result of countless whips. “Yes, my lord. I confess” he screeched.

Fear instilled in your bones. The treatment he had undergone set the benchmark for what you were awaiting, his crime being less than yours.

“You whore. You unfaithful whore!” Igor shouted. “I have saved you from those savages, and this is how you repay my benevolence. I should flay you alive and hang you for the birds to feed on” he growled, anger seeping through every pore of his body.

“But my nephew has begged me not to do that. So, what I will do, is to take from him what he has taken from me.” Your heart raced through your body. You had no clue what would happen to you, or whether you would even survive. You tried to glance to Feyd-Rautha, who was standing obediently between the Baron and his brother. No life seemed to be present on his face.

“Soldier. Strip the whore” Igor demanded with an ice cold voice and fire shooting from his eyes.

Your heart stopped. Trying to look at Ivan, you saw him look at the na-Baron for salvation. But he did not receive that. He only received a nod from his master. A nod. A nod to continue. A seal of approval.

Ivan grunted, forcing his legs to stand up, allowing him to walk to you. He tried his best to avert your gaze, but he could not avert your whispers: “why? Stop. Please stop.” Soon your whispers became observable by others, as he tried to remove your clothes while you kept walking back, keeping your garments securely to your body. “Soldier, make haste, or it will be the last thing you do” Igor instructed. “You master does not have the power to save both of you.”

Your words turned into cries, as he backed you against a wall and started ripping you bare. You did hear him say ever so softly: “I am sorry”, while you fell to your knees, trying to protect your modesty with your arms.

Leaving you whimpering against the wall, Ivan distanced himself from you. It brought him no pleasure. You hoped the ordeal would be over with this, but you feared the worst. Igor’s wrath had not yet been soothed. His anger was palatable. Everybody in the room felt he was not done with enacting his vengeance.

“Soldier” Igor shouted. “Fuck her” spoken very slowly. As if saying it was enacting it himself.  

Both your and Ivan’s eyes glanced to Feyd’s. Suddenly life had returned to him. He tried to turn towards his younger uncle, but he was stopped by the Baron. His mouth opened to protest, but Vladimir grabbed his balls and pressed them so hard together that Feyd-Rautha fell to his knees in pain.

“Now!” Igor screamed, “or I will beat you to death myself!” He gasped for breath: “fuck the whore, the useless whore. Fuck her. Fuck her till she bleeds. Break her. Break yourself. Or I will break both of you.”

Ivan looked down on you. As you tried to stand up, he had already fallen to his knees and did as he was ordered.

During the ordeal, Feyd-Rautha was forced to watch, not being allowed to avert or close his eyes. As you were humiliated, you saw rage developing within him. You tried to leave your body, but you couldn’t. Although you were not in control anymore, you were still bound to it. You would have given everything not to be subjected to this treatment. This horror. This humiliation.  

Before long Igor laughingly declared, after Ivan had finished himself in you with small tears flowing from his eyes: “this is what happens if you take what is mine, my dear nephew” as he waved his hand to have you and Ivan removed.

You were too distressed to register the treatment that followed for the young lord.

+++

The days after the ordeal were spent locked in the quarters of the lowest servants. You were fed through a small opening in the door, and got some worn clothes, but no-one came to see you. Deep inside of you, you had hoped Feyd would have visited you, but he did not. Nor did any of the other concubines, or even Ivan. You were left to your own devices, fearful of what may come. The lonely days started to eat at you. You started to succumb to distress, in absence of any information or even human attention. You felt abandoned.

You started to lose track of time.

You stopped taking care of yourself.

+++

Long after you had stopped trying to count the days, you heard the lock open from outside your door. The moment had come for the continuation of the torture. You scooted back behind the bed, trying to hide, knowing any fate was inevitable.

It was Ivan.

“Come with me, quickly, milady” he said, as he reached out to you. Recognising he had meant no harm while forcing himself upon you, you grabbed his hand and followed him through a hallway littered with dead bodies. Looking back at Ivan you saw he had committed the bloodshed, being drenched in Harkonnen blood. His bruises had started to heal, but wounds were still visible.

Within minutes you were standing outside, in the courtyard, where you were being led into an ornithopter. Ivan jumped in the back, once he had helped you grab the front seat. There you were buckled in by the na-Baron. As a response to your questioning look, he placed a hand on your knee, speaking menacingly: “nobody treats what is mine like that” and you were airborne.

High up in the sky, hovering above the palace in Barony, he continued to speak. “My uncles are in the pleasure wing this evening. You will bring them salvation for what they did to those who serve me. You will bring me what I deserve.”

“What do you mean?” you questioned. Fearful of what may happen.

“Ivan, give her the bow” he grunted.

Ivan handed a bow and arrow to you. You looked at it, and saw they actually brought you your own bow. They were planning something.

“I have seen you practice. Your shot is good enough to reach the wing. I need you to shoot an arrow in that direction. Can you do that?” he phrased like a question, while he knew the answer already.

“Of course, but why? Why does it make sense?” you challenged.

“Because your arrow will carry fire” as he turned his face to stare you deep into your eyes.

“Fire?” you asked, as you still did not catch on to what he was saying.

“Yes. The entire wing in laced with kerosine” he smirked, his luscious lips curling into delightful little bows.

“Light my arrow” you coldly replied as you placed it on your bow and presented the point to Ivan.

“I chose the right person” he chuckled as he placed his hand on your knee again, squeezing it to remind you that you who your master was.

That night you received your revenge, as you looked upon the heat rising up from the place so many horrors ensued from. You decided that the flames carried the screams of the men who had enslaved and raped you. Whether you were a means to an end, a means to Feyd-Rautha’s end – just an excuse to gain rulership, or whether you were more; it did not matter, now you were truly his.

+++

Post note: sorry, I could not help myself with the three striped mark. He was just so delicious in his Adidas trousers… and I have been listening to Kerosine of Crystal Castles on repeat for the last few days