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e1dritchjackal0pe · 16 days

Text

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɢᴏᴅ

Summary: Despite a night of heat and blood spent with the na-Baron, reality emerges to remind you of the nature of your union with the Harkonnen heir.

It inspires hesitance and jealousy in you, but he's proving to be difficult to resist.

Warnings: 18+ content, MDI. AFAB, Jealous reader. Death threats as foreplay? (Sounds wilder than it is). Oral (m!receiving), throatf*cking, some mild degradation, pain kink (m and f), rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, blood, canon typical violence, death.

Notes: 23.6k words. Not proofread. Feyd has black cum, fully inspired of course by @valeskafics

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎

An airy, bubbly sounds breaks through the dark, distorted fuzz. A soft heat prickles at your fingertips and rests down on your limbs with a soothing weight and fills your skull with a placid stuffing. It's peaceful. Guarded underneath a silky pressure that drapes over your body, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth that distantly reminds your sluggish mind of sunbathing underneath the golden cast of the Caladan sun. The tranquility of it all has sleep luring you close again, urging that you welcome it, but infuriatingly, you can sense consciousness beginning to nudge at the edges of your slumber. You're unable to repress the flare of irritation that courses through you, and in a scramble to figure out what's disturbed you, your mind sharpens to try and focus on your surroundings.

You're still too tired to bother opening your eyes, but one of your hands absentmindedly reaches out, slipping across something smooth and lightly chilled. A bed, a faraway thought quietly supplies. It's enough to have last night rushing and fliting across your eyes. Playing glimpses of writhing limbs and low sighs. The scent of him had transferred onto your skin during your time down in the bathhouse and you could smell it heavy on the sheets, crisp, raw and warm with cleansing oils; heady from the salt of sweat and sex.

The memories of last night threaten to pull you back under, tingling over your skin and rising over you like the glide of hands, mingling with the tempting swadle of sleep. That light, breathy chortle sounds out again, dancing across the air in a way that's horrendously human. It's then that your brain becomes alert to the divots weighed down into the plush support of the bed, encircling your body and shifting with moving, living weight. You jerk back from underneath the cover of your blankets, scrambling up to create distance between you and the strangers in your room and the sound of chiming, delighted laughter trails after you. It isn't until your spine nudges against the harsh chill of the headboard that you get a look at them. The intense flash of pure black eyes, the glint of grinning, obsidian teeth. The women perch along the edges of your bed, stretched and seated like lithe statues dressed in contoured, dark garb.

Even with your heart fluttering frantic and surprised within the cage of your chest, you feel no ill intent from them, just plain, genuine curiosity. Their heads are tilted as they watch you, calmly roving their blank gazes over you like you're some sort of strange creature splayed open on an operating table for study. But you're beginning to feel that initial sense of shock thaw, giving way to your own curiosity and even a shred of annoyance. Mostly for yourself for allowing several people to creep within your quarters while you were at your most vulnerable.

"Who are you?" You ask, allowing yourself to relax from against your tense position along the headboard. None of the three say a word yet, but the one to the left of you lets her grin stretch wider, and something feral passes through the expression. It's a violent gleam. Though it's difficult to tell if that violence is in regard to you, or if it just happens to be a part of her nature. But it's the one in the center, more demure in her features and her eyes much sharper, nearly sleepy in their hold, that speaks first.

"We just came to see you. " She all but coos, her voice close to a low, breathy whisper.

"We heard you were a pretty thing," says the other, marked with a solid, vertical stripe along her forehead. She dares to slink a little bit closer, stalking forward on her palms with the silky, calculated movements of a hunter.

Your body urges you to move out from her scope, to slip from the bed so that you would be able to create distance between you and the women. But this suddenly feels like some sort of test. A competition of wills. You rise without second thought, straightening your posture and pinning your gaze onto hers; unflinching, even when she comes close enough for you to feel the heat of her radiating across your skin. You don't allow yourself to so much as glance away from her, even as the dark slate of her eyes twinkle with a wild type of mirth. The other women creep closer as well like a pack of wild dogs sniffing out if a cornered animal might be wounded enough to become prey. It unnerves you, even though you can sense no weapons on their bodies, but agitation still bubbles and sears within your chest. Compulsively, you can feel the influence of the Voice thrumming on the tip of your tongue, itching at the back of your throat with the desire to be released. It would be easy to assert yourself, to command them to back away with an order that could not be resisted. But using the Voice would come with its own possible consequences this early on, and so with a great amount of self-restraint, you swallow it down.

Seemingly satisfied with what she has seen, she backs away from you and the others follow to perch along the far edges of the bed without removing their eyes from your form.

"We wanted to see our Master's newest pet, " the one on your left discloses softly, reaching forward to take a piece of your hair within the gentle grasp of her fingertips. She inspects it with a curious tilt of her chin, admiring the low glint of the dim light reflecting in the color.

The urge to bat her hand away from you is snuffed out as quickly as it had risen, catching onto her words with a startling quickness, zeroing in on the usage of "master." The term "pet" doesn't slip your mind either. Neither does the implication that you all apparently belong to the same entity. It's pathetic, but the revelation makes your heart stall for a moment too long, skipping a lengthy beat right within the cradle of your chest. The sense of fondness in you dies out like a smoldering ember draining of its warmth and heat until it's left cold and ashen, and only the sting of betrayal remains.

"The na-Baron," you supply. Though the remark is mostly just a thought spoken aloud. His title is suddenly like glass slipping from your mouth, sharp and unforgiving. They don't respond with words, but the unanimous sighs that leave them at the utterance of his designation are breathy and nearly euphoric, like merely the mention of him brought them close to pleasure. The sight of it made your skin crawl, out of disgust or jealously, you can't tell with the emotions so similar. But even without a verbal reply, their reactions are more than enough to provide a proper answer. These women are the na-Baron's concubines. You don't know why the realization floods your body with a charge of venom and scathing resentment. Their position as his pleasure slaves does nothing to your status as his fiancé - as his wife. It's completely normal for men in high positions of power to indulge in the services of permanent paramours. It doesn't pose a threat to you or your intended marriage with the na-Baron in the slightest. So it makes no sense that something acidic and biting coats your tongue, joined with the rise of an urge that threatens to be almost violent.

You trample down that inclination with a swiftness, burying it deep to pretend that it had never existed, even while the presence of the three of them sitting so near burns at you like an acid. It isn't fair to have this reaction towards these women. Women, who like you, are only obeying their duties (even if they happen to take satisfaction in it). It makes less sense because Lady Jessica, a concubine herself, had warned you of the possibility of the na-Baron taking on inferior wives. Hedonism is something that bleeds heavily, not just in Harkonnen society, but in men. This disclosure should bear no shock. It should not prompt jealousy or hurt in you, but it does. And in your internal conflict, your mind latches onto the possibility that he had taken to their comfort after your time in the bathhouse. That after his use of you, he used their bodies to bring him pleasure like you had meant nothing.

"Master is so harsh sometimes; he often breaks his pets," the one to your left divulges softy. She tilts her head like a curious feline, and he lips peel back in a jovial grin. "I do hope that he doesn't break you."

Once again, the urge to use the Voice weighs heavy in your mouth, searing like poison and fire, clawing against your chest and the hollow of your throat with a fervor. Your eyes sweep over the three of them, heavy with your intent while heat burns in your veins.

"Get out." The sharp cut of your voice carries through the dark void of the room with a sense of finality. But your tone isn't carried by the Voice. It's completely human and bare in your resolve. You'll give them the dignity of leaving on their own accord, if only this once.

They give you unruffled smiles in response, undisturbed by your command, but one by one they begin to slink themselves from the expanse of your bed to cross over to the door. They giggle amongst themselves as they go, crowded close to each other like a procession of gossips, murmuring lowly in their delight as they slip through the threshold. The door slips close with a pronounced, airy hiss before the space falls into a heavy silence that hangs over you like a threat. The urge to slip your eyes closed and fall into a deep slumber does not greet you again. It's hard to do something so vulnerable when it feels as though you're in a tomb. You aren't sure how long you remain like that for, tucked away on your bed with anger brewing in your gut. And the hours that tick by are torturously long, extended by the slow rotation of the planet, dragging the remainder of the night by in a slow glide. It makes you feel as though you might be going insane, losing touch with reality with every second longer in the shadows. But you aren't so sure if you want the dawn to come either, with it bearing the promise of a wedding.

The promises that he had made earlier, the saccharine pledges of his devotion have turned sour. Tainted. Gone bitter like the flavor of his polluted blood that had stained your lips earlier. But it's the self-disgust that hurts the most. You had let yourself be seduced so easily by pretty words and a handsome face. You had let yourself believe that you were the only one. That a man as indulgent as him would only have eyes for you.

You aren't truly sure what hour it is when a swarm of servants enter your chambers, sweeping through the dim dark of the room like gliding spirits from an ancient folktale. Gathering you from your bed like delicate phantoms - harbingers of ill will. But you allow them to do what they need with you. Like a prisoner trapped within your own body, you let them clean and pamper you, dousing your body with enticing oils and perfumes, anointing the soft skin over your womb with a dark paste in an old superstitious right meant to induce fertility, smearing the black across you with the glide of their fingers to leave four lines behind. It made your skin prickle and crawl at the prospect of it.

Each of them moved diligently, quietly. Not so much as whispering a word to you once. Their blank, pallid faces were all unknown to you, and their presence had made you wonder of where your own handmaidens had gone. What the Harkonnen may have done to them in your absence. Fear pinched your gut and sunk in it heavily like led. Deep down you know what happened to them. What terrible fate had befallen them the moment that you had allowed them to be escorted away from you. It nudged at the back of your mind like a cold, deathly hand. Unforgiving and harsh. It left you to be as still as a doll has the Harkonnen servants had guided you into the delicate, embroidered material of your wedding garment. A glorified death shroud. It disgusts you to look at it. The union of the Caladan saltwater pearls and the softly beaded volcanic rock that had been sewed into the pale, sweeping fabric made you sick. The symbolism is not lost on you. As heavy-handed as it is, meant to imply the bonding of your respective houses. But the sight of the blackened beads feels more like a stain on your dress than an enhancement. And when they had secured the embellished lace veil upon your head, draping it over your face, you had been thankful for the scarce bit of security it provided.

But you know now that the sheer cast it offers is not enough to save you. Suddenly, you feel as though you're the one standing in the midst of an arena. Whether you're the victor or the victim, you aren't sure. But hundreds of eyes stare at you like you're a spectacle. Socialites, distant relatives to the Harkonnen family, and members of Minor Houses alike are all gathered to gawk and witness. You aren't sure how many guests are here in total, but the number is overwhelming as they observe you; probing, searching, evaluating, the amount of them so great that the crowd nearly presses up against the distant, colossal walls of the ceremonial chamber. And you're certain that a Bene Gesserit Sister must be hidden here somewhere amongst the masses, intent to monitor your union to the na-Baron. It makes you feel judged; like you've been sliced open, and your organs have been laid bare. The sheer vastness of the hall, the sleek divots designed into the walls make you feel as though you've been sucked into the textured, inky gut of a titanic beast.

But even worse is the sight of a familiar person posted at the top of the vast platform, dressed in dark, traditional garb, silently waiting for you to begin your descent down the aisle like a sinister idol awaiting its sacrifice. It's nerve-wracking, and the urge to turn and flee rises up, strong and acidic. The low, gentle baritone of the ceremonial music projecting from the strange alien instruments does little to soothe you. You can practically feel the pulse of it reverberating across your sinew and bones, and it's as though the power of the music alone compels you forward. Dragging you towards your fate like you're being forced along by a leash around your throat. You have to squeeze your fingers together in an effort to anchor yourself, hoping that the gesture will not be too obvious.

You can feel the gentle tug of your servants' hands on the flowing skirt of your gown and veil, keeping them from becoming soiled along the obsidian tiles, following you like compliant dolls. Their presence burns into the back of your mind, searing you with guilt and self-loathing. They serve as a harsh reminder, a cold possible reality for you. Your handmaidens should be in their place, but they aren't. It burns at your gut, cruel and condemning, and doubled with the heavy weight of the na-Baron's fixed gaze, the pressure of it all threatens to make your knees buckle. His sharp eyes on you has nausea pooling in your gut, oily and thick, and it shocks you to think that just last night you had delighted underneath that stare. He had made you feel like you were something to be coveted; salvation incarnated in human form. But now you feel tricked. Soiled. And you're left to wonder if it had not been reverence at all, but possession. An over bloated sense of ownership and entitlement that you had foolishly mistook for desire and genuine affection.

It makes you want to lash out. At him. At yourself. The way that he looks at you now is so confusing. His expression is neutral, placid, nearly guarded. But you swear that you can see the hint of something flicker underneath the surface. Something that nearly bears resemblance to impatience. Like he was eagerly awaiting your arrival on equal ground. It has a glimmer of hope simmering in your chest and you're careful to snuff it out without even bothering to entertain it. It's a useless feeling here.

You try your best not to meet Feyd-Rautha's gaze as you near in your approach, training your vision straight ahead to study the lurking figure of the Minister in an effort to distract yourself; towering and bathed in dark robes with their face concealed by the smooth shroud of a sort of reflective face covering. But it backfires completely and the look of them only serves to put you even closer on edge. They seem like a haunting pillar of death. A foreboding psychopomp meant to usher the weak into the afterlife and bind them to the underworld. It seems you'll be one of those souls today.

The pedestal that the Minister stands before bears a matching set of rings, both dark and simple in their design, and you catch the subtle impressions of geometric patterns etched into the steel. But what truly garners your attention are the twin daggers that accompany them, and they only seem to solidify your intangible death. The wink of their smoky blades underneath the subdued lights glares out like a warning, beckoning you closer and commanding that you shy away all at once.

But you move forward, treading up the steps with a forced resolve. The servants depart from you once you have ascended, leaving you to face Feyd-Rautha alone as they disappear to the far points of the stage and vanish into the heavy shadows. The small hint of confidence that you've managed to gather wavers for a moment when you catch the baleful observation of the Baron in your peripheral vision. Unable to ignore him from his place along the far end of the platform. His cold eyes following your every motion like he's waiting for you to waver or slip; gaze intent like a starved creature hoping for its prey to make a mistake and rush directly into the path of its snapping jaws. Given no other options you have to stare forward and meet the attention of the na-Baron. You hate the way that your body flushes with a simmering heat when he looks at you, instinctively longing for the feel of him even though it's only felt his touch for one night.

It's pathetic the way that you pine for him like some sort of frail, naive girl, but it's difficult to hide away from your own emotions when something as simple as his stare pulls you and pins you down with dark weight and smoke. The gravity that he watches you with should concern you, cause you to recoil underneath it. It's all hunger and want glittering inside of them, projecting the hint of danger. But like a glutton for punishment, you feel a piece of yourself thrilled by the attention, even though you try to trample it down.

You nearly flinch when the sharp, booming voice of the Minister reverberates across the room, cutting and baritone with a clipped roll of the Harkonnen tongue. You swear you can see a damp flicker of amusement flit across Feyd-Rautha's expression in response, but it's gone as quickly as you had seen it. You're unable to focus on the subtle irritation that courses through you at his mirth, too overstimulated in your struggle to understand the Minister. But you draw a complete blank when you realize that it's the general language and not the battle dialect that you had been able to obtain back on Caladan with the slim amount filmbooks and old texts that were provided. It leaves you horrifyingly lost, and you can't figure out a single word that's been uttered thus far. It's like you've been caught inside a nightmare, surrounded by the attention of thousands that you don't recognize, left astray as words uttered in a language that you do not know is enunciated with a clipped finality that will seal your fate for a lifetime. Your heart flutters restlessly in your chest, striking heavily like it wishes to break free and beckon you into the sweet embrace of death.

It surprises you when the na-Baron moves closer, a subtle shift that most might not be able to notice but you can practically feel him draw nearer with the brush of his body heat dipping past your respective garments and gliding over your skin. It urges you to give him your concentration, fastening your focus onto him until the conformed chaos around you dims into a low thrum.

"I will guide you." He reassures you, voice firm and certain in its graveled edge. And you're glad for the verbal communication or else you might have grown nervous as he runs his fingertips across the slim hilt of a dagger before taking it in his grip. Your tongue is thick and heavy against the roof of your mouth when he lifts the blade, and your heartbeat pulses throughout the veins of your throat as you silently observe, transfixed when he deftly flips the weapon over on the edges of his fingertips to offer you the hilt. Something passes between you two as you gaze at each other; a request, the offer of permission, the desire for acceptance.

Hesitance quivers inside of you for just a moment, nearly strengthened by the panicked instinct to pick up your skirts and run. But instead, you find yourself reaching forward with hardly any more thought and taking the chilled grip of the blade into the clutch of your hand. The heft of it strikes you, the subtle ridges crafted into the handle threaten to dig into your palm but your grasp on it remains deceptively strong, almost as if your nerves aren't frayed and split from your anxieties. The craftsmanship of the weapon is unquestionably Harkonnen, designed with the elegant, streamline edges and a recurve style - a favorite amongst the house it seems. Despite being a ceremonial dagger, its weight is well balanced. Even between the grip and the blade, and the feel of it in your palm is familiar despite the differences in technique in comparison with Atreides weapons.

With the security of having it in your grasp, you nearly feel as though you might manage to survive the ritual, even if just barely. But the confidence in you wavers just slightly as you watch the na-Baron pick up the opposing dagger. It has the memory of his violence in the arena flashing in your mind. His skill with a blade, the precision with how he wields them. It would be so easy for him to drive the dagger forward and to sink it into your stomach, to gut you open with the flick of his wrist and bear your reddened belly for the masses. And as senseless as that train of thought is, it does have you tensing underneath the probing scrutiny of the gathered crowd. But you don't catch so much as a glimmer of that feral brutality in his eyes, the controlled edge of savagery that had dipped over his posture when he had sauntered and slaughtered within the confines of the colosseum. His expression is still controlled, dare you say, peaceful even.

"There will be pain." He says, and as terrifying as those words are, the tone with which they are spoken with is done without a hint of ire or sadism. It's not said to instill fear or frighten you; it's said to prepare you. To give you time to brace for what's to come.

The Minister's voice thunders throughout the room once more as their hands spread wide in a sweeping flourish, gesturing to you and the na-Baron in a welcoming, encouraging manner. It's then that Feyd-Rautha extends his empty left hand to you, upturned and splayed open for you to accept, and his gaze unwavering. "You have to cut; just deep enough for it to bleed. But only the palm is necessary." His explanation dips over you with the sting of chilled slivers, threatening to make you shudder. When you had seen the blades earlier, you entertained the idea of something of this nature, as violent as the Harkonnen seem to be with nearly every inch of their culture soaked in blood. You were just hoping that it wouldn't have made its way here as well. But it should have been expected that a ritual as serious as marriage - the joining of two souls - would require such a powerful, symbolic offering. There is truly no way around this. You have no other option but to honor the exchange, even though the thought of it has your stomach prickling and turning with dread.

It's shocking. Now that you're well and able to raise a knife to the na-Baron, you should find yourself pleased with the very notion to inflict pain on him, but you find yourself wavering instead. As though you're disturbed by the very idea of it, even though you had sunk your teeth into him just hours earlier and drew blood. But the air had been thick with excitement then, heady and sultry with the scent of salt and arousal, and the way that he had commanded you to had been too tempting to ignore. If you draw blood now, there will be no turning back for you. The pact will be sealed. Irreversible. Binding you both together by name. By house and flesh.

But now you're just being hopeful. Idiotic, even. You've always been promised to become Harkonnen by title. You've been promised to the na-Baron long before either of you have even been born; a meticulous web weaved by the Bene Gesserit. - forces far out of your control. Even if you turned heel now and ran, at best you would be captured and humiliated before being forced into a union with the na-Baron. At worst, you would permanently mar the potential of a reconciliation with both houses and tip them into another war. But wickedly, if you're being completely honest with yourself, you don't want to flee. The sting of betrayal and hurt is piercing in your chest, tight, restricting and threatening to claw at your lungs as you breathe, but you still have no desire to hide from your duties. From him.

And the need to claim him hangs over you like something violent and starving. The urge to stake your mark on him - a warning to others who may dare to look at him. Almost blindly you reach forward, slipping the hold of your hand underneath his, securing it in place as you lift the sharp edge of the dagger towards the delicate, exposed skin of his palm. Your eyes meet as you raise the blade, and it almost surprises you when you see nothing but eager resolve staring back at you, like he can't wait for you to cut into him. It has last night playing across your mind; the sensation of skin breaking underneath your teeth, the taste of him in your mouth, the thrum of his covetous groans trembling underneath your tongue. It's enough to drive the blade forward and you press the lethal point of it against his flesh until the weight of it presses it down and a dark liquid wells up to the surface, almost pitch black and glinting with a barely there burgundy hue.

You're unable to take your eyes away from him as you drag the blade along his skin, splitting it open underneath the glide of the sharpened steel. You swear you can see something near rapturous pass through his controlled expression as you slice his palm, and you hate the low simmer of heat the rolls throughout your body in response. It has you retracting the blade before you those smoldering feelings could light into something deeper, but that narrow wound must have been satisfactory enough because the na-Baron appears pleased with the look of it. You follow the subtle instruction he had implied with the nod of his head to return the dagger to its place on the pedestal. The scrap of the steel against the smooth stone rings out clearly across the ceremonial chambers, even with the strange music still thrumming in the background. But it's difficult to focus on all of that when Feyd lifts his arm over one of the wedding bands and balls his hand into a fist to force the flow of blood, sanctifying the jewelry with the drops of his blackened blood.

It's over sooner than you expect, and he lowers his arm once after only a few moments and shifts his attention on you expectantly for you to lift your own hand, and in some mindless sort of compulsion you find yourself presenting your open palm to him without hardly a trace of hesitance in your body.

His gaze is evaluating again. Heavy like he's waiting to see if you'll flinch as he secures your wrist in a light grip and raises the blade up towards your hand and it glints in a muted silver. But the urge to cower or escape doesn't greet you like you expect it to. You're calm. Content even. And there's some perverse little part of you that eagerly waits for the sharp edge to meet your flesh. He must notice the yearning glimmer in your eyes through the cover of your veil, because you see recognition flicker across his features, just as heavy and wanting. Like the prospect of you welcoming the bite of the blade pleases him, and in turn it has the hint of desire you had felt earlier back with a vengeance; greedy and starved.

He finally presses the edge of the dagger against the tender flesh of your palm, but you don't so much as flinch. Something prickling flutters inside of your stomach, but it's hard to tell if its nerves or a damning hint of excitement. Once again, your eyes have found each other, your focus securely fixed as he pins the sharpened end of the blade along your hand and drags it to slice. White-hot heat licks across your flesh, stinging as your skin gives and parts around the lethal steel with a rich red trailing in its wake. Your lips part in a short gasp - a weak attempt to center yourself around the flare of pain and surprise, but the steady, warm weight of his grip around your wrist serves to keep you concentrated. And with the dark hold of his stare on you it pulls every ounce of your attention onto him until the burning throb shooting across your palm fades into a weak sting. Relief rushes back over you like a breath of air when he lifts the weapon from your flesh, and you're entirely transfixed as he lifts the blade to his mouth and smears the bead of blood across the plush curve of his lips; the red a contrast between the stark shade of his skin. Only then does he place the dagger beside its twin. It strikes you that he hadn't asked you to take this step earlier while your own blade was still stained with drops of black, and it leaves you feeling lost, stuck in uncertainty and surprise until the realization quickly dawns on you that this may not even be an official part of the ritual. That he might have taken it upon himself to anoint his mouth with the red from your veins. It reminds you again of the way that his own had tasted on your tongue, thick and faintly acerbic. It's like he's trying to return the favor. To anoint himself in your blood as you had done with his.

The sight of him smeared with red has you transfixed, and it if it wasn't for the damp heat slipping down your palm you would have forgotten the next step entirely. You tear yourself from your daze with a ragged breath and turn your head to watch as you raise your arm above the pedestal to line your maimed flesh above the larger ring. It's a surprise to yourself when you don't hesitate to curl your fingers into a tight fist, clenching your palm to christen the band with a few generous drops of your blood. The distinction between the blackened steel and the rich crimson is nearly beautiful in a crude sort of way. Fitting for a Harkonnen wedding.

The na-Baron raises his wounded hand in the air, instantly drawing your attention to where he keeps it suspended before you; palm upturned once more as he passes you an expectant look, and his voice rumbles out in a gentle command. "Give me your hand. "

Hesitation nearly raises its head again, weighing down your limbs and begging that they remain still. But that other part of you acts without little contemplation, pulling your arm up in an offering. You watch silently with your breath trapped and stagnant in your lungs as he plucks up the ring smeared with his own blood up from its place on the pedestal; slick with black and glittering with the damp. The steel is chilled when he slips it around the width of your ring finger, but the fresh coat of the darkened liquid is still hot with the warmth of his body. It smears over your skin as he guides the wedding band until its snug along your knuckle, staining you with the vigorous liquid that had just flowed through his body. The pressure of it around you is so foreign. Strange. And your muddled mind can hardly comprehend that you're even wearing it at all.

It makes you feel as though you're acting on instinct alone when you shift to grab the remaining piece of jewelry from its place beside you. Taking it between unsteady fingertips. Your mouth is dry and hollow, making you hyperaware of the frantic pulse of your heartbeat fluttering within your chest. The intensity of the na-Baron's stare is stifling, like he could suffocate you with the weight of it alone. But you don't allow yourself to concentrate on the strength of his gaze. You look to his hand instead, lifted and patiently waiting. It's enough to give you the incentive to move forward, reaching out the slip the ring around the bare finger to mar it with a fresh coat of red.

It could be your imagination, but the music reverberating across the thick atmosphere seems to spike, pulsing and beating like the breath and heart of a living being. You can sense it underneath your feet, nearly becoming overwhelming with the pressure of the crowds' eyes boring into you eagerly. And when the Minister leans over towards you both, your soul feels as though it might evict itself from your body and leave its vessel behind. You force yourself remain firm and motionless, focusing on the comforting weight of the na-Baron's hand underneath your own, the soothing warmth radiating from it and seeping into your flesh. It's like a dream as you watch Feyd-Rutha - your husband, lace his fingers through yours, sealing you in a pact made from blood.

The Minister's voice rises high, hurtling close to some sort of finality in its climb and they sweep their arms into the air with another flourish. It's then that Feyd-Rautha steps even closer to you with a gaze that strips you bare and leaves you a little breathless; thrumming like a live wire as his presence pours over you like a simmering liquid. You have no desire to move away from him when he lifts his free hand to direct the cast of your veil from your face, gliding it across the crown of your head with the tug of his fingertips, exposing you to him and leaving you vulnerable. You can see the way that his vision roves over your face, marking each of your features like he's studying you, hunting for a shred of reluctance or fear. Everything else becomes muted, dull in comparison to the pale blue of his eyes and the pull of them draws you in. Causing the buzz of the music to dampen; the weight of the betrayal you've felt fading into an afterthought underneath the brush of his lips over yours.

Anticipation pulses in your veins as he angles his head when he draws near, nudging the edge of your jaw to keep you secure as his mouth presses against yours in a bruising kiss that tastes of blood; metallic and sharp. All of your attention seems to siphon down in this exact moment, settling into your skin to hone in on the press of his body against yours. It's embarrassing how easily you give into him once the taste of him is on your mouth, melting with the flavor of your blood. It should horrify you. Make you stumble away from him on weakened legs with terror in your gut, but the hint of his tongue brushing along your bottom lip only serves to pour something molten directly into your bloodstream, and you have to pointedly remind yourself that you're in public during your wedding no less. But Feyd seems to have no shame, or the desire to conform to public decency because the way that he licks into your mouth is anything but chaste.

It threatens to make your mind fall completely blank and you distantly register the climbing timbre of the Minister's voice as it strikes across the atmosphere with a firm sense of finality in a declaration. You're nearly certain that the masses have erupted into a thunderous, celebratory cry of your name and the na-Baron's, but it might as well as fall on deaf ears with how the light tug of teeth on your lips melts your brain into mush. So it's nearly jarring when he pulls away from you, breaking the kiss just as quickly as it had begun to turn and face the crowd with pride in his stance. In a sort of daze, you follow his lead with the impression of his lips still tingling on your mouth and the tumultuous chanting of the guests roaring in your ears. He raises your joined hands high in the air, brandishing them in a sign of triumph much like he had flaunted his gore-soaked blade in the arena, in a confident proclamation of your successful union.

But the rhythmic chorus of your name has mutated and shifted into a title that's jarring to hear:

na-Baroness.

The festive cries of your new title ring in your ears well after they have died out. It rattles within the recesses of your skull, burying deep as you presented yourself before the guests, accepting tokens of good will and gifts bestowed on you from Harkonnen aristocrats and nobles as blessings upon your marriage. Everything from lavish, exotic jewels to a pair of hunting dogs, all of which you had accepted with a smile on your face despite being horridly overwhelmed, crowded by strangers who had flocked near as though they were long time acquaintances. The masses attentions follow you well into dinner where you're held under both intrigue and scrutiny alike as you all satiated yourself with a banquet's worth of imported meats and fruits. You could feel the prickle of their eyes on you, roving over your flesh with the heat of indignation and outrage. You could see it clearly reflecting in many of their gazes even though they left their words unsaid. Atreides scum. That's what they desired to say.

Realistically, you had always suspected that you wouldn't be received by open arms with the entirety of the masses. Not with the centuries of bad blood and horror built between your respective houses, it was to be anticipated that the majority wouldn't be very receptive to your introduction to the Harkonnen name. Marriage will not be enough to unwrite all of the upheaval and carnage; all of the souls lost between both sides. Enemies, regardless of your new status and husband, are to be expected. But the raw, flaying weight behind their fleeting glances still manages to dig at you, burying underneath your skin like an irritating sliver of wood. It all serves as a deadly reminder as to how truly isolated you are here. Left adrift with no familiar faces to console you.

You try to distract yourself with the feast spread out in front of you, analyzing the abundance of off-world produce and rich meats like it's all the most fascinating thing that you've encountered. But you're hyperaware of the gentle chiming of glasses and the delicate scrape of silverware cutting across dark porcelain. Every sound and sensation seems to be amplified by the man stationed on the lower section of the dining hall, crowded alongside other wealthy guests as they enjoy the banquet. The distance between you is so vast that his pallid features aren't fully discernable, but you're still able to get a decent view of him from your place at the high table, and the intensity of his frigid stare is almost like a physical thing, slipping over your skin in a way that's grating.

You're just barely able to recognize him as a general among one of the Baron's military units. He had taken your hand earlier, kissed your knuckles in a show of respect. But you're unable to see even a hint of that acclaim now. He watches you in between the lulls of his conversations like he means to skin you alive, not even bothering to hide his bold contempt. It has caution unfurling inside of you, turning bitter and restless from the weight of his suspicious glances, and the sight of the steak knife that he utilizes in his hand does not ease your discomfort.

Truly your only sense of repose is the warmth projecting from the na-Baron as he sits at your side, but even then, the sensation of it is woefully dull. Dampened by the considerable amount of distance placed between your chairs. And even with that sense of betrayal still simmering lowly under the surface, you can't ignore the fact that you wish he was closer. But you're not afforded the luxury of openly showing your need for comfort. If you're going to survive these cold, brutal walls then you're going to have to keep your emotions and suspicions close to your chest.

But that doesn't mean that you can't allow yourself a distraction. Without little thought you reach for the goblet plentiful with a muted red spirit, careful not to use your injured hand as you take it by its delicate stem to lift the chalice to your lips, swallowing down a large gulp. A part of you had been bracing for a harsh burn, or the flavoring of something odd or exotic, but the taste that washes over your mouth is almost jarringly familiar. Saturating your tongue with the notes of something fruity, earthy and subtly sweet. The profile of it is unmistakable, and as soon as the flavor flows down your mouth it transports you back home. Placing you on rich, damp soil with rolling hills sweeping as far as they eye can see. Each one lined with rows of vineyards, fruitful with sweeping vines and plump, grapes that glitter in glints of silver and gold from the morning dew. For a moment you think that you could sob. Whether those be tears of joy or from the bittersweet sorrow of nostalgia, you aren't sure.

"I take it you like it."

The sound of Feyd-Rautha's throaty accented lilt breaks through your swarming thoughts, causing your head to swivel around to look at him. The expression that crosses your face is lost, if not a little incredulous as you observe him. He glances down at the chalice in your hand, sparing a slight nod with the implication. "I wasn't sure which one would please you more. You Atreides have an excessive variety of wine."

"You did this?" You ask, lips parting somewhat dumbly in your disbelief.

He doesn't answer you immediately. Instead, he looks off the table of guests at the bottom of the platform, eyes sweeping across them as though he's searching for something. "Our beverages can be potent for off-worlder's. I thought it'd be best to find something more agreeable for your soft palate." And there it is again. A subtle inflection in his voice that indicates that he might be trying to joke, but the neutral state of his face doesn't help discern if that theory is accurate or not. But it's difficult to stick and ponder about it for long with that dreadful hint of fondness creeping back in again. A smile threatens to lift at your mouth, and you find yourself struggling to ward off its influence as affection blooms inside of your chest like a sun's gentle warmth.

"Thank you," you say; nearly murmur in your soft awe. He does not respond verbally, with his lips already occupied by swallowing a gulp of his own drink, but he does spare you a nod. You eye his cup curiously, something playful rising up. The feeling is unexpected but not entirely unwelcome, and you find yourself leaning into it. "Is that one of your notorious beverages?" You don't wait for him to answer before you hold your unbandaged hand out in a silent request. "May I?"

He observes you like he's a little fascinated, and now you're certain that there's an amused glimmer burning in the dark of them. "Be my guest," he replies easily, and passes you the chalice. The liquid inside is dark, but the reflection of the dim lights above reveals faint undertones of amber in its hue. When you lift it up closer to your nose, no fragrance rises up to greet you. It's completely scentless, and it gives you no bases to prepare for what it may taste like. But 'potent' had been the word that the na-Baron had used, and it leaves you a little intimidated, but also entirely intrigued. Without much more thought, you nudge the chilled goblet against your lips and tilt it back to sample a generous sip. The first thing that strikes you is the heavy bitterness of it. It's nearly overwhelming on your tongue, full-bodied and acrid. And you're given hardly any time to adjust to it when the sharp bite of alcohol burns down your throat and settles in the pit of your stomach like something smoldering. You have to make the conscious effort to fight of the urge to wince, struggling to save face as Feyd watches you, but you're sure that he can see the influence of grimace tugging at your features.

" Is it too much for you, wife?" He asks, and his lips pull back just enough to show you the dark glint of his teeth.

The sound of the title leaving his mouth nearly makes your mind go blank. Of course, you realize that you're married now. The throbbing sting of the wound on your palm will not let you forget. But to hear it so freely acknowledged by his own accord is something else entirely. Truthfully, you aren't sure how to feel about it, if the delicate fluttering inside of your chest is out of nervousness or excitement. Once again, you're left confused by your own emotions. Torn between your internal conflicts as you struggle to come to terms with what you may desire, but the gravity of it all is too much to deal with, and almost desperately you cling onto the light taunt. Allowing it to rouse an impish competitive drive in you, and you're entirely unable to repress the smile on your face despite the dark, bitter taste still coating your tongue. "Not at all," you lie, leaning back in your seat. "In fact, I think I'll keep it for myself."

Something flickers in Feyd's gaze, and he suddenly leans into your space, stopping short just as you feel the heat of him waft over the swell of your cheeks. You expect to hear some sort of light goading or a sardonic jest, but when the low rasp of his voice sounds out, it's nothing of the sort. "You have eyes on you."

His words douse over you like a chill, even though the admittance isn't a revelation in the slightest. You can still feel the prickle of their judgement on your skin, searing with their hatred. From your peripheral vision you can still catch the way that the General still openly glares, clearly unrestrained in his loathing towards the Atreides' - and by proxy, you. But it strikes you more how the na-Baron candidly brings it to your attention, instead of ignoring it all together. That he would even bother or care enough. The way that he stares at you now is evaluating, like he's trying to figure out what thoughts may be surging through your head. How the admission might affect you. "I know," you answer, completely assured in your response. "It's fine. It's to be expected."

You see something pass through his eyes. It's dark and heavy, nearly cold but undiscernible and now you're the one struggling to perceive what kind of musings and notions he may be entertaining. It doesn't help that despite the concerning layer of resolve glittering in his stare, his overall expression remains decidedly placid. Something about it is terrifying. It makes him a blank slate. An impenetrable wall, and you can only try to guess what might be going on behind it. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that there's something vaguely chastising about his admiration of you, and you aren't sure how to feel about it. It has your hackles rising. The compulsion to defend yourself. But he's rising from his seat before you can utter so much as word. The sound of the legs skirting across the stone tiles cuts across the atmosphere in a hoarse groan, causing the active chatter to fall silent and everyone to swivel their attention onto the na-Baron like a pack of dogs focusing on a whistle.

The way that he moves is calm and practiced, and he hardly spares anyone so much as a glance as he picks up the steak knife situated alongside his plate. He takes it in his wounded hand without a single flinch before he moves around the around the high table, passing by the Baron without any acknowledgement and steadily saunters down the short row of steps to approach the banquet down below. You're lost to heed him from your place, practically glued to your seat with uncertainty and dread in your gut. You're unable to see his face from your position, but it's clear just who he has his concentration fixed on, and the blade of the knife glints like a warning.

But there's no possible way that Feyd-Ruatha truly means to kill anyone at this table. They all must be of importance to be seated here in the presence of the Baron, during his favorite nephews wedding no less. These people are part of alliances, important figures in Harkonnen society, indispensable in terms of noble and military connections. It leaves you as a collective to watch with a sense of awe and trepidation as Feyd approaches the table, forcing you to observe with batted breath in anticipation of what's to come. You dare to spare a cursory glance to the Baron in an attempt to gauge his reaction, but his own expression is just as steely and blank as his nephews. If he feels even an ounce of outrage or fury at the implication of the blade wielded in Feyd's hand, then he doesn't speak on it. If anything, he might possibly be intrigued.

The hush that's fallen over the guests is suffocating. Nearly everything that the na-Baron does can be likened to observing a great cataclysm - seeing fire and ash bleeding over the earth and searing the soil black. He's lethal and magnetizing all at once, splitting your consciousness into two separate directions. While morality screams at you to look away, fascination forces you to bear witness.

The General has to lean his body back to properly look upon Feyd as he nears him, and the ragged wrinkles in his face only deepen as he watches with a confused furrow fixed between his naked brows. You can see the older man's lips part in the beginnings of a question but not so much as a low breath gets to pass through them before Feyd's arm shoots out, barely a traceable blur as he grabs ahold of the General's skull to expose the vulnerable stretch of his throat. In that exact, fleeting moment you feel your heart skip a beat and ice turns your veins frigid and solid. You hardly track the movement of the blade. You see the glint of it, quick and silver, and then it's almost as if the wound simply materializes across the stretch of the General's neck, blossoming like a dark line before blackened blood flows from it in heavy streams.

Wet, harsh gurgles tear from his mouth as his chest rises and falls in heaving, choppy gasps in a failing effort to pull in oxygen. You could see the light die out from his eyes. Snuffed and dimmed like a weak flame on an old wick. All of the guests are left to stare in a state of shock as the General's body shudders in a final, seizing death rattle and his spine gives out. His head lolls and the rest of his body relents to the weight, rolling forward from its place on his chair and the front of his skull meets the harsh stone tabletop with a sickening, pronounced crack, rattling the silverware and glasses within the vicinity.

You fear that you might float away from your body, and the only thing that keeps you even remotely centered is the chilled sensation of the chalice in still held in your grip, the support of your seat underneath you. The death had been delivered so causally that it was difficult to register it. It plays behind your eyelids like a twisted dream, and the sound of the General's feeble, strained gasps echoing across the chamber drives your horror in deeper. It's gruesome how swiftly and carelessly he had been dispatched. Not even his rank amongst the Harkonnen military was enough to save his neck from the na-Baron's ire. You've seen Feyd kill before. His prowess in the arena, and the blood that he had skillfully shed. But this is entirely different. This had been someone important, with a voice and power within the Harkonnen military and still he was practically given a public execution because he had managed to gain the irritation of the na-Baron.

"Would anyone else like to pass glances at my wife?" Feyd inquires, much too stoic for someone who has just taken a life. And the analyzing stare that he sweeps over the guests table is just as cutting as the blade that he grips. "You should only feel so fortunate to look at her."

They all keep their heads lowered, eyes wide and fixed on the table in an effort not to meet his gaze; like he's an animal that might lunge if they do. A guard dog at the ready to tear flesh and break bone. But perhaps that's what truly concerns you. Even loyal dogs can have a tendency to bite. Static and cold flushes through you at his words, and you're absolutely flooded with a barrage of emotions; most of which you struggle to grapple with and recognize. They all pass too quickly. Rushing in a frantic pass before you can understand the textures and sway of them, but you're able to catch onto weak glimmers of them, conflicting responses of both a burning appreciation and an acerbic type of caution. It leaves you confused on which side to take. Which emotion you should give in to. You've heard of passion like this before. The consuming nature of it. The way that it can eviscerate the objects of its desire, ravage them until there is nothing but useless scraps left.

"Look at your na-Baroness," Feyd-Rutha commands suddenly. His voice is soft, but the stillness behind it offers no leeway for rebellion. "Ask for her forgiveness."

The order leaves you breathless and frozen even while it's not intended for you. The gravity offhandedly enforced behind it, the subtle edge of his voice giving no other option but to comply. You feel like a ghost as the socialites and nobles situated around the long table tear their eyes from the banquet. They're all reluctant in their movements, some rigid out of fear and others from outrage. Regardless, the weight of their eyes all move to you, fixing onto your form, shinning with the hint of unshed tears - tears of rage and terror alike. And like a collection of puppets their mouths open simultaneously, heads tilted in a show of contrition as multiple pleas spill from their many mouths, distorted and layered with their voices. You are only able to catch snippets of each one. But every plea is shaky and desperate in their humble whispers of mercy. Fearful like they expect for you to dismiss them and usher them to their deaths. The way that they look at you is too much. It sears at your skin and threatens to make your lungs burst within the safety of your chest, but you force yourself to hold their attention. Not allowing yourself the reprieve of looking away.

"You're all forgiven," you answer. The words are like sandpaper as they exit your mouth, scratching along your throat to tear out a gasp. The relief that comes over them is visible. Their shoulders relaxing from their tension, and they allow themselves to remove their focus from you. But even while you weren't the soul with your life on the line, the reprieve that they feel does not pass onto you; you're still wound up tight and breathless.

"It seems my nephew is already quite taken with you," the Baron muses aloud. It bade you turn your head to look at him from over the space that divides you, leaving you vulnerable to his gaze now that your husband has vacated his seat. His leer is cold and saturated with a sadistic mirth, making your muscles tense underneath his scrutiny in a brace for what might come from his mouth. "Tread lightly with Feyd. His attentions are a fickle thing, and I would hate to see you fall once the fire burns out."

But the pitiless smile on the Baron's lips is anything but worried or compassionate, and the pale, cold flash of his teeth glitters dully like a snarl. One of a ruthless sort of hope; counting the days in the anticipation of your supposed undoing. The image of it bleaches itself along the back of your mind, burning and heavy throughout the remainder of the feast, which had turned tense and awkward in the wake of the General's death. You hardly recall leaving the dining hall. Your brain had been spun tightly in a sort of haze, induced by the metallic scent of blood that had firmly wedged a place for itself into your nose. You do your best to combat the recent memories of it, still fresh and raw like the wound that's been sliced into your palm but the impression of it is too recent to ignore.

You hardly realize ever leaving the dining hall. It's as though you've blinked and materialized within the confines of a dim, unfamiliar chamber. The suddenness of it all is jarring and unforgiving. And the weight of your duty tonight hangs down on you like relentless weight. The responsibility to consummate, and to hopefully conceive an heir. It's all so heavy and bitter, searing at your tongue. And the muffled, strong blasts of the celebratory fireworks outside can practically be felt along your fingertips, reverberating alongside your racing heart. But it's the weight of the na-Baron's warmth pressing along your back that keeps you from floating away, grounding and soothing even while you stare at the lethal menagerie of blades that are mounted on the western wall. Trophies, a closer inspection reveals. Mementos taken to mark felled enemies no doubt. And there are so many. Daggers and swords. Knives taken from Sardaukar soldiers and Fremen warriors. Even a Crysknife, crafted from the fang of a great sandworm. That one in particular, you had marveled at from its place mounted high on the obsidian wall. It must be longer than your forearm, and nearly just as thick, shinning in ombre shades of tan and cinnamon. The colors of sweeping dunes. You could hardly imagine how massive a beast must be to hold a tooth of such a size within its maw, what great calamities it could invoke with the simple opening of its jaw.

But what truly catches your eyes is the glint of a familiar weapon. The dark ridges designed into the grip, the sleek, sharp edges of the blade. An Atreides dagger. The sight of it alone is enough to halt the rush of breath into your lungs, and one cursory glance along the wall has you counting at least seven more like it. The sight of them alone threaten to make you sick, stomach rolling with nausea as you traced your eyes over every single one, and your palms begin to sweat with the realization that these were only the ones that he had chosen to keep. The ones that he deems worthy enough to display. It has more of that pungent sense of betrayal welling up inside of you, rooting in deep and longing to still your heart. They serve as more deadly reminders of the perilous nature of your relationship with the na-Baron. That it's founded on death and rivalry.

But the gentle glide of his hands along your waist doesn't feel like rivalry. It's venerating; worshipful. It makes you long to lean into the supporting expanse of his chest while your principles tell you to rip yourself away from him.

"They died with honor." His voice breaks you from your transfixed survey with the pronounced sharpness of lightning striking across the earth. A chill douses over your skin when he chooses to step away from you, making you feel hauntingly bare and exposed in his absence. You have to turn your head to track him as he silently steps around you, nearly blinding into the shadows, lurking within the darkened corner of the room, and your body falls motionless when you find him staring at you with the locked practice of a predator. Already your body is confused, split between shying away from him and longing to step closer. It has you fixed firmly in place, wedged between a dreadful limbo with reason and instinct telling you two very different things, and you aren't sure which one to obey. But the silver glimmer of your soldiers' blades presented in your peripheral vision shriek at you to be disgusted. To remain resolute in your reservations and to keep away from him.

"Is that why you keep them?" You queried, even though a part of you insists that you to be silent. It's dangerous - stupid asking questions if you aren't fully prepared for the answer. You swallow the saliva that has pooled in the back of your throat from your nervousness, trying to center yourself around the outrage that burns within your chest like a white, righteous fire. His dark eyes search over you curiously, glittering like an animals would from the pale, nebulous lights casted from the distant corners of the ceiling.

"A warriors death deserves to be remembered. In the blood. The blade." His response is unexpected. You were bracing for something callous and detached. And perhaps, to an extent it is a bit disconnected. But not out of ignorance. It comes from a place of respect, as twisted, and perhaps sadistic as it is. Like he believes he's doing them a service by displaying their weapons, keeping the memory of their deaths alive and immortalized. You aren't sure what to do with his reasoning. You know that he can see you wavering, but instead of backing away from you he draws closer, shifting forward with a calculated saunter in his shoulders. "Does it make you fear me again?"

It makes you freeze still. Such a simple question but it has your mind falling flat and silent. The world around the both of you is quiet until all you could hear is the steady thrum of your blood rushing in your ears. Truthfully, you don't know how to respond. If you even want to. You're conflicted within the safety of your own mind, the only place that you should be free to flee to in your distress. But now you find no safety, find no reprieve or salvation in your thoughts. They're fractured down the middle, frayed between the pull of your emotions. Precariously dangling between what you want and what you stand for, and which ever one you choose may break you apart and ravage you from the inside out.

"I'm not sure," you answer. And as soon as it spills from your lips it leaves you hopeless and adrift.

He doesn't seem to be angered or affected by the revelation. His face is placid, undisturbed by even the insinuation of a single thought or reaction. It would be less unsettling if he simply lashed out or yelled. That at least, would give you some kind of footing to know what might be going on inside his head, but he remains uncomfortably silent, depriving you of a single glimpse. He nods his head, such a minute gesture that's hardly more than a tilt of his chin, and his vision flits down to the corner of the room for a moment, less than a second but it still offers you a small instance of respite before the dark of his eyes pins themselves back onto you. He seems to be considering something. What you aren't sure, but it sets you on edge as he begins to walk towards you, eating up the space that divides you with decided footsteps.

When he stops, there's only a few scant inches between you and him, and the weight of his presence nearly suffocates you, but you're unable to look away. Captivated by his gravity like a helpless, damned planet caught within the relentless, devouring field of a black hole. And in that precise moment, you entertain the thought that maybe this is where he expresses his anger or annoyance. But he remains unstirred, relaxed, controlled. It makes you nervous when he shifts even closer into your space and leans near enough that you could feel his warmth roll over you. And like a traitor your body thrums underneath the subtle heat, eager to bask in his presence and soak in the feel of him. But you hold yourself back.

The way that he regards you is intense. Heavy and stripping in its curiosity. But the desire held in it is still smoldering and thick, undisturbed by your unsure admittance. And that's truly what disturbs you. The unshaken fervor of his loyalty. The passion for you that he seems to feel despite having known you for such little time. It's concerning. Deeply troubling. You've seen lust and zealousness like this in others, and intensity always proves to turn volatile and die out in its vigor until cold indifference takes the place of fire and want. And maybe that is the root of all your anxiety and reluctance. The fear that this might just be the influence of a passing fancy. The high of something new. That once it passes and the wounds on your palms heal and mend into thin scars that the na-Baron might toss you away in the favor of his concubines. That you'll be another forgotten trophy pinned upon his wall. A brood mare dressed in ivory and pearls with the purpose of extending his bloodline and nothing more; the golden womb meant to birth his heir. It would be such a humiliating, gutting thing to discover that his loyalty was only ever fleeting. Purely driven by his desire and urges, and in the absence of his lust, his apparent reverence for you might give way and shift into a knife pointed at the tender stretch of your throat.

You know that the na-Baron has a sense of honor. But the laws for his personal brand of morality are uncertain. You aren't sure where his infatuation with you stems from. If it's truly pure (or as pure as it can be in terms of how he experiences emotions) in its adoration or if it only grows from a place of ownership; the promise that you've belonged to him since long before your - or even his conception. So it's difficult to know where his loyalty truly lies with you. The breadth of it and how deeply it may truly run. If it really is as unshakable and certain as it seems. Long before even being sent to Giedi Prime you had been warned that he had taken his own mother's life. The reasoning behind the matricide was undisclosed to you, but it hangs over you like a venomous cloud. It makes you reluctant to give into that depraved sort of temptation. If he was willing to strike his own mother down, what would keep him from snuffing out your last breath once your purpose is fulfilled?

You pivot to fully face him as a small rush of resolve flickers through you. It's dull and hesitant, but it's enough to inspire a challenge in you. You can tell that he notices the shift, whether it openly shows on your face or if he's just become well adept at reading you in your short time together, you aren't certain, but you see the intrigue light up in his appraising stare. It's still an effort to nudge the words from your throat, and you're thankful that you voice doesn't shake when you speak. "You told me last night that you would bring me the heads of a thousand men if it pleases me. What about three women?"

It shocks you to hear it and the question nearly burns on its way out, but you don't have time to dwell on it. You need answers, and the way that surprise and what might be a horrific reflection of delight flickers across his expression is a good enough hint as to what type of twisted thoughts are cavorting around in his head.

"You've met my darlings," he observes openly. You loathe the nasty streak of jealousy that cuts through you, but the muted sense of wonder in his voice is telling. He had no idea that his concubines had even visited you at all. He doesn't seem to be angered by the revelation. Neither by fact that they had taken it upon themselves to sneak into your quarters in the middle of the night, or that you had asked if he would be willing to take their lives. You aren't sure how to feel about it. Perplexed, perhaps. You'd figure that someone who refers to his concubines as his darlings would be at least a little protective over them. The smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips is frustrating. The urge to slap someone has never been so strong before. "Do they make you jealous, wife?"

"Of course not," you scoff. It sounds like a lie, even to you. And it feels like one as well. Heavy and loose on your tongue; rolling off of it like foreign words.

He looks unconvinced but makes no move to deny you. Instead, he tilts his head in a curious gesture, roving the dark glimmer of his eyes over you like he's searching for something. A weakness in your armor.

"Is that truly what you desire?" He asks, and his bare brows raise to further perpetuate his inquiry. You don't answer verbally. You keep your mouth fixed shut, letting your silence do the talking while you remain unwavering in your stare. The lazy amusement that permeates from him prods at your growing annoyance and restlessness. "Shall I bring you their heads or their hearts?"

His response makes every part of you lock still. Your mind falls blank and the blood pumping through your vein's halts in its flow before a torrent of emotions bursts through you like a chaotic deluge. In your mad, jumbled bewilderment you rove your vision over him, searching for the faintest suggestion that it may have been a joke or a lie. But the amusement that he had displayed earlier is gone. Replaced by a confidence and tranquility that should be unsettling. It's sickening, the satisfaction that surges across your chest at his easy compliance. A disgusting contentment, all because he would be willing to slay the women that he's probably garnered for years with just a simple command from you.

"You would truly kill them for me?" Confusion is bare on your face as you regard him. "How can I trust you if you'll slaughter those who have been loyal to you for so long? Would you do the same to me? " You nod your head in the direction of the blades mounted on the wall, glinting and lethal like deadly omens. " Will you cut me down like my fellow Atreides once I've fulfilled my use?"

Now he's the one who looks mystified. If not a little irritated, and the suggestion of a snarl on his lips reveals as much. "Are you toying with me?"

The raw confusion in his voice makes you freeze. When he draws closer to you the oxygen in your lungs seems to vanish; the mere weight of his presence wafting over you siphons the air from your body. It's striking how offended he seems. Like the very notion of your doubt is a transgression against him. It nearly makes you feel guilty for your mistrust, but you grab ahold of your resolve before it can flutter from your grasp. "I just need to make sure that we have a proper understanding of each other," you explain honestly, voice soft and open. Your chest heaves from the effort of breathing, drawing in the scent of the perfumed fragrances on his skin; subtle notes of leather and the traces of something crisp and musky. You want nothing more than to tilt into him. To sprawl in him and transfer his scent onto your own body.

You're nearly enthralled as he moves even closer, like he's been caught within the same trance that's begun to sink over you. It makes you feel like you've been pulled into a private, hushed pocket of time, and for a moment you think that he might kiss you. His lips brush over you faintly. Just enough for the soft pout of them to whisper of your own, teasing and light.

"Pick a blade."

The low glide of his breath over your mouth distracts you, and for a second you don't even register what he's said. It isn't until he steps back from you that the daze lifts from your mind, allowing lucidity to seep back into your stupor. Your confusion must be clearly etched on your face, and the expectant way that he watches you nearly makes you feel stupid. But by some small fortune, you just barely manage to latch onto enough context to collect what he's implying. It's with great reluctance that you pull your eyes from his to cast your sight along the wall, tracing along the various weapons that embellish it with a growing sense of foreboding and intrigue alike. You assume that you might have misheard him, and it has you passing hasty glance back in his direction. But the direct look that you receive in response affirms that the instruction had been true. Dread rises up with the thought that he may mean to fight you. To challenge you to combat as some odd means to rectify whatever uncertainty has fallen between you. That presumption loses its footing when he doesn't even so much as lean in the direction of the wall to retrieve a weapon.

He's completely still as he observes you. Unmoving like a predator waiting for its prey to flinch. Staring at you with the same intensity that he had in the arena; honing in on his opponents with a casual but precise ferocity. It makes you wonder if he means to lunge at you as soon as you step forward. And that warped half of you craves to find out. It has you moving in the direction of the wall, observing him closely as you do. He's doesn't move, though his focus on you doesn't waver or pause; it trails after you dutifully. But there's an almost starved quality to the way he beholds you. Like he's anticipating the moment that your fingertips brush over your chosen blade.

You aren't sure what causes the shift. Perhaps it's heavy, eager way that he's watching you, or maybe it's the demented mixture of alarm and hunger twisting in your gut, but the cold tension in the atmosphere melts into something simmering and dark. The air is still thick and heavy around you. Only it's for an entirely different reason now, and the dull chill of fear in your vein's dips low in your gut where it distorts into a questionable, smoldering heat. You do your best to steer yourself from the temptation thrumming inside of you, desperate to exact some kind of clarity back onto yourself but it's frustratingly difficult to ignore the haze that threatens to intoxicate you. And the dark, sinister quality of his gaze doesn't help you in your endeavor to maintain control of the situation, and more embarrassingly, yourself.

You use your peripheral vision entirely to choose your weapon; far too enraptured by the na-Baron's unwavering gaze as you reach up to smooth your fingertips over the handle. So many different emotions flicker in his eyes, each one just as consuming as the last. It makes you feel so defenseless and unguarded, but paradoxically, the restrained hunger in his gaze also sets you alight with a confidence that you've rarely felt before. Without second thought you pluck the dagger from its place along the wall, relishing in the familiar weight of the grip in your hand; the union of lightly textured steel and smoothed wood. It's the same kind of weapon that you've wielded a thousand times. Only in practice, but the familiarity of it offers you a sense of security. Lethal almost, even though you're sure that if Feyd truly dares you to a fight you might not make it out of the exchange alive.

Though you still can't feel so much as an inkling of a threat coming from him. He's entirely devoid of malicious intent, even while he stares you down with all the controlled ferocity of a wolf. You can still see a challenge glimmering in his eyes, goading you to do something. What you aren't sure, but the implication of it nudges at you like a buried instinct rising to the surface for the first time. You let it guide you towards him, even while your pulse hums in your throat, wild with the near frantic rhythm of your heart. It's unnerving how fixed his gaze is on you, locked onto your form as you approach him like you might be the only other being left alive and he can't wait to have you pinned between his teeth.

But you're the one with the blade.

And as false and dangerous as that sense of security is, you allow it to press your feet forward until you're standing directly in front of him. Close enough that if you reached your hand out you could touch him; feel the warmth of him underneath your palm. But even with the protection of holding a blade, you still don't have the strength to slip your fingertips over him. The resolve that you've just hardly managed to build might crumble and wash away if you do, leaving you vulnerable and susceptible to whatever roguish, sinister alure he might use against you. But then he makes the move for you, firmly grasping your wrist in a tight grip.

That challenging glimmer is strongly burning in his eyes like he's waiting to see you flinch back or to try and tear your arm from his clutch. And when you make no effort to, a smirk lifts at the corners of his lips like he's pleased or amused. Or both. It's smug and arrogant, and it has annoyance flaring inside of you, but you don't have much time to dwell on it as he guides the knife to his chest and hitches the point of the blade there like he means for you to drive it into him; past the protection of bone and muscle to pierce his heart.

It has your body falling stock-still as every ounce of your concentration narrows down to a fine point to train on him, the deadly glint of the weapon and lethal ardor in his eyes. You watch his mouth parting open, listening intently to the low rasp that nearly purrs from his chest. "What will you do, Atreides? Will you seek retribution for your fallen brethren? Strike me down before I can bleed the life from your body?"

But the last remark doesn't sound like a direct threat. It's said with a tone that's entirely too sardonic. Like he means to mock you for your concerns and anxieties. Like you're foolish for having reservations about your union. About him. The sound of his taunting is enough to have scorn prickling at your fingertips and face, burning in the pit of your stomach like boiling water. Almost blindly you press the blade forward, digging the sharpness of it into the barrier of the thick leather of his vest. You expect him to stop the drive of your arm. To seize it tight to halt the force of it, but he makes absolutely no moves to. Not even when the fatal tip of the knife breaks past the material of his garb, no doubt splitting skin underneath its edge. But his hold on you doesn't flinch or wince out in pain. You see a hint of euphoria pass through his eyes again. The same elation that you had spotted when you had cut his palm open at the alter; the pleasure that had burned in him when he commanded you to sink your teeth into his flesh last night.

Like just the faintest traces of pain and the very thought of you piercing his body with a blade is nudging him towards the emergence of some sort of high. It's disgusting how something so simple can mutate the heat in your body from righteous anger to a treacherous kind of ardor. The sane half of you loathes how easily he can shift the indignation and reluctance inside if you and direct it into lust with so little effort. It's shameful. Revolting even. But the way that he looks at you when he bears his flesh to you is nearly debilitating. There's always a kind of wonder in his gaze. It's starved, greedy and formidable, but there's also a kind of open vulnerability to it. It makes you just as gluttonous and wanting, and it's difficult to see past that as much as you should.

All you want now is to see that hungry glint smoldering in his eyes again. It's dangerous, the push and pull of power that you feel when he's underneath your fingertips, searching for the sting of your teeth with bated breath. Almost mindlessly, you seek out more of his want and it has you dragging the point of the blade upward. He watches you with an open curiosity, but the grip he still has on your wrist doesn't strengthen to impede the path you've set with the knife. He allows it. The anticipation emanating from the both of you is electric and smoky, like the aftermath of a lightning strike that leaves the earth hot and glowing with embers and warm smoke.

It's suffocating; devouring the stubborn scraps of your reluctance until it's little more than an afterthought. Weak, shadowy phantoms in the deep, recesses of your mind that bend and fade underneath the weight of your desire for him. It guides you to drag the point of the knife up until it slips past the edge of his clothing and meets skin, dragging along the slope of his throat. His eyes visibly cloud over when he feels the scrape of it along his flesh; half lidded and longing when you firmly fix the point of it along the edge of his chin. Applying enough pressure for a divot to form around the press of the blade.

You still can't fully comprehend that he would allow you to place him such an unguarded position. It should annoy you that he doesn't fully view you as a threat. But then it strikes you that he might. He might see you as a danger, a risk to his life and still he bears his throat to you. Even with his features schooled and betraying nothing, you can see the eagerness in his eyes clearly; gluttonous and fervid. You've toed close enough to him to see the gorgeous blue shade of them. Pale and delicate despite the cunning and control always present in them, but now they're tinged with lust. It has you angling you face towards his, fueled and nearly drunk on a rise of confidence to teasingly glide your lips along the cut of his jaw. It's difficult to make out his expression from being so close, but you can practically feel the tension wafting from him.

"I could," you finally answer. You voice is hardly more than a whisper, murmuring lowly across his skin to tease. "But that would be mercy. I should keep you alive. Choke the life from you slowly." The threat should be spat out with venom, and hatred, but it's spoken too lightly for that. Delivered with the same care as a sweet confession or a proclamation of affection. Your chest brushes along his with your inhale, pulling in the scent of him to pool heavy in your lungs. Dangerously, it makes your head nearly cloud over, but you manage to keep ahold of your sense of control just enough to drag your lips over his. Hinting at what could be a kiss. But instead of pressing them against his, you press the edge of the blade deeper into the tender skin beneath his jaw and you're rewarded with an eager, almost wanton spark in his eyes. "Would you let me?"

"If it pleases you," he answers calmly. But something passes through his expression. It's evaluating, curious, but something amused blends with it once he finds what he's searching for. "But would that truly please you, Atreides?"

It all seems to strike you at once. Each word knocking through you like a nail being beaten in by a hammer. It's not the admittance alone that surprises you. It's the resolution behind it. The lack of hesitation. The submission a complete opposite of how he had been last night; the attention he had commanded when he ordered that you beg for him. But this was said so easily. As though it were a simple fact. A truth that he was revealing. It has the walls that you've meticulously built up throughout the years, cultivated by rivalry and shared hate, fracturing down the center and threatening to crumble from the fissures and cracks. As an Atreides it should shame you. How compliant you have become under the influence of your enemy. Not only a Harkonnen, but the heir to the Baron title and Giedi Prime. That should be more than enough to strengthen your reservations, but it seems to be slipping from you by the second.

But it's his question that truly rings through you, rattling throughout your brain and searing at your subconscious; would it truly please you, Atreides?

It should please you. The prospect of driving a blade into his chest and carving out his life should fill you with retribution. It should be a balm on the wounds left behind from your shared ancestors' strife. The rivalry, the slaughter, the assassinations plotted throughout the years. The open confidence - the arrogance he holds that you won't strike him down has something molten and venomous burning in your veins. You can see it in his face, flickering in his eyes like a healthy fire. He doesn't think that you have nerve to kill him. Even more damning is that he's right. The blade in your hands feels burning and acidic against your palm, itching like a rash from the mere thought of raising it against him with the intent to kill. It's completely ridiculous how you can't even stand the possibility of harming him. A man you've only just met. A man that's committed countless atrocities - taken lives all in the name of his House's hellish thirst for power. He's slaughtered in your name as well. Four souls have already been taken under the banner of your union and it's only been two days.

But the realization rattles through you violently and sets your teeth on edge. You don't want to kill him. You can't. The betrayal of it tastes like vinegar and ash. The urge in you to lift the blade against him settles into little more than an afterthought. The ghost of it is only a soft impression against your muscles, even while the hatred that's been instilled in you since a child lurks within the recesses of your mind, trying desperately to win out against the twisted sense of affection that lives and breathes within the cradle of your chest. All the while his gaze scans over you, flickering over the conflicting emotions that must show on your face; openly revealing your internal struggles.

You hate how much you admire them. The pale shade of his eyes. A soft, light blue. Much too delicate for someone so violent and callous. Sometimes it hurts to look at them. Each time you do it tears a part of you away and dumps you on the grounds of a familiar planet, where the sea meets the rocky shores in frothing, bubbling waves. The ocean stretches forever there, shifting and fluctuating underneath the influence of the air and the moon. A large expanse of rolling, changing blue; perfuming the air with salt and brine; stretching deep across the planet's face until the cerulean water's expand beyond the suns reach and bleed into a dark void. But that sense of familiarity runs so much further than that. Physically, you've only just met the na-Baron. But there's a piece of you, something buried and cardinal that's known him forever. Your psyche - a fragment of your soul or mind has always been aware of him. It's visited him at night while your conscious slept, catching glimpses of a shocking brutality and cunning. It's bridged lightyears together to admire the smoky caress of his voice, to feel the pale ripple of his muscles underneath your hands. You've seen flashes of his violence in your mind before. The silver wink of his blade slicing through the flesh of his enemies and the trace of obsidian snarl stretched across his face. You had never shied away from him in your dreams, and that treacherous half of you begs that you don't shy away from him now and it has you parting your lips to form a question:

"Will you kneel for me?"

It's almost like time halts in this moment, punctuated by the constant thunderous blasts of the otherworldly fireworks outside; thrumming along your bones and sinking deep with from the consuming way the Feyd evaluates you. He makes you feel as though you've been laid bare and found wanting. Reduced down to your most basic components: nerves, flesh, and soul. It has your body singing like you've been lit on fire and strung up for examination. But even that isn't right. It's too intimate, the way that he looks at you. Like you're both an ancient deity incarnated and an enemy that he must overcome and strike down in a splatter of violence. It's familiar and vulnerable. Covetous and scathing. You can taste it on your tongue. Metallic like the blood that you had spilled earlier in your union, musky like the flavor of his sweat. You want more of it.

Still it shocks you when he bends his knees and lowers himself to the floor without daring to tear his eyes away from yours; gazing upon you with an intensity that seems to settle bone deep and melt in with the marrow. He's entirely calm and collected, but he watches you like he's awaiting an instruction. Like you could order him to wage a war in your name and he'd enact it out with the dedication of solider, of an acolyte. It makes you feel empowered, bold and yet entirely too weak; naked. You struggle to stomach the equal rushes of strength and vulnerability that it inspires in you. You aren't sure if you want to quail away from it or if you want to fully bask in it.

So the next move you make is completely mindless, done out of some sort of instinct rather than deliberately made. You let the grip around the dagger grow weak as you begin to lower yourself, descending until your knees press against the harsh chill of the floor from the underneath the cover of your delicate skirt. You think you catch the suggestion of uncertainty pass through his stare as you settle in front of him, but it's gone before you can fully notice it, vanishing entirely when you lean close enough to him to feel the tip of his nose ghost along yours. It's like treason to yourself when you sit the blade down alongside the both of you, allowing it settle on the floor on neutral ground. The steel chimes softly when it meets the stone, and you can practically hear the sharpness of it.

It's close enough to him that he could easily reach out and take it into his own dexterous hand. He could drive it into your body before you could even manage to blink. But his attention hasn't so much as flinched from its place on you. The captivated, fervent way he regards you gives you the incentive to move shift even closer, filling out the narrow gap that separates your bodies. You fully release the blade then, dragging your fingertips across the hilt one last time as you lean into him. Just enough that your lips caress his while your eyes meet his, staring into that consuming, starved shade of blue. But you don't find the urge to hide from it. The urge to bare yourself to it rises up high; needy and certain.

"Let us be equals then," you propose, and your voice is soft yet stable in your hope.

The hint of a smile might perk at the corners of his mouth, and you can see amusement flicker in his scrutiny of you. But you're unable to catch even a shred of scorn or repulsion. The mirth he expresses is genuine and blends into a curiosity that makes him look deceptively sweet, even with the vulpine darkness that always lurks within the corners of his eyes.

"Equals." It sounds like both a strong agreement and a dawning realization coming from him. Like he's sounding out a word that's never been said before. Now the hint of delight that you had earlier truly shows across his face, baring his blackened teeth from his sharp smile. "Does this mean that I'll go without the pleasure of having your knife to my throat?"

That sentimental burst of devotion and joy blooms throughout your chest, candid and clement in its warmth, nearly nudging out a small puff of laughter from your lungs. It sizzles underneath your skin like a low electrical current, fueling you with equal parts excitement and longing and the urge to kiss him tingles across your lips, urging you to press forward to taste him. But you don't give into the desire yet. Instead you remain fixed in place, but you allow yourself to slip your hands along his shoulders, savoring the stability of his warmth and strength under your palms.

"I'll consider it. If you ask me nicely." The lighthearted tease comes out easily enough, like you're both old lovers, breathing in each other's air like it's where it belongs. Untainted from the brutality of the universe and the separate world's that raised you; unaffected by the hatred that you should feel for each other.

Now he's the one that leans in closer and the impression of his presence hums over your skin, stuffing your head full of cotton and fuzz that's saturated with the scent of him, all fresh musk and resin. It nearly makes you miss the light, metallic drag of a blade scraping across the floor. You catch the shine of it in your peripheral vison, and the subtle thrum of concern that it invokes in you is punctuated by the heavy, relentless ring of the strange fireworks outside. But he doesn't make any moves to stab you or turn the weapon against your skin in an effort to mar you. He holds it like he means for you to take it, flipping it in his fingers in a way that's reminiscent of when he had offered you the ceremonial blade at the altar. You can see the request in his eyes, unwavering and wanting.

"This is me asking," he answers.

His request is hardly "nice." It isn't embellished with a plea, or soft in its desire. Like everything he does, it's spoken with an air of certainty and security. It makes you want to taunt him. To refuse him all together and demand that he asks you properly, but the command doesn't rise to the tip of your tongue. It stays stuck inside your chest, losing its vigor until it dissipates into nothing, replaced by the need to just feel him. It has you reaching out for the blade, and your fingertips brush against the rigid shape of his wedding ring when you do. It's heated from the warmth of him, and as farfetched as it is, some part of you entertains the idea of it burning into your skin and leaving a visible mark behind. Something more noticeable than the stinging cut along your palm; the cut that would heal and fade into a faint sliver across your skin. You want it to be obvious. A clear declaration of your union, like the gnarly laceration you had cut into his shoulder with just the weight of your teeth.

The reminder of his wound nudges at you, and the need to see it claws at the back of your mind with hungry, desperate talons. You're like a woman possessed when you lift the Atreides dagger to his stomach, and instead of driving into his gut like you would an enemy, you only nudge the tip of it between the lapels of his leather vest and into the material of the dark garb underneath. It nearly shocks you how easily it slices through the layers of his attire, parting the fabric around its lethal edge like heated butter to reveal the defined contours of his body underneath.

You don't miss the lust the burns in his eyes when the sharp rip of tearing cloth sounds across the heavy atmosphere, when he no doubt feels the sharp sting of the blade dragging over his skin. The weapon leaves a delicate trail of red, raised flesh in its wake, a gorgeous contrast to the near white shade of his complexion. The sight of it douses hot liquid over your body, settling between your thighs and murmuring against your fingertips. But the sensation of it is only amplified when the blade rises up and over his chest and he tips his head back to allow it to cut through the collar of his garb that's secure against his throat. The remaining strip of fabric gives underneath the dagger with a pronounced pop. The subtle snap of the last pieces of thread giving from the weight of your hand has you drawing in a deep breath, but it does little to ground you with the downright ravenous way that he's staring at you. Like he wants to take you apart piece by piece and eat you down to the bone.

It's nearly horrendous how badly you want him to do just that. To take you into his mouth and lap at you with tongue and teeth until your body is writhing in a twist of agony and ecstasy. But the need to see the mark - your mark gives you enough strength to repress that urge. It guides your free hand upward to grip ahold of his shredded attire to lift it back. And there it is again, the sickening sense of desire and satisfaction when you see the torn cut of your teeth in his skin, tender and rosy around the edges, clearly marking the junction of his shoulder. You feel the need to chastise him for the lack of a bandage, but something tells you that it'll fall on deaf ears. The unbothered look you get in response to your berating glare is confirmation enough.

You glide your thumb near it, not close enough to irritate the damage, but enough to inspect the wound. It doesn't seem to be infected, just a little red from the recent injury and that's enough to give you some kind of comfort. Satisfaction builds inside of you, and it's quickly joined by the burn of something possessive and starved; entranced by the deep mark left by your teeth; a permanent signature in his flesh. When you brush your fingertips along the blunt, angry impression again, it's completely unintentional. An apology is already bubbling up to your throat but the way that Feyd nearly shudders beneath your hand causes the words to disappear - snuffed out and dead. It was so light that you wouldn't have caught the full body thrum that wracked across his muscle and skin if you hadn't been so transfixed on him.

You can see it in his eyes, somehow bright and dark all at once, smoldering and zealous in his lust, and it reminds you of how he basks in the sting and ache of pain. Like a glutton you seek out his pleasure, and even with reasoning and reluctance looming in the back of your mind, you find yourself bearing pressure down on the wound with the pad of your thumb. The look of it, red and raw against his skin, the way that he leans into your touch even though the weight of it is setting his nerves on fire makes you feel as though you've been dipped into a flammable liquid and coming alight by sparks and embers. It's a reminder that he's yours. Wholly, completely. It doesn't matter who may look upon his body, sleek and flawless without a single cut or scar - all except for the ones that have been made by you. If anyone was to gaze at him, they'd know that you had been the one to touch him and leave your mark.

In that moment you decide that he needs more, and the violent, craving look that he gives you tells you that he wants the same. It has you dropping the dagger, leaving it to clatter noisily against the floor as you clamor onto his lap, gathering up your skirt to aid in your ascent. You just barely feel the weight of his hands raising to grip onto your waist in a hold that's going to leave your flesh tender and sensitive, but you welcome the possibility of it. Like an animal you sweep downward to press your lips against his throat, showing your teeth to the graze and nip them along the sensitive skin there, fueled by the desperation to leave bursts of purple and red behind.

He tilts his jaw back and tears his clothing free from his shoulders to offer more of himself to you, and like something starved and uninhibited you sweep your hands over the bare expanse of his chest and ribs, even when the cut underneath your bandaged palm throbs with traces of a white heat. But it's of little concern to you now. A faded afterthought underneath the lust and wild ardor that clouds over the room like a plume of smoke. You can taste him against your tongue, the subtle salt of his skin and the herbal, earthy notes of the oils that must have placed in his bath before the wedding ceremony. He's already hard underneath you, confined by the material of his pants but it does nothing to hide or impede the length of him. Heavy and firm against the space between your legs, smearing the wetness that's dampened the inside of your thighs and nudging against your clit in a way that nearly has you moaning against his skin.

But a ragged gasp is ripped from your lungs regardless, pulled from you when a chill rushed over your back and the harsh rip of fabric tearing echoes across the cavernous walls of the room. Your fogged over brain just barely manages to register that he's taken ahold of the blade again and has slit the back of your dress open from the tailbone and up to the collar, exposing your body to the tepid air. You hardly get time to adjust to it before he's shoving you from his lap, tugging the scraps of fabric free from your body as you fall like it's presence on your body offends him.

The frigid press of the floor underneath you is jarring, and it leaves you a little muddled and lost while you stare up at the tenebrous expanse of the ceiling. Left disoriented and exposed with the cover of your dress gone to show off the rise and fall of your heaving breasts. And then wandering, determined hands sweep down your hips to guide the tattered pools of fabric down your legs. You just barely have the articulation to help him in pulling the ruined dress from your body, but he manages just fine on his own. It tears your shoes off in his near wild scramble to get you naked, ripping them from their places as he guides the fabric around the heels of your feet before tossing it somewhere in the distance.

And then he's rushing over you like a creature from an old fable, like a monster that comes in the night to seek out foolish maidens, securing a place for himself between the welcoming cradle of your thighs. Looming over you with his hands posted on either side of your head, keeping you secured and trapped within the confines of his body. His eyes are glittering again, flickering underneath the erratic glimpses of light that slip in through the narrow widows, projected by the fireworks that shriek and rupture across the dark sky. It makes him look feral and otherworldly, like the beings depicted in old religions, a dark spirit or a demon sent to torment and tempt you specifically. To tip you into the throes of your basest wants and desires.

"So eager to claim me, little Atreides," he murmurs, leaning close enough for you to feel the hint of his mouth against yours. One of his hands lifts from its place on the floor to coast along the length of your leg. Sweeping fire and ice across your skin with the heat of his bandaged palm and the subtle warmth of his wedding ring when it grips into the crook of your knee. He guides it upward to cinch it over the back of his waist, locking you against him. The pressure of his body pins you, keeping you secured in your spot on the floor as his eyes flicker along your face. Once you're held in place, unable to move, having no desire to, does the hand on your leg leave. But it isn't free from you for long. Before you can even realize it, the press of it is firm and wrapped around your throat, nearly suffocating in its warmth and weight, but you delight in the sensation of it regardless. It threatens to make your head go fuzzy and light, but his grip doesn't tighten enough to fully nudge you to that point. It keeps you stuck between the edge, dangling and wanting while that molten desire settles at the base of your spine. "So have you made your decision?"

The question leaves you confused, and slow-moving nature of your thoughts - saturated and bogged down like they've been dipped in melted sugar and wax, does absolutely nothing to aid you. That dark type of amusement flickers across his expression, but whatever intent you have to scold him evaporates from you like scalding water and vapors when he places a kiss to your lips, snapping the tender flesh between the rows of his teeth harshly enough for iron to blossom across your tongue, drinking down the breathy moan that leaves you.

"Head," he intones softly, dipping his voice into a low rasp. He licks at the shape of your mouth, no doubt scooping the taste of your blood onto his palate before he slinks downward to drag his nose along your chest in a teasing glide. You feel the whisper of his voice over your skin before you hear it, sweeping dangerously close to the swell of your left breast, hauntingly close to where you wish he would take into his mouth. "Heart."

He hovers there like he's listening to the wild pulse of the organ thrumming underneath your flesh and bone, relishing in the near frantic sound of it. His tone leaves his query open-ended, but even in your daze you're finally able to catch onto his line of questioning and it sweeps you entirely off guard. It left him so casually that the surprise of it could have made you freeze still if not for the restless drag of his lips across your skin, humming and pleasant against you. They settle along your stomach, nipping and mouthing at the delicate flesh there like he might bite through you and smear his face with red, but the damp glide of his tongue is too soft. Like he's praising you with his mouth. And then that raw, accented lilt rumbles out again. "Perhaps a kidney."

And with that he slips lower, giving you hardly any time to come to terms with the promise of his words; the bloody, gore-soaked request he desires you to make, the three lives that he wants you to strike down with the will of his hand. But the worry and concern in you falls into the foreground, blurring at the edges while your desire and lust continues to rage on and cloud your head with a perfumed fog. When the brush of his nose traces downward, settling just underneath the plush of your abdomen every thought nearly falls flat and quiet, almost knocking your mind into an empty void.

"Or maybe . . . You still need help deciding." He drags the sharp edges of his teeth against the tender expanse of your inner thigh, dangerously close to the sore mark he had left there with his teeth last night, making your nerves spark and the heat between your legs throb. Your hips try to roll in an involuntary search for pleasure but the heavy grip he has on your body keeps you secure and stuck in place, helplessly pinned to the cool tiles. It nearly has a whine bubbling up from the depths of your throat, but when you glance downward to glare at him the expression on his face has you swallowing it down. He looks far too smug from his place between your thighs, with the plush of his lips stretched into smile and a mischievous sort of glint in his eyes. It has a prickle of irritation growing in your chest. The urge to have him underneath you again rises up strong, to have him stare up at you with that frayed sense of self-restraint and hunger. You want to feel him tremble and take him apart with your tongue like he had done to you.

You hardly think before you move. In a blink you're rolling yourself upward, and with the momentum your positions are flipped in a quick blur. The only thing to ground you is the steady weight and warmth of Feyd pinned underneath your hips and the shape of his throat held underneath the grip of your good hand. You can feel the steady pulse and rush of his blood against your skin, rich with the flow passing through his jugular vein. But even with his life centered within the palm of your hand he's as calm as can be, practically lounging along the floor with his arms sprawled on either side of him and an expression of steady contentment on his face.

"I can make that decision perfectly fine on my own," you assure softly. When you dare to flex your fingers along the sides of his throat his eyelids droop low again, nearly giving him a dazed, intoxicated look. It's the same one he had given you when you had pinned the dagger against his throat, threatening to slice but never truly willing. It's enough to send a thrill through you. The fact that you have someone, notorious for their violence and cunning, complacent and amenable from something as simple as your touch. You think that you could get drunk off of power like this. Fueled by the heat of his skin seeping into your thighs and the pale weight of his stare, equally devoted and gauging. Like he's trying to assess if you're a deity worth his worship, if you're willing to accept the tokens he offers in the form of bloodied heads and stolen organs. But you have your own evaluating to do.

It has you leaning downward, squeezing the length of his throat as you do, and you're certain that you catch the mild thrum of a pleased groan scattering across your palm and fingertips. It has a smile nudging at your lips as you look at him. "Will you let me have you?"

"I'm yours to take," he answers promptly, voice soft within its gravely cradle. It's spoken like a vow, a desire, a need. And you need him just as badly.

Without anymore prompting you slink downward to shift between his legs. A part of you mourns the loss of his throat underneath your hand, but those thoughts easily drift to the distant corners of your mind once you're settled in front of his hips. Your attention shamelessly locks on the bulge straining against the confines of his trousers, and you can feel saliva pool in your mouth at the sight of it. As eager as you had been last night, even with all of your desire and want, your inexperience had left you astray in certain aspects. Led you to uncharted territory by your lust, but this was something that you could do and do well. And the longing to see him unwind and quiver underneath your tongue is more than enough incentive to have you unfastening the fixtures of his pants. You work to get the lacings undone as deftly as possible, but even with your determination the leather strips threaten to slip from your shaky fingertips. You're certain that the low, amused huff that he lets out is in response to your uncoordinated eagerness, but he makes no verbal remarks. The only assistance he offers you is when he lifts his hips up just enough to aid you in your effort to tug his pants down from the slope of his hips and ass.

When he springs free from his pants, you can't help but to stare. You had seen him last night, but that had been well after the tryst in the bath, and you had only felt the full length of him when his lower half had been submerged in the inky water. His size had been apparent, even then. But seeing him now, uninhibited by the steaming black liquid of the bathhouse, reveals how daunting his size is. Admittedly, he isn't the largest you've seen or even handled, but that doesn't make it any less intimidating. Though it's still difficult to focus on the uncertainty prickling at you when the urge to take him in your mouth hangs over you and sinks in deep.

The amused glimmer in his eyes is back with a vengeance, burning and dark as he admires you from your place between his thighs. And as much as you'd like to berate him for it, you're completely entranced when his hand slips down the rippled planes of his body. The black band around his wedding finger glints lowly, attracting your attention to it while his fingers enclose around the thick girth of his cock. His chest rises in a deep, controlled breath when he drags his fist over himself, probably relishing in the rough texture of the dark bandages dressed around his hand as it glides along the sensitive skin. He's probably enjoying the sting that the weight of it brings to the slice across his palm too.

He props himself on a single elbow so that he's able to easily watch himself. To watch you as well. You can practically feel his eyes on you while he idly works his fist over his cock in slow, teasing strokes. But it seems like he's taunting you rather than himself. Delighting in the way that you're transfixed on him, like a dog salivating over a bone. When he strokes his hand up his length, twisting his hand in the motion, you watch with frozen lungs as a small rivulet of precum pours from the head of his cock, just as dark as his blood.

Like a heathen, your mouth waters at the sight of it and temptation begs for you to move forward. You can see the open invitation in his eyes, silently encouraging you to take him. And like a slave to your desires, you do. Without any thought, you tilt yourself forward and part your lips to sweep your tongue over the length of him. A contented hum rises from your throat when you catch the veins of his cock, when the taste of him spreads along your mouth; subtle salt and the musk of something earthy. A part of you had feared that he might taste odd or even bad considering the strange coloration, but it's hardly different than any other man you had been with. It might even be considered good in a way that's decidedly organic. It has you stretching your jaw open to slip the crown into your mouth, desperate to feel the weight of him and you hardly give yourself time to adjust before you fill yourself with even more of him. The weight of him nudges along the back of your throat, threatening to suffocate you around his girth, but it doesn't make you panic. It only serves to stuff your skull with a delicious fuzz until all you can feel, and taste is him.

Your saliva is already coated along his cock. It's messy and debauched but it only has a thrum of excitement rushing down your spine in an electrical current and settling over your clit like a smoldering heat. You moan around him, and you blindly reach up to slip your good hand around the girth of him, impatiently nudging his own out of the way in favor of doing it yourself. You're quick to pick up the rhythm he had set for himself, matching it to the motion of your mouth and the glide of your tongue while he rolls his hips to welcome the wet heat.

It's almost absentminded when you glide your other hand along his hip, briefly delighting in the feel of it underneath your palm before you curl your fingers inward to harshly dig your nails into the smooth flesh. You're sure that it's rough enough to leave marks behind. Maybe even enough to break skin and make him bleed, but the way that he throbs in your mouth tells you that he likes it plenty. His hips jerk harshly at the sensation of your nails cutting into him like talons, and the sudden presence of his hand pressing down on the crown of your head nearly makes you gag. Tears threaten to pour past your waterline at the rough thrust, but you force yourself to open your eyes, desperate to witness him even while you blink back the blurred hindrance of tears. And you aren't disappointed.

He looks like a painting. A work of art. The pale shade of his skin is nearly bright against the darkness of the room, and the dim lighting casts faint shadows across the planes of his body, pronouncing the edges of his physique. Magnifying the twitches that seize across his abdomen, making the defined muscles their flex and contract; the curve of his Adam's apple, amplified by the way that his head is tipped back from pleasure; the plush shape of his lips which are parted to release low intakes of air. But your favorite might be the blotches of violet and crimson marked along the column of his neck, branded there by your lips; the angry, permanent impression of your teeth, rosy and red along the junction of his shoulder that claims him as yours.

He had been unblemished before you had touched him. The pale slate of his skin had been unmarred and smooth despite being such a violent fighter - proof of how untouchable he is within the ring or battlefield. Free from a single scar or bruise. But now everywhere you look there's evidence of your presence on his skin; skin that he's eagerly offered to you. To have him so willing and wanting makes you feel as though you've tamed some sort of demigod and imprinted your name on his soul. The thought alone has you moaning around him, twisting your wrist around the length of him as you encircle your lips around the flared head of his cock, drinking down the precum that flows from it in a steady pour. It's almost whorish, the way that it has you clenching around nothing, and your body thrums in a burning, unsatisfied heat from being left dreadfully empty.

But all of that fades into the background, the ache of the cold tiles against your knees, the sting of the irritated cut along your palm, the uncomfortable stretch of your jaw around his girth. It's all so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The pain is more than worth it when those low, graveled groans huff from his chest, getting forced out of him by the tight restriction of his ribs each time he drives his cock into the back of your throat, threatening to choke you on your own tears and trapped gasps. You have to concentrate to breath out of your nose, reminding yourself to draw in tight breaths in between his mean strokes. His fingers squeeze at the back of your skull, gripping onto your hair while he drives himself into you deeply enough for your nose to press into the smooth skin of his groin with each thrust.

It should make you angry or hurt to be used this way, like a doll whose only purpose is his pleasure. But there isn't an ounce of scorn or disgust in your body, only want and bliss. Lust smolders within the cradle of your hips, searing deep at the base of your spine while arousal smears down your thighs in a debauched display of ardor. It's a fight to find a sense of coherence through the haze that's ravaged your mind, but you manage to find a shred of it just long enough to will your eyes to open, blinking through the tears. Something molten and smoky douses over you when you lock you gaze with his, meeting the fervent, wild glint in his stare from your place between his legs. It rips a frayed moan from the depths of your burning lungs, pulling even more oxygen from your body and it has you going lightheaded, your skull airy and empty apart from the intoxicated stuffing that's been packed into it.

Something passes through his gaze then, and his lips twist up in a way that's animalistic. If it's a nasty smile or a snarl, you aren't sure, but the sadistic amusement in his eyes is telling enough of his mood. "You're quite talented with your tongue. I never would have expected my wife to be such a whore," he remarks cruelly and now you're certain that it's a rueful grin on his face. You do your best to glare up at him from your place on the floor, though you refuse to remove your mouth from him long enough to offer a scathing remark of your own, far too drunk on the weight of him pressing against your throat to let up. But then he's the one shifting, sitting himself up on his haunches to tug you of off him by the grasp on your hair.

Your lips slip from him with a depraved pop, smearing saliva and cum across your mouth as the delicious weight of his girth slips free from your tongue. Even while your body relishes in the blissful pulls of oxygen filling up your deprived lungs, you can't help but to mourn the loss of cock pressing down into your throat, and the downright pathetic whine that leaves you expresses as much. The light brush of embarrassment prickles at you when a mocking, patronizing coo hums from his chest as he guides you to shift between his legs, ushering you up on your knees so that he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. Your lashes flutter when the wet drag of his tongue runs along the tender skin there, nipping and sucking with his teeth. "It doesn't matter. You're mine now."

That's the only warning you get before he's shoving you back onto the rigid chill of the floor and filling you up with a single stroke, forcing the sore walls of your cunt to stretch and give around his girth. It punches out the little bit of air that you had managed to gulp down out of you completely, and your jaw drops open in a strangled cry. It splits your brain down the middle, melting you into a puddle while your body seems to rupture between the equal divide of pain and pleasure. You had taken him just last night, but the experience had left you aching and sore. Your only saving grace that keeps the heavy drag of his cock from absolutely tearing you apart is how completely soaked you are, allowing the rough glide of his cock to work into you easily. It has you sobbing, from the flaring heat of your frayed nerves or the decadent liquid rapture that blossoms in the center of your abdomen, you aren't entirely sure, but the relentless pace that he sets doesn't give you time to discern it.

You have no choice but to latch onto him and hang on, sweeping your arms around the width of his body to claw mindlessly at his back, leaving angry scratches along his flesh. The pleased groan you get in response to the sensation of your nails driving across his skin is heavenly; low and rumbling against your throat from hold he still has on you with his teeth. He's only just started, and you already feel as though you're being pulled from your body, being set on fire and turned inside out.

You can hear him moving in and out of you. The sound of his hips smacking against yours and the wet plunge of his cock working into you echoing off of the walls of the chamber. He feels deep, settling so far inside of you that you swear he's in your stomach, punching against your lungs and shoving the breath from your chest with the steady force of his rhythm. His pelvis grinds over your clit with every thrust, liquifying your brain and making your eyes roll back in your skull. You think distantly that you might be drooling; lips smeared and wet with your spit and the salt of his cum, but the ability to think is next to impossible now. The ability to produce a single, coherent thought alludes you completely until you're little more than a weak pile of flesh and bone. Even when your legs lift to wrap themselves around his waist, it isn't a conscious decision. Your body acts on its own, hooking your heels near the base of his spine to keep him close to you, like any amount of unnecessary distance between you might send you to your early death bed.

You're certain that you're moaning his name now, spewing it like a zealot's chant; an endless string of, feyd, feyd, feyd. What you're asking for you don't even know at this point. Stuck between craving your release and wanting to be suspended in ecstasy forever. But it seems your body is set is making the decision for you. It seizes up tight, making your thighs and back pull taut while heat licks at your fingertips and toes. The warning rests heavy on your tongue, waiting to be voiced but your ability to speak as vanished as your impending pleasure ravages your body.

Feyd finally releases his teeth from your throat, soothing the irritated skin with his tongue before he lifts his head up just enough to lap at your mouth, swallowing your wanton, keening gasps. "Go ahead. Take your pleasure, let me feel you."

It's like you needed his permission because as soon as his words leave him in that graveled rasp, your draw up tight, the muscles of your cunt clamping down around him in an unrelenting grip like your body is trying to evict your soul from it. Light bursts behind your eyes much like the fireworks still raging on outside, and for a moment you're suspended in time. Floating freely with nothing but the pressure of your ragged cries and the relentless debilitating heat of your orgasm eating you from the inside out. It has you sobbing again, nearly writhing along the floor while electricity cuts across your limbs and sears at your gut, wringing you of fire and melted euphoria. The bliss ebbs away in steady, sapping pulses that leaves your limbs twitching and weak. But the walls of your cunt are still sensitive and tender, setting your nerves alight and fizzling and it's in your drunken stupor that realize that Feyd hasn't stopped.

He's still driving into you wildly, working his cock into you like a man starved. It has you shaking and nearly thrashing, like your body can't decide if it wants to pull him closer or shift away from him.

"Feyd, I-"

"You can handle it," he assures confidently, like it's a promise. He leans down to press soft kisses along your face, tracing the plush of them over your cheekbones, the rise of your nose, the edge of your jaw; so sweet compared to the way that he plunges his cock into you in deep, almost brutal strokes, like he's trying to carve a place for himself inside of you. His nose nudges along yours, urging you to look at him, and it's the dark, searching glimmer in his eyes that truly grounds you. It forces you to hold his stare, even with the tears pouring down your face and the sting of your overstimulated nerves begging that you close them. But you can handle it. You will. Your body cries for relief but also pleads that he keeps going. That he works you into another bout of fire and rapture, except this time you hope that you both burn together.

It has you rocking your hips against his, settling yourself to meet his pace while your lungs and body longs for a reprieve and ecstasy. You can feel the impression of his smile against your cheek when he nuzzles along your face, the blunt edges of his teeth threatening to scrape along the skin. He has you fully caged underneath him, trapped with the stretch of his body looming over yours, nearly suffocating you with the heat that emanates from his sweat slicked flesh. But you couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else in the universe. Despite the searing heat that he invokes, the simmering bliss that threatens to tear you apart and splice you open at the atoms, you've never felt safer. There's a comfort in the weight of him. In the dangerous way that he carries himself and the brutal edge that's always projected in the dark of his eyes. You should find no solace in someone like him. Someone who's been crafted to be unforgiving and ruthless, but there's a tranquility in him that you've never found in anyone else. His body is a shrine, a temple for you to find reprieve and love in a world so harsh and indifferent. A creature of death that offers you devotion in form of blood and sanctuary.

You've ravaged each other with teeth and blades; bared your throats and blood and neither of you have wavered. You've been reluctant of him, his loyalty, but the urge to truly run has never rose. And he's accepted you just as greedily. Always fervent and sometimes rabid in his want for you. The passion that he holds for you might have concerned some - people with proper sense, maybe - but you feel nothing but the urge to bask in his attentions. To return it tenfold until it suffocates you both and devours you entirely.

You can feel yourself seizing up tight again, bliss sizzles at the tip of your tongue and forces ragged gasps and whines from your chest. Your cunt is gripping him tightly again, squeezing ahold of his cock like it doesn't want him to leave. His pace has faltered just the slightest, not enough to damped or ruin the fire in your gut, but enough to hint that he's nearing his end. The rise and fall of his chest against yours is sharp and almost labored, telling of the low, guttural groans that spill past his lips making him pant along the curve of your jaw. He can't be much farther off than you.

"Feyd, please," you moan, tilting your head enough to nip at shape of his ear. "I wan' you to fill me up. I - fuck - I need it. Please."

That apparently does something for him, because he bears down on you, gripping you by the thighs to hook your legs over his shoulders. The change in the position is hell on your muscles, the strain of it searing along your hips and the slight notches in your spine dig into the flat of the floor painfully. It nearly makes you wish that you had decided to take this to the bed that's only a few paces away from you both, but the way that he drives his cock into you with even more vigor effectively wipes your mind clean. You're truly forced to lay and take it; fingertips slipping across the floor to latch onto the groves in the tiles like it might save you. Somehow he's even deeper now, ravaging your insides with each stroke, and he nudges against the devastating spot inside of you with every plunge, twisting your mind into mush and static.

"Then take it."

His snarl is the last thing you hear before you're abruptly ripped under and pulled down deep like an entire ocean had collapsed over you. The silence is deafening, with each of your senses seeming to black out in favor of honing in on the bliss and euphoria dousing you and sweeping along your entire being. It devours you soul and all, until you're nothing but a writhing, sobbing vessel. Even when the waves slip over you, waning in their effect, it's difficult to see or feel past anything other than the press of his body along yours. But you still have enough concentration in you to notice the choppy, sluggish pace that his hips have shifted into as he tips close to his end. The groan that rumbles from his chest is the only warning you get before a searing warmth floods you from the inside, filling you up and stuffing you full of his release. It has your cunt fluttering around him weakly, desperate to draw him in, even while your body is completely sapped of its strength.

He slips your legs free from their place on his shoulders, taking care to do so slowly as you hiss out from the dull sting. But he still manages to tear a ragged swear from your chest when he all but collapses on top of you. The only thing that keeps you from being completely crushed is that he manages to catch himself on his elbows before he plops his head on your chest with a contented sigh, listening to the wild pulse of your heart.

Your body still thrums from the aftershocks and aches from the marks he had left with his teeth and cock, but the afterglow that dips over you is gentle and balmy. A complete juxtaposition to the feral glide of tongue and the flow of blood that had just taken place. But even under the soft atmosphere, cradling and inviting like a familiar embrace, darker thoughts stir. But to you they don't seem so violent anymore. It's a promise. Entirely giving and pure in its intention, despite the horror that comes with it. It should concern you, how it doesn't seem so daunting anymore. It's less troubling, not as sickening as it was before. But maybe this is what it means to accept his love. To offer yourselves to each other completely. You think that you'll give him a son, but first you need something from him in turn.

You glide your fingertips along his back, lightly tracing the soft impression of his spine in their trail upward. When you whisper his name, your voice is raw and light from the sting of your used throat, but it manages to grab his attention regardless. He lifts his head up from your chest, allowing you to cup the side of his face to sweep your thumb along the subtle ridge of his cheek. His eyes are lidded and soft, but the curiosity and intensity in them still isn't lost as he evaluates you, and his brows raise in a silent question, prompting you to speak.

You expect the words to feel like venom on your tongue when they leave your lips, to burn and sear at your flesh. For betrayal to slice at your chest and tear open a wound, but nothing but a tranquil sense of peace hangs over you as you speak. It feels right.

"I want their heads."

You wait to see surprise flicker across his face. Maybe even a kind of uncertainty, or a clue that his earlier promise had only been a joke or a test. A test that you've now just failed. But you see nothing of the sort. Instead a feral smile breaks across his face. Possibly arrogant, but mostly affectionate in his mirth. His gratification. Like he's reveling in your choice. But it's a good enough answer for you as well. You can see it reflecting in the dark of his eyes. The answer, the promise there that runs deeper than any wedding vows ever could. It reflects an adoration that only violence can. The promise of devotion and protection that he had pledged to you the moment that you'd seen each other in your dreams; the very second that he had slit that general's throat for you; the instant that he had proposed to deliver his lovers' hearts to you on a silver platter. It's a truth that he bares to you willingly - eagerly; and you accept it completely with your soul, and body, and mind.

He would burn the universe down for you.

@moonsoulk, @eloquentdreamer

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd x you #feyd rautha #dune x reader #dune oneshot #dune part 2 #dune 2024 #dune x you

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another-lost-mc · 9 months

Note

the characters finding out about mc's fwb but instead of it being with a random demon, it's solomon >>>>

them being flabbergasted not only about the situation but that you have the arrangement with that shady sorcerer. also frustrated because of course you'd take comfort on the only other human in the devildom!

➤ when they find out solomon is your fwb

characters: the demon brothers + dateables

1k words | gn!reader | nsfw | snarky and suggestive

c/w: jealousy, non-explicit sexual content, implied voyeurism, implied threesomes/moresomes

related: finding out you having a fwb: the demon brothers | the dateables

disappointed but not surprised: lucifer, beelzebub, diavolo

They warned you, didn't they?

Solomon is the shadiest sorcerer to ever exist. He's powerful and unpredictable and he can't even be called human anymore. Why in all the Devildom did you have to pick him? You could've had literally anyone else!

Unheeded warnings about not getting too close to Solomon turn into vague reminders that the demons are there to save you from that white-haired menace if you ever need them to.

Lucifer sneaks behind your back and gives Solomon the world's scariest shovel talk, which is a little silly since this was only supposed to be a casual arrangement for comfort and intimacy. (Of course, no one realized that you and Solomon managed to catch feels along the way.) Lucifer's thinly-veiled threats promising a painful demise should be enough to scare anyone away.

None of them expect Solomon to abruptly end your casual relationship so that he can date you officially instead. He looks far too smug with himself when you hold his hand at RAD in front of the others or when he becomes a semi-regular visitor at the House of Lamentation.

Your undeniable happiness is a constant reminder to the others that they underestimated both humans in the exchange program.

why didn't anyone stop them?! (yeah, they're jealous af): mammon, leviathan, satan, belphegor

This is awful. Isn't this why they were supposed to keep an eye on you, to keep you from getting mixed up with people like him?!

"Weren't you supposed to do that, Mammon?"

"Shuddup!"

They hate Solomon's guts. They don't think he deserves you. (They might not deserve you either, but you could do a hell of a lot better than him!)

They roll their eyes and gag dramatically when Solomon kisses your cheek or cozies up beside you in the cafeteria at lunch. When you're not looking, they shoot daggers at him and make not-too-subtle gestures that translate roughly to I'm watching you and if you hurt them, you die. They're less subtle and more aggressive than Lucifer is, and Solomon thinks it's hilarious.

He knows how lucky he is that he caught your eye first and not them. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't enjoy rubbing it in their faces just a little bit. Maybe he forgets to use a silencing charm on your bedroom door when he fucks you in the House of Lamentation.

Maybe he wears low-collar shirts to show off the fresh line of marks you made around the base of his neck. He leaves a toothbrush in your ensuite bathroom and spare clothes in your closet.

Sometimes you wear his clothes when you don't have class because they still smell like him. You don't notice the demons sitting beside you at breakfast twitch in their seats and suddenly lose their appetites.

You feel so fortunate that you found friendship and love in the Devildom. Your friends tell you (and themselves) that they're happy for you too. You don't notice how fake their smiles are when they see you together (but Solomon does).

they're surprisingly okay with it and no one understands why: asmodeus, barbatos, simeon

They don’t know whether to blame fate or their own bad luck that brought you and Solomon together. They grudgingly admit you could do a lot worse than the white-haired menace that seems to adore you. As long as you’re happy and treated well, they don't feel it’s their place to interfere.

The others might sulk and pretend they’re not disappointed, or they might be openly belligerent about it, but some of your friends still support you above all else.

Asmo drags you into his room and gossips with you about Solomon while he does your nails. Tell me, you can be honest—how is he in bed with you? I’ve never seen him like this with anyone else! Oh, I bet he's so romantic, isn't he~ He’s curious about your relationship and teases you for intimate details that are too personal to share, but you know he's genuinely excited for you.

Barbatos doesn’t say much about your relationship openly, but he enjoys reminding the others that if they were less distracted by their own foolishness, they wouldn’t have taken you for granted.

Simeon welcomes you with open arms as a guest to Purgatory Hall when the atmosphere at the House of Lamentation grows too stifling. He does his best to make sure Solomon doesn’t completely ruin dinner when you visit in the evenings. He enjoys discussing books and your other shared interests when the sorcerer is busy; Solomon knows you're safe with the angels in his absence.

Like Asmo and Barbatos, you grow closer with Simeon as well through your mutual connections to Solomon. You might not realize what they’re up to when they try to spend more time with you outside of class, but Solomon does. Their sweet gestures of comfort linger far too long to be considered platonic, and the way desire creeps into their eyes when they gaze at you from afar would irritate him if they were anyone else.

He has long, colourful pasts with both Asmo and Barbatos, and Simeon quickly became one of his trusted friends while living in the close quarters of Purgatory Hall together. It wouldn't be the first time Solomon invited one of his acquaintances for a little bit of fun in the bedroom, but that was only to share casual partners he didn’t have feelings for. The thought of sharing you with anyone else nearly drives him to violence.

Time dulls those jealous impulses, and he admits how appealing it would be to watch you with one (or more) of them together. You’re so lovely in the throes of pleasure, and there's a certain thrill from watching on the sidelines. He knows they'll obey without question when he tells them how to touch you, and he can savor watching you fall apart under their hands and his sinful commands. He gets hard just imagining you crying out his name when you cum, even if one of the others is between your legs instead of him.

If you admit to feeling desire for any of them, he'll discuss those delicious possibilities with you too.

read more: headcanons masterlist | obey me! masterlist

#obey me #omswd #obey me solomon #solomon x reader #obey me solomon x reader #solomon smut #obey me smut #obey me x reader #x reader #gn!reader

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nattblacklupin · 1 month

Text

Never was much of a romantic

Pairing: Cassian x Fem! Illyrian! Reader

Warning: mention of wing clipping (just as a threat), Devlon being asshole, reader simping on Cassian, reader is described as being shorter than Devlon and Cassian, random switches in pov (like two times), little bit of angst (cassian feels like he doesn't deserve love), swear words, little bit of Nesta slander

Summary: Cassian meets you in Windhaven and sees you arguring with Devlon. Something about your fierce attitude makes him want to be closer to you.

Part two ● masterlist

Cassian was never much of a romantic. He was one night stand guy. He never felt the need to actually love someone. But later on in his life, he has been feeling more and more alone. He saw his friends find love, mates. Everybody had their own person while he was stuck alone.

He, of course, had his family, the inner circle. They would help him with anything and do anything for him. But it's not the same as having a mate. Someone to love and cherish. Someone who will see through him and know when he really isn't alright.

For a while, he thought that Nesta was his mate. But then she left the night court for autumn court, specifically for the heir of autumn court. And he was alone again.

Nesta absence took a tool on him. He really thought they were meant to be, and she even acted like it. But then one day she just left, only leaving a letter as a goodbye. That made Cassian believe he didn't have a mate. They were rare, so maybe he was meant to never find her. It was possible, and he wouldn't be surprised if it was like that. At the end of the day, he is a low born bastard who doesn't deserve anything more than his ratty tent.

Rhys sent him to Windhaven to check if everyone is being trained as commanded to. If he had any say in this, he wouldn't come here. He hated Devlon and this place. It reminded him of all the bad things that happened there when he was just a child. The only good thing about this place was when he met Rhysand with Azriel. His two brothers are the only reason he's still alive.

But he had to follow the orders of his high lord. Maybe he could go to Rita's after and enjoy the night with his family after he is done here. That thought made him feel somehow lighter. Nothing is better than night with his family.

,,I will train, and I don't care what you tell me"

Cassian immediately looked the way the voice was coming from. He saw illyrian woman standing in front of Devlon. There was a visible high difference between them, but she didn't let it affect her and continued to stand her ground. Cassian was amazed by that and decided to watch for some while. If something happened, he could help her, not that she looked like she needed it. Yet as he was standing there and seeing her arguring with a man that was nearly twice her size, he came to conclusion that maybe women in this camp could put Devlon in his place even better than he ever could.

"You should be glad that you still have your wings, I could just clip them as a punishment for your disobedience"

You just laughed in his face. "do it, and my high lord will have your head. "

Cassian heart warmed at the thought that illyrian women trust Rhys to protect them. They finally trust Rhysand enough to rely on him to protect them and punish those who hurt them.

Devlon just laughed in her face, and that somehow made Cassian mad. He didn't know why he was feeling like this. He had this uncontrollable need to protect her and to make her like him. It was the first time he ever felt like this.

"Do you mean the little princeling and his two bastards? They don't give fuck about some useless woman like yourself"

"Sadly to inform you, Lord Devlon," cassian said mockingly, "but we surely give fuck, so i suggest you to step back and let that woman be"

Cassian flared his wings to make himself the bigger threat in this situation and stepped in front of you. While the two men in front of you had their own silent battle, you couldn't help but admire Cassian.

You knew who he was. Who wouldn't know him? Yet you never seen him. Yeah, you heard stories about how he looks, but your imagination could never come up with the god that stands in front of you. His tan skin. The way his muscles flexed under his leathers. And his wings? They had little scars all over them, yet you couldn't help but admire them. They were so strong. True to his reputation, these were the wings of warrior.

He slowly turned around and you couldn't see his strong back and wings, which was slightly disappointing to you, but the moment you were met with his strong chest you wished for him to never turn around. Everything about him looked so right and hot. You looked up and saw Cassian grinning at you.

,,you alright there, sweetheart?"

Your heart started beating uncontrollably fast, and you swear that it could be heard on the other side of the Windhaven. You couldn't look away from his Hazel eyes. It was like they were holding you in their mercy and weren't planning on letting you go. Yet you still needed to answer him, to hear his voice again.

"I-" before you could finish your sentence something snapped between you two.

,,mate"

#acotar x reader #cassian x reader #cassian acotar x reader #cassian #fluff #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian x y/n #cassian x you

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nsharks · 5 months

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part fourteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Blue holds her arm out, stopping you from taking another step.

"Sh. I see one."

Up ahead, a squirrel stills on a tree, beady eyes unblinking. In a matter of seconds, Blue throws her knife and pins it to the bark through the stomach.

"Nice," you comment. "You got it on the first try this time."

In your hand is the other squirrel she killed for you. Ghost started working on your bow yesterday. He didn't say anything to you about it, but you spotted him sitting on the porch chiseling away at a hunk of oak. Until he's finished, you've struck another deal: helping Blue skin the rabbits in exchange for her killing squirrels with you. She's better at killing them with a knife than you are.

"This is good practice for me." She wriggles the knife out and hands you the kill. "Poor guy didn't see it coming."

"Probably better that way."

She slips the knife back to her ankle. "Do you need more? Or is two enough."

"Two is enough. I saw these flowers by the trench that I think are edible."

"You can eat flowers?" She makes a face. The two of you begin heading back toward the camp. You didn't go off too far with her. Ghost said she wasn't allowed to go past the pond without him. Truthfully, you were surprised he let her go with you at all.

"Yeah. Pink Sorrel. They taste lemony, and I'll add the leaves, too. Like a salad."

"Yum," she says sarcastically. "Did Paul teach you that?"

You nod. "He knew a lot about plants."

"Are you sure he didn't like you?"

"Blue," you almost groan. "You've asked me this twice now."

"Well, you seemed to have spent a lot of time with him, and he taught you a lot of things."

"You can spend time with someone and learn things from them without... liking them."

"I wouldn't know," she shrugs, waving her hand around. "There are no boys here for me to spend time with besides Ghost."

"Paul didn't like me in that way," you reaffirm. "Besides, he's dead."

There is a lingering pause as a cloud rolls over the sun, turning everything dim before it passes. The weather these past few days has been fluctuating like true spring. Cold showers in the morning, intense sunlight by noon, and clouds that come and go. The cabbages Blue planted have sprouted fat, juicy leaves. You've mentally scolded yourself for not including seeds in your deal with Ghost.

"So when are you and Ghost going to start training or whatever?" Blue speaks up, switching subjects.

"Training?" you repeat.

"He told me you wanted to learn some things." She glances at you. "Look, let me just warn you, he can be a real hard ass. One time, he made me climb up and down a tree twenty times without stopping. And another time, he made me throw knives over and over until I hit the exact same spot on the tree again."

Right. Somehow, that last request you made of him has slipped your mind. You did ask him to teach you how to better defend yourself against other people.

It's been over a week now, and the two of you still haven't talked much except for the necessities. Honestly, it's probably best that way. Maintaining a clinical relationship with him should keep the peace and maybe even earn more of his trust. You're growing confident that he doesn't see you as much of a threat anymore. Last night, you ran into him again after waking up from another dream, and all he did was walk past you, step outside for a cigarette, and then go back to his room. He didn't seem suspicious of you being up at all.

That said, the reminder of the 'training' he's supposed to give you makes your teeth snag onto your lip.

When you don't respond, Blue adds, "What exactly do you want him to show you? I hate to say it, but I don't think he'll give you one of his guns."

"No," you shake your head. "I don't want that. It's not Greys that I'm as worried about. As long I've got distance, I can use my bow for them. It's more about... other people. They get close. Too close."

"Well, you can always bite their nose off," she gives a bump to your shoulder.

You cringe. "I'd rather not have to do that again."

She pauses, looking at her boots. "What did it taste like?"

"Fucking awful. Probably the grossest thing I've ever experienced."

She looks up. "If you were a Grey, you would've loved it."

"Well, I'm human still, and I much prefer these guys." You wag the dead squirrels in front of her face and she laughs. If you could replace all her tears with that sound, you would.

"You still haven't answered my question," Blue tilts her head. "When are you getting started? Because I have some training in mind for you, too."

You arch a brow but don't question it. "Um. I don't know. Ghost hasn't said anything to me about it, and he's busy working on my bow right now."

"Why don't you ask him, then?" She shoots you a knowing smirk. "Are you scared of him, Twix?"

"No," you say all too quickly. "No... I'm not. I just don't know how to talk to him. He's not exactly approachable."

"Just do what I do. I say whatever I want to him. Except when he's pissed, then—" she freezes for a moment and lays a hand on your shoulder. "—it's better to shut up and listen. Believe me."

You speak under your breath. "Noted."

It's another dream that night which pushes you to actually confront him. The loud voices sharpen into images— a bloodied knife at your throat, a toothy smile, carved body parts. You wake up and grab your neck, expecting to feel severed tissue. Instead, you feel damp skin. Something bubbles up your throat and fills your mouth. Squirrel and Pink Sorrel. The taste makes you shudder, but you swallow your dinner back down. The dark, quiet living room mocks you.

The morning after that, you find him on the porch. It's not raining, but the air pricks the back of your neck with dew. You've already bathed and woven your hair into braids, which is growing longer by the day and bordering on an inconvenience.

Ghost tilts his head the second a wood plank creaks beneath your footsteps, tearing his gaze away from the assortment of carving knives in his lap. You've caught him in the moment before he's started to work on your bow again.

He is wearing that balaclava that makes him look more man than ghost, along with a black hoodie and faded, brown jacket. The whites of his eyes are visible, slowly sliding up to yours. You fully realize he isn't going to greet you with a hello, and standing there in an uncomfortable silence doesn't interest you, so you bite the bullet.

"I want to start that other thing I asked you for."

He seems to know what you're referring to. "Right now?"

Your nails dig into your palms, realizing that you should've waited for a time when he wasn't preoccupied. Though, he's hardly ever not doing something.

Blue was right. Something about him has you subconciously on the defensive; it's something you want to get over if this living arrangement is going to be long-term, which you'd prefer it to be. It was about two months ago now that he nearly killed you, and since then, he has kept you alive ten times over. Maybe you should focus on that: on the hand that pulled you up, on the warm jacket over your shoulders, on the bow he is making.

"Whenever you have the chance. But— now, if we could."

Ghost lowers his eyebrows and seems to think it over. "Now is fine. Your bow will have to wait a bit, then."

"That's okay," you speak as you exhale. "I don't mind."

It's at that moment Blue pushes through the front door and you almost startle. "Can I come with you guys?"

Ghost folds his knives up and responds in a firm tone. "No. You have work to finish up."

"But my leg is hurting," she retorts lightly. "I'd rather sit and watch you guys."

"Your leg was just fine yesterday when you were hunting and climbing trees."

"That was yesterday. Today, it hurts." She bites her lip and shrugs.

"How convinient." He gives her a dry look.

"So is that a yes?"

"It's a no."

With a groan, she goes back inside.

Ghost escorts you out of the gate and towards a small clearing nestled within a circle of trees. As you follow behind him, you find your eyes straying to his broad back and for a moment, you wonder if maybe you've changed your mind— or maybe you want to tell him to wait until Blue can come join.

But you remind yourself that survival is a proactive game; you can't laze around and keep getting sick from the memories. You need to shut them away into that box you've made, and in the meantime, get stronger.

"Here is good," he says, stopping.

It's been awhile since you've done anything like this. There were plenty of times Paul 'trained' you. He used to make you shoot at the trees until your back muscles were practically immobile. As an ex forest ranger, he wasn't much of a fighter. His advice was always this: "Don't let anyone or anything get close enough to where you have to fight them."

Clearly, his advice can only go so far.

In the five years you were at your old camp, you managed to keeps things at a distance for the most part. A few Greys had snuck up on you, resulting in thrashing and wrestling around to avoid bites. But there were only one or two times that you had to engage in close combat with a human. The few other survivors you encountered were usually punished by Paul's rifle or your arrows.

You shed your jacket and hang it on a branch, left in just Ghost's shirt and your jeans. "So, um, what should I start with? Running laps?"

"You want to learn how to defend yourself, not run a marathon."

"Right." You nod and rub at the gooseflesh that sprouts on your arm. You turn to face him. "I was joking."

Ghost ignores your comment with a pensive expression, staring you down across the short distance. You put on a blank face and meet his eyes expectantly.

The silence stretches for a second longer than what would be deemed normal. Is this just how he is, then? Or is it only with you? You're about to say something to put an end to it when he suddenly crosses his arms over his chest.

"You were a nurse." It should come out like a question, but it's more of a statement. His voice nearly makes you jump.

You can't help it; you look away. "Um. I... wasn't, actually."

Why is he bringing this up? Never once has he asked anything about you. In fact, you sometimes toy with the thought that he might have forgotten your real name by now.

"Figured," he says.

You frown, flashing him a confused look. "What? Why?"

"You're a bit too young to have been a nurse five years ago."

You think back to the moment he found you with an inward wince. "So you knew I wasn't telling the truth?"

"It didn't matter if you were or not."

That's right. I don't need a nurse, he said.

"It wasn't a total lie," you clarify, dropping your arms at your sides. "I was in nursing school."

He rubs his chin. "You should understand the body, then— its weak points."

Your fingers flex before they gesture to your face. "The nose and eyes are obvious ones. But... but if someone grabs me from behind like," you forcefully inhale, "Like you did, then I won't be able to reach them."

He gives a short nod, then looms closer. You will your boots to remain planted in the damp soil despite the overwhelming proximity and intimidating mass of him. You blink up as he points a gloved finger to the hinge of his jaw. "There's this, too. Pretty easy to dislocate." His fingers move to side of his corded neck. "And here. The throat is weak and vital."

"I still wouldn't be able to reach those," you point out.

"You have more than just your arms, Twix."

"So my head, then?"

"That's one way." He moves a step back and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Why don't you show me what you'd do— give it a try."

The suggestion should be expected given what you're asking of him— of course he would have to touch you at somepoint. Yet, it makes you stiffen. He motions his hand for you to turn around and with great hesitance, you comply, until you hear the crunch of twigs beneath his boots as he closes in behind you. You stare straight ahead at a tree and focus on breathing.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

His flat tone makes your eyes twitch in irritation and you are glad he can't see them. "Yeah. I know."

Just as he did all that time ago, his burly arms wrap around you, though not as firm and threatening. Your feet don't hang and you're not skin and bones this time, but once again, you are imprisoned against a hard chest. Your lungs pick up their pace and an artery in your neck jolts.

"Just show me what you'd do," he says slowly, warm breath fanning across the top of your hair. "Don't worry about hurting me."

You wriggle against him, but even without issuing all his strength, it's useless. You stomp on his foot, figuring that toes are pretty vulnerable, but his thick boot hurts your sole more than you could possibly have hurt him. Your eyes begin to sting. You suddenly find yourself panting in frustration. Before you can even think about trying to use your head, full-blown panic unfurls in your chest.

"Let go," you say under your breath. He must not hear you. Your voice turns to a snarled hiss. "Fucking let go of me."

His hold immediately loosens and you stagger forward, creating much-needed distance. Heavy breaths scratch up your throat. You wipe the back of your hand over your forehead and close your eyes for a moment, seeing blood and burnt skin against the backs of your lids. When you reopen them, Ghost is staring at you. The humiliation sets in as a red flush on your cheeks.

"Sorry," you shake your head and stare up at the clouded sky. "Just— maybe we should go back." Your arms hug around your stomach to keep its contents contained. "We can start this another day."

Throwing up in front of him again is low on the list of things you'd enjoy doing. He's already seen you near-death— no need to add a mental breakdown to your repertoire. Your lips press tightly together as you head to the tree for your jacket, but his gruff voice pauses your fingers against the embroidered flag on its sleeve.

"This isn't going to work if you don't tell me what is bothering you."

Your hand drops. "What?"

"What happened when you went to get the ammo, Twix?" he presses.

"I..."

To tell him would be to pry open that box you've made and let him peek inside. He has never even asked a single question about you until today, so you press onto the lid, tight, and turn to face him with pleading eyes. "I don't want to talk about it with you, Ghost. Don't make me."

In response, he lifts up his hands in resignation. "Alright." He lowers them. "Why don't you at least tell me how you handled it?"

"Why?"

He taps a finger to his masked temple. "So I can understand how you think. How you keep surviving all this shit."

The wave of nausea settles as you form your response. "I... I burned him. He cleaned the bite on my arm with some alcohol. I distracted him a little and then smashed the bottle on his head. I had my lighter, so I used it."

Slowly, he nods, as if your words are not all that surprising to him. "And how about at the base when I left you?"

"There was that Grey," you remind him. "I bit the guy's nose and pushed him into it. If it hadn't been there, Blue and I would be dead. You see? I survived because I was lucky. I hardly know what I'm doing."

Ghost argues. "You survived because you saw opportunities and took them. You were smart about it."

"And what about when there are no opportunities? I will just panic like I did now." The tightness in your chest turns into something that has you roughly grabbing the jacket and sheathing your bare arms. "Let's just go back now.”

This time, he doesn't protest. The silence that clouds the short walk back is expected on his part, and purposeful on yours.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction

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ch3rriiii-bunn · 1 year

Text

Just like them

With Hantengus clones♡ AHHH THIS IS PROBABLY THE CUTEST IDEA I CAME UP WITH

Warnings: female bodied reader, demon reader, harpy reader (on Urogi's part), reader is mentioned to have darker skin and thicker hair, slightly suggestive(?), fluff, mention of other uppermoons

Aizetsu

Aizetsu met you through douma. He found you, a demon with skin more melanated and one horn who didn't like to be around humans or demons. Douma decided to introduce you to a demon who is similar to you. His name is Aizetsu

Aizetsu's first impression of you was just as negative as yours. "You're not an upper rank? You must've run into some strong slayers... how sad," he frowned. You frowned as well. "It's a pity, but you're an upper rank, meaning you'd have to run into the hashira... it's terrifying, isn't it?" You look up at Aizetsu as his eyebrows knit at your response

Aizetsu decided to listen to douma on taking you in. Not just because douma is an upper rank, but because he didn't think he'd feel some happiness to be around another demon like him, it felt like a gift. He introduced you to his brothers, but you've always been quiet around them, feeling envy you can't have emotions like that too

Aizetsu was calm like you, which made you feel safer around him. The two of you would relate a lot to each other, which brought you closer, "I hate when Sekido yells at me. He's so mean, " you say with tears filling your water line. Aizetsu comes closer to you, also having the same sad expression, "me too... but I'd never yell at you, " he says and cups your cheek

Aizetsu only smiled around you, not all the time but once in a while. "Can we stay together forever? I don't want you to leave me, " he said with a trembling voice, holding back tears. "I can't leave you. My heart would break," you said, hugging him tightly and crying, making Aizetsu hug you back, crying as well

Sekido

Sekido met you, though, akaza. Despite akaza hating anyone weaker than him, he had some respect for Upper Moon 4 and found a demon, you who's a lot like Sekido

Sekido and you would bump heads a lot since both of you are easily angered and didn't take any shit from each other. "I'm much stronger than you! How dare you speak to me like that, let alone make that face at me, " he says, raising his voice. You snarl. "And how dare you, a man, speak to a woman like me like that. I don't give a damn if you're stronger. " You raise your voice back

Sekido gets very frustrated with you since he met someone who had the same level as anger as him, but oddly, that drew him closer to you. He couldn't help but smirk whenever you'd boss his brothers around and called them out on their stupidity. Finally, he'd met someone with common sense even if you were a pain in his ass

Sekido would always bring up how he's stronger and would kill you at any time he wished, but it always ends up being empty threats because he actually felt some enjoyment having you around

Sekido makes sure he's alone with you to hold your hand and look away from you. "The fuck are you doing now?" You said looking at him "Shut up. I'm just enjoying you're presents around me. Stupid woman, " he says, and you see his ears turning red. You chuckle "I enjoy your presents too, you stupid man"

Karaku

Karaku had met you through gyokko. You reminded him of another demon he knew and decided to bring you back to meet him, and boy, were you excited to meet the demon named Karaku

Karaku loved you immediately, and you loved him right back. "Wow, you're gorgeous! I haven't met any other demons with this skin tone as me and my brothers" Karaku laughs, having his arm around you. "Why thank you, and your hair is thick like mine too. It's very handsome if i might say"

Karaku and you would flirt back and forth even in front of his brothers, which would make sekido yell at you both. If you went on missions with Karaku and his brothers, you would get scolded just as much as Karaku by sekido for giving each other the most wicked ideas just for "fun" instead of taking your fights with slayers seriously

Karaku had a habit of always sticking his tounge at you if you ever got mad or upset to cheer you up and you couldn't help but always smile sticking your tounge out back at him and even sometimes putting your tounge on his making you both laugh

Karaku likes to cuddle with you under the moonlight alone. You have your arms around him as well with smile and close your eyes, resting your head on his chest. "I love you. Can i be your girlfriend?" You ask bluntly but still feeling flustered at your own question. "You were mine from the start, pretty girl"

Urogi

Urogi had a fight with his brothers for the first time ever and flew out of the house for a while to clear his head that day, but he never regretted that because he met you

Urogi was shocked to meet you but was really happy. "Wow! I never met a male harpy! your eyes say upper 4" You gasped and clenched your claws together and covered your mouth "Wow you're an upper rank! That's so freaking cool, dude!". The rush of excitement came to Urogi, and he had the biggest smile on his face. "I don't know what a harpy is, but yeah! And me? You look so freaking cool, too! Your wings are gorgeous!"

Urogi made it his priority to meet up with you after that day whenever he was done a mission and sometimes even brought you around his brothers. His favorite thing to do with you was to lock your talons together and fly high in the night sky

Urogi loved how you felt just as much joy in fighting humans as him and would even made it a game to torture random demon slayers you'd find and play catch with them with your bird like feet in the sky, laughing at their screams

Urogi is a big cuddler and didn't miss the chance to cuddle with you since you loved to cuddle to but never found the right demon to do that with until you met him. You two would be cuddling, facing each other with your arms and legs wrapped around each other and your wings covering you both. "Hey, stay with me forever. I don't think I'd feel joy if you left. I'm strong. I can protect you, " he says."I wasn't planning on flying anywhere with you, " you smiled.

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer fluff #hantengu #hantengu clones #aizetsu x reader #sekido x reader #karaku x reader #urogi x reader

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yesimwriting · 5 months

Text

Of Angels

Part 2 of Of Angels (part 1)

A/n we're back! also this is a friendly reminder that this isn't supposed to be exactly like the movie/book, some things will be a little different bc of practicality, my ability to remember things, or just for fun/for me bc i have more fun writing when i can change things up

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

----

The potential consequences of Coriolanus's mistake don't fully manage to force their way to the front of his mind until the door clicks shut.

He's thrown himself, locked himself, in a contained space with the most savage and aggravated group of people in the Capitol. Just in an attempt to get you to trust him.

Coriolanus turns around as casually as he can manage, "Hello."

Unwashed faces blink up at him. Their expressions start off as blank, slowly but surely hardening as they take in his clothing and presence. Someone from the Capitol that isn't a peacekeeper.

One of the larger tributes begins to walk forward. The others glare at him, watching him with a silent rage that makes the space feel like it's shrinking.

The largest of them gets so close that Coriolanus has to push his body towards the vehicle's door. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you."

"Do you have any family back home?" The voice isn't strong, but it's so steady despite its smallness that one could mistake it for certainty. Despite the threat that stands in front of him, Coriolanus's attention instinctually shifts towards you. "Or any friends? Maybe a puppy you're fond of?" Your fingers are curled around the edge of the bench you're sitting on. "They'll kill them."

Your tone is too neutral for you to be speaking from personal experience, and yet, you sound so sure. Coriolanus wonders if there's something there worth digging into. Maybe it's just a byproduct of where you're from, a district that's prone to rebellion is often warned about what disobedience can lead to.

The tribute cornering him doesn't move away, but he stills, stiff and uncertain. You look between them innocently. "Besides, he's my mentor." Your hands loosen their grip on the edge of the bench, you push yourself to stand. "I might need him."

"Men-tle?" Another voice chimes in.

"Mentor."

"How come you get a mentor?" The tribute questioning Coriolanus's presence in association to you twists their neck to glare at you.

"You all get one," he forces the sentence out quickly. The last thing he needs to do is make you a target. Getting you to live is going to be enough of an uphill battle as is.

The tribute closest to him takes another intimidating step forward. "He's lying."

"She's the girl that volunteered," the red-headed girl from four--Coral, if he's remembering correctly--sneers, angling her head to glare at you, "Of course they need to keep an eye on her." She then dips her chin downwards, staring you down with mockingly soft eyes, "Is it everything you thought it'd be, princess?"

Volunteering did mark you. He wonders how many remarks you had to put up with on the way here and whether or not they've affected your mental state. The short exchange the two of you shared made you seem together. You weren't overly emotionally or even aggressively closed off.

The determined pout of your lips draws his attention more than it should. You then tilt your head with no warning, matching her condescending expression, "Better, actually."

You draw out the sentence, not once shrinking under District 4's cold stare. Coriolanus's expression instinctively shifts to hint at a smile. Your sarcasm isn't off putting or brash, it's refreshing. It's a flash of fight, of sharp teeth ready to be barred that he hadn't thought you capable of.

The display of potential aggression also doesn't affect your charm at all. Being able to strike back while still holding onto the appearance of kindness is a skill in itself. Coriolanus has to take everything on the cheek publicly to avoid coming off like a starving dog finally snapping.

Those kinds of remarks won't do you any favors in the arena unless you're the kind of person that has the physical strength or skill to back it up. You don't. It's more than just your stature, it's in the way you carry yourself. But still, maybe you'll be entertaining enough under this new structure to score him some points towards the Plinth prize. That is, if he can get you to trust him, if he can convince you to talk about your relationship with your cousin and maybe flash that smile you gave him when you first met for the cameras.

Coral's glare intensifies. She pushes herself to stand, as if to intimidate you, but before she can fully straighten, the world shifts.

Coriolanus doesn't have time to think. He's sliding--falling--back before he knows what's happening. A few of the tributes yelp, one of the younger ones squeaks. Something warm latches itself onto his wrist.

He blinks, his body finally reattaching itself to his mind. The vehicle opened and started dumping out its contents with no warning. In the panic, you had grabbed him.

The vehicle settles, anyone managing to hold onto the metal door looses their hold. Everyone tumbles down a small slope, a mess of bodies bumping into each other when they're not busy hitting the edge of rocks until they land in a heap on the ground.

Coriolanus sits up as soon as his back hits something solid. His head snaps around, taking in his surroundings. The space is made up of jagged, tan rocks coated in dirt. Bars line the perimeter--a cage. This is a cage. Of course following the animals leads to ending up in a cage.

Self disgust and panic knot oddly in his stomach. He stands before he can think of what comes next.

"And here we have them, the tributes for the 10th annual Hunger Games."

His eyes find the people already flocking the bars, the most notable one of them someone he's familiar with. Lucky Flickerman, a usual Capitol programming personality. This, his public humilation, is being streamed on television.

"Oh, and look--" Lucky turns towards him, the cameraman instinctually moving to get him into frame. Lucky turns back to the camera, addressing his audience, "I don't think he's supposed to be in there." He laughs then, the sound jabbing at Coriolanus's side.

An aggravated heat begins to burn through is chest. There's nowhere to duck, no excuse to remedy what he's done to the Snow family name.

"Hey." He blinks, surprised he didn't immediately jump out of his skin. How you stood up so silently is beyond him.

Coriolanus can't think of a way to respond. Here he is, in a cage on display with you, like he's one of the district born, and you're the one attempting to ease him. Confidence, assurance. That's what he should be providing you so that you feel the need to--

You place your hand over his. The contact runs just as hot as the humiliation searing through him, only, this is a different kind of warmth. A much steadier, much more agonizing sort of warmth.

His eyes finally find yours. You look more tousled than before, one of your hair ribbons missing and dirt smeared against the apple of your cheek. "Own it."

You whisper the instruction so confidently it almost feels like this is natural to you. Owning it does feel better than being consumed by his embarrassment and accepting the destruction of his family name, but part of the steadiness comes from you. The realization that you're capable of that claws at him.

He nods, eyes instinctually dropping to avoid your expectant stare. The white rose is still safely held between your fingers. He stretches a hand forward, taking the flower by its stem. Your eyebrows draw together, but you let him. Coriolanus breaks off the end of the stem and carefully tucks the flower behind your ear.

You hold still, even as he takes the time to smooth your hair into place.

"Well, that's not something you see every day." Lucky's voice snaps him out of it.

Coriolanus takes you by the arm, walking you up to the camera's. He keeps his expression as casually bright as possible. "I'm Coriolanus Snow."

"And who is she?"

He expects to have to answer that, but you give him your full name without missing a beat, your voice smooth and sweet like honey. "And who are you?"

The cameraman lets out a small laugh at your confusion. "Be nice," Lucky mumbles, "Not everyone has a TV." He then turns back to you, "I'm Lucky Flickerman, Capitol weatherman, TV personality..."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Lucky says into his microphone, "You're the girl who volunteered."

Coriolanus watches your reaction as best he can from his peripheral vision. Your lips pull downwards slightly. There's something almost sad about it, but it's done in such a respectable manner that he can't imagine anyone minding it.

You confirm with a slight nod of your head, "Yes."

Lucky takes the microphone back, "Now why would you do a thing like that?"

For the first time, a hint of cracking presents itself in your expression. It's minor, just the pull of your eyebrows, but he can't help but hold his breath as he waits for your reply. "For my cousin."

"And she's back home, right? You're from 12?"

You nod again, the motion small, "Yes. She's with my mother, her aunt."

"Well, that was a very brave thing," he commends, almost surprisingly serious, "Not many people are willing to die in someone's place." Your expression wavers, Lucky moves on before it can matter. "And you're?"

"Coriolanus Snow," he says smoothly, "I'm a student at the Academy."

"And you were...told to come here?"

Coriolanus breezes past the speculation in Lucky's tone, "I was told to present my tribute."

Lucky nods, turning on the easy, camera ready smile, "And present her you did."

"Excuse me," a tiny voice mumbles. You instinctually look down. A girl that can't be much more than maybe 7-years-old, "Who was the girl you volunteered for?"

You blink at the loaded question, "Uh--she's my cousin, and her name is Marigold, we--we call her Mari." The little girl blinks at you, watching you like you're something foreign. Which, he guesses, you technically are. "And you know what? She kinda looked like you when she was little."

The little girl beams, "I like your bows."

"Thank you," you hum brightly, like the compliment truly does mean the world to you.

You unlink your arm from his. Coriolanus watches you unsurely as you reach both hands to the side of your hair. You pull at the ribbon on one side of your head, unraveling it expertly. "Would you like one?"

The girl beams, nodding her head enthusiastically. You lean forward so that you're about eye level with the girl. You hand her the short piece of ribbon. The girl giggles before running off with her prize.

"Aw, isn't that cute?" Lucky's speaking to the camera as he starts to walk forward, "Come down, folks, and see these tributes before it's too late. And I do mean, too late."

Lucky disappears, walking as he continues to talk to his audience.

"You gave her your..." He gestures in the general direction of where the ribbon had previously sat.

You shrug, "Oh, I think the other one fell out on the way here. They're impractical, but I didn't--I didn't think I'd be in them for so long."

There's something he should say to you. Probably something comforting, assuring.

"Okay." The stern voice of a peacekeeper. Coriolanus should have known that it was only a matter of time. One of them clasps his shoulder, the other grabs his arm. "You're not supposed to be in here."

He's pushed back before he can speak to you. "Okay," he mumbles, "I'm go--"

You grab his arm before he can obey, "Bring us food." The words are hard, urging, "Please, I haven't eaten anything since before the reaping."

He nods once, pausing long enough to force the peacekeeper to push him back again. Coriolanus starts walking, flanked by the peacekeepers, his eyes trained on what's directly in front of him.

As they pass where the group had initially landed, his eyes find a bright speck of ivory white. A hint of brightness hidden by rocky dirt and grime. Your ribbon.

Coriolanus wonders if it's something you'd want back, something you'd spend your time searching for. You already gave away the other one, it can't have mattered that much. It's likely just some repurposed scrap.

He doesn't know what he's doing as he bends down under the guise of adjusting his shoelace. He's not sure what his goal is until his hand reaches forward, grabbing the ribbon.

"Okay," one of the peacekeepers hurries him, bending down to place a forceful hand on his shoulder, "Hurry up."

----

His apartment is heavy with silence. His grandma'am and Tigris have been asleep for hours now, resting the way he should be.

It's everything that's happened today. That's what's stealing sleep from him. There's a lot to do, a lot to think about if he's going to pull this off and win the Plinth prize. There's an uncertain charm about you. It's as if you have a greater understanding of what it's like to be civilized than the rest of them. That's something to work with, isn't it?

You mentioned needing to eat. Another obstacle that his financial predicaments have placed in his way. He'll have to take a risk he's taken so rarely--taking food from the Academy's lunch in order to bring you something. You'll be of no use to anyone if you faint in the arena.

There's more to think about, to plan. He could stop by tomorrow after his usual classes if Dr. Gaul doesn't orchestrate any specifics. And maybe even then. It'd be ideal to convince you that he cares about you more than any of the mentors care about their tributes. The more you think he's working for you, the more you'll work for him.

That's why he's awake. He shifts, moving from his back to resting on his side. All of this, all thoughts and analysis of you, are extremely practical.

He wipes at his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. He finds his discarded uniform, left folded neatly on his small desk. Without thinking, Coriolanus reaches deep into the uniform's pocket, digging through it until his fingers brush against something smooth and cool. He pulls out the partially stained, ivory ribbon. Truly practical.

----

Taglist (tagging people who were asking about part 2, if this is annoying, i'm so sorry pls lmk if you don't want to be tagged) : @juleshaters @cosmicsully @edb954 @h-l-vlovesvintage @darknessdevil25 @mavkaorlova @astarborntowrite @karmaswitch @daughter1of2anita3dearly @zucchinimalfoy @madislayyy @weaponb33 @darlingisntit @deamus-liv @etheriaaly @clintsupremacy @spookyconsultingcriminal @dylanstilinskiposts

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #coriolanus x reader

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carolmunson · 2 years

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fixin' dinner. (sadist!eddie x f!masochist!reader)

back again with a mean sadist!eddie (also technically mechanic!eddie) and his hot masochist gf. let's explore the one time they played 'mean 50s husband and hot 50s housewife who can't get her shit together.

warnings include: smut, minors dni. established dom/sub sadist/masochist relationship, all aspects of the scene being written are consented to between these fictional parties, belting, spanking with belt, general threats, degradation, humiliation, emotional sadism, physical sadism, mean names (bitch), pet names (baby, honey, darling, etc.), face slapping, slight breeding kink, p in v sex (unprotected), teasing, rough sex, food mention, the works. eddie is MEAN in this, as a reminder. this doesn't feature aftercare but it sort of doesn't need it in a way. ---

When the phone rings in the trailer, you know it's him.

"Hi," you chirp.

"Hi sweet thing," his voice is warm and crackly, tired. Like it was this morning when you woke him up for breakfast.

"What's goin' on, you okay? Staying late?" you ask, leaning against the wall in the kitchen.

"No, babe, I'm about to leave -- just wanted to know if dinner was gonna be ready by the time I got home," he smirks when he asks, your eyes linger at front door's frame -- his leather belt hung on a nail next to it. You gulped.

"Uh, um..." you stammer, heart starting to pound.

"You better hope dinner's ready by the time I get in the door," his voice is menacing, "Or you're gonna be in for a world'a hurt, you understand me?"

"Y-yes, sir," your mouth runs dry but your lower half can't say the same. He'd brought up this scenario weeks ago -- 'Like those 50s housewives baby, how their husbands would get home from work and they burned dinner. We could do it like that? You were just saying how I haven't used my belt in a while. It could be fun, huh?'

He ran you through it this morning, going through your normal 'do you trust me?' routine before he left for work so you didn't have to do it before starting. 'If you decide you don't wanna play anymore, just say 'I ordered pizza' when I ask if dinner's gonna be ready, okay? I love you either way. Gonna fuck you on that counter either way, too.'

He was insatiable.

"Don't disappoint me," his voice takes on darkness so easily. You bite your lip to hold back the whimper in your throat.

"I won't," you whisper, "I promise."

"See you in twenty," he says, "Love you." He hangs up before you can tell him you love him, too. Eager. You take the time you have to freshen up before her arrives -- you had already burnt dinner, it sat on the stove blackened and crisped on purpose. He'll love the extra effort you put in to make it authentic.

The green tinged light of the bathroom mirror isn't doing you any favors, but you glide on some Dr. Pepper lip smackers and a little blush for good measure. Pouty and flushed, just how he liked it.

You put on a flouncy dress with flutter sleeves, the kind of dress that buttons all down the middle. Frabric that flounces with you when you walk, hitting just above your knee. A spare apron from an old French maid costume completed the look along with a pair of fake pearl earrings, and heels that made Eddie fall to his knees. You smoothed over the apron, hearing his van pull in noisily, the slam of the driver side door. Normally you're so ready for these interactions, for his harshness, for his angry stare. Today felt different, you were in the headspace, you were a little afraid.

It was exciting.

You plaster on a smile when he comes through the door. His grin meets yours, and so does the scent of gasoline and oil blended together with his sweat. His hair is tied back today, tendrils and bangs crowding his face, showing off his jaw -- the stubble left on it from this morning.

"There's my girl," he's gruff, pulling you by the waist to kiss you -- it's passionate, like he hadn't seen you in years.

"Hi honey," you flush, trying your hardest to stay in character and not just bend over the couch, "Good day at work?" "Better when I know I have you to come home to," he smiles and winks, taking off his work shirt all the while revealing his oil stained wife beater and the two silver chains he wore around his neck. His steps are broad and deliberate on his way to the kitchen, scraping one of the metal chairs away from the table before collapsing into it like a brute.

"Get me a beer, sweet thing," he demands, tutting while you get one from the fridge with dainty and graceful movements -- his pretty little thing, "Shouldn't have to ask you, should just have it when I come in." "Sorry, dear," you respond, watching him open the bottle on the edge of the table. He takes a swig, licking his lips while he looks you over.

Please just fuck me, you're so hot right now, you try to send him the message telepathically but he's not getting it.

"It's okay," he says, taking another sip and setting the beer down, "What's for dinner, angel?"

Your eyebrows raise, but you shake the fear off, forcing another smile, "Darling, I'm so sorry. I accidentally burned dinner. I can make something else if you'd like! Anything you want!"

"So dinner isn't ready?" he asks, surprised.

"It...well, it was. It burned," your voice was meek, he salivated over it.

"So you burned dinner?" his brows furrowed, standing up slowly from the kitchen chair.

"You burned dinner?" he asked again, his face stained in anger, "Am I hearing you right?"

"Baby, I'm sorry -- I was just trying to get it done on time and the oven was on too high. I'm sorry," your lower lip wobbles, he rolls his eyes before they end up in a hard glare down at you. "I work all fuckin' day, every day, to keep a roof over your head," he takes a step forward while you step back, "I break my fuckin' back so you don't have to lift a fuckin' finger. And you can't even manage to make me fuckin' dinner?"

"I...I did -- it just -- it burned -- I'm -- " you sputtered, taking careful steps while backing away from him. You shook in your heels, his eyes menacing and shining with rage.

"So what is it, huh? You too stupid? Too lazy?" he spits while he stomps forward in his combat boots, the floor shaking while he cracks an open palm hard against your cheek, "You a fuckin' idiot, is that it?"

The force sends you reeling, hands immediately reaching for your stinging face -- certain there'd be a mark left behind later. Tears prick your eyes but you don't want to cry yet, opting to swallow the air pocket flying up from your chest -- desperate to steady your breathing.

"No, I -- it was an accident," your back hits the wall and he takes a deep breath through his nose, letting it out the same way like a bull ready to strike. You can feel a pulse in your cheek where he hit you, the places where his rings hit starting to swell. You make a run for it, checking his shoulder while you do, smearing oil on your dress's flutter sleeve.

"Oh, no, no, no," he taunts, turning at his waist and catching your forearm in a vice grip to pull you back to him, "Don't you run away from me when I'm talking to you."

"Don't you have any manners?" he asks, slamming you against the wall to cage you in with a hand resting by your shoulders. You nod, tears pouring hot down your cheeks, mascara streaking over your rouge.

"Answer me!" he growls, you wince -- your eyes shut tight.

"I h-have manners," you stammer out, eyes still closed.

"Look at me," he huffs, "You know better." You do know better than to not look at him when he's speaking but you just can't. You hang your head instead.

"Oh, you don't wanna listen? Go get my belt," he sighs, pushing his curly bangs away from his forhead, "Gonna have to teach you, aren't I?" "No, I -- please no," you plead, eyes popping open, but it gets you nothing but fingers digging into your jaw.

"If I hear another sound come outta that mouth that isn't you cryin' and apologizing to me, m'gonna make you sleep outside in the van," his threat feels real and your heart hammers, "Do I make myself clear?" "Cr-crystal," you nod. "Now," he mutters through gritted teeth, peering down at you with his jaw forward, "Go. Get. My. Belt."

You sulk, walking the short distance to where his belt hung by the doorframe -- a reminder every time you left his trailer, best behavior. You lift it off, running the length through your hands -- thick and wide, he never wore it, it was only for play.

"You think I got all day?" he calls. You shuffle into the kitchen, your heels scraping against the linoleum leaving scuff marks in their wake.

"And you've been leaving marks all over my floor," he spits, wrenching the belt out of your hand and wrapping some of the length around his knuckles. He shoves you roughly over the kitchen table where you obediently assume your position, shoulders shuddering while you lift your dress up.

Eddie takes the casserole dish with the charred dinner and tosses it in front of you, "Baby, I don't like having to do this, you gotta stop giving me reasons to. What is it, huh? You gotta go back to school and take home ec or somethin'?"

"No, sir," you barely squeak out.

"Like I said earlier," he says gruffly, bringing the belt down hard across your ass, "You're in for a world'a hurt, tonight." It doesn't help that you like the belt. You like how he looks in the kitchen light while the shadows from the florecents enhance the muscles in his arms. His sneer when he rears his arm back, his smile -- almost relief when he hears the loud crack of the leather hitting your skin. Your release and his.

The act happens in slow motion, your heart beat in your ears while he brings the belt down on you again. You falter in your heels a little, your knees buckling a bit at the force.

"Get up and take it," he harshly demads, "Get that ass back up."

"Yes, sir," you whisper, fixing your posture. He sounds like he's underwater, your eyes start to glaze over outside of the tears. His belt meets your thighs, your sit points. He always took extra measure on those so he could watch you wince and whine later on a hard chair or in the van. The burn and sizzle on your backside started earlier than normal, but he wasn't starting off light. With his belt, he never did.

"Always gotta.." thwap, "..tell the guys.." thwap, "..what a fuckin'.." thwap, "..disappointment you are." THWAP. You can't help but start crying out, trying to muffle it with your hand so the neighbors don't start asking questions. You're standing on your toes in your heels to meet the intensity of his whips on your backside.

"And they always say.." thwap, "..just gotta.." thwap, "..show her whose boss.." THWAP.

"But you know who the boss is, don't you baby?" he coos while you cry into the hand covering your mouth. Body stinging and burning.

"Yes, sir," you whimper.

"Whose the boss, hm?" he asks, his hand smoothing over your back. "You're the boss," you sniffle, putting both hands back down on the table. "That's right, baby," he says back, his voice back to soothing honey, "That's a good girl."

"You need some more?" he asks gently.

"Please," you breathe out, "I need t-to learn my p-place."

"Fuck..." he mutters under his breath, your eyes peer down to see the perfect outline of hard cock against his dark wash jeans. His hand gripping the belt tight, veins pulsing from his hand up his forearm -- his tattoos dancing with them. He'd been thinking about this all day.

"Say it again," his voice his ragged while he brings the belt back down on you. "I need to l-learn my place, s-sir," you repeat, wincing while he continues, blow after blow. Your skin was raw, the cooling end of summer air outside doing nothing to soothe you through the screens of the open windows.

"Yeah you do," he says to himself, grunting with each come down of the leather. He bit his lip at the jump in your hips, watching you start to get weak under the repeated smacks, your knees buckling more often -- fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Eddie drops the belt with a clang and you jump to attention, turning around to face him.

"I'm sorry baby, I -- I can't," Eddie starts, "I'm callin' it I gotta -- oh fuck, I gotta fuck you right now."

You nod, ugh finally, taking a step toward the hall to get to the bedroom but his hands come up to roughly shove you back on the table -- beer bottle and casserole falling to the ground, shattered glass and mess to be dealt with later.

"This fuckin' body -- this dress? You know what you're doin' to me, don't you," he smirks, shoving your dress up to your waist and pushing your thighs up against your chest.

"That's why you wore these heels, hm?" he grabs your ankle, leaving a sloppy kiss on your calf, "Wanted to make me bust in my fuckin' work jeans?"

You giggle, his stained hands leaving oil marks on your legs. The same fingers undoing the buttons on your dress with nimble finesse.

"I could just rip it but I like this on you," his mumbles, "Don't wanna ruin it."

You simply nod, wanting to say 'thank you,' or 'appreciate it', but your tongue is too big for you mouth. You feel stupid and faded, just wanting to feel his touch and hear the low roll of his voice. He unbuttoned until your lace enclaved chest was full exposed, eyes feasting on you laying on the table for him -- way better than dinner.

Eddie works quickly on his jeans, the stiff fabric being shoved hard down to his thighs, his boxers coming down just enough for his balls to hang down over the band before he lines himself up with your entrance.

He pushes in with ease, slick so intense that it had already started moving down your thighs, shining in the light. His face relaxes, head falling back while he gets a rhythm going hands finding the smallest part of your waist for leverage.

"Oh shit, baby," he grunts, head falling back forward, hair falling out of the elastic and crowding his face, "Fuckin' -- nnmff -- needed this."

You gasp at his pace. No matter how wet or how ready you were it was always just a little too big -- stretching you in just the right way. Even when he was loving you he was punishing you with the size of his cock -- a little reminder every time, pain always reaps pleasure.

His picks up one of your hands and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently, warm brown eyes meeting yours. You feel the warmth before you realize that your three fingers are in his mouth, soaking them in spit before guiding them to your clit.

"Show me," he moans, "Make yourself feel good for me."

"You're already -mm!- making me feel good," you smile, slowly rubbing circles over your clit. His eyes nearly get stuck rolling back in his head at the sight, biting his lip while he drives harder into you. Eddie grunts, bending at the waist and caging you in on the table, hands finding you hair.

"Kiss me," he breathes, his mouth hot and wet on yours. His thrusts quicken while he chases his orgasm, the feeling of your hand working between you making his cock twitch. Eddie's brows furrow while he deepens his kiss, groaning hard into your mouth when your tongue brushes his.

"So fuckin' good, sweet thing," he whispers against your lips, "You're so good."

His plush lips crash into yours again while he pulls your hand from between them, "Can feel you gettin' close, you close?"

You nod feverishly, the tight binding in your belly getting tighter with each thrust of his cock between your thighs. He pushes up, back to standing over you, a glob of spit sent falling between your legs onto your clit -- making you jolt. Eddie's thumb works like magic over your, your thighs twitching with the sensation of his rough but lubricated finger pad and the stretch of his cock pumping in and out of you.

"Oh you're gonna cum, huh?" he nods while he asks, and you nod to answer.

"Yeah, you gonna cum for me?" he mocks. His eyebrows raise while you bite your lip, hips moving back and forth to fuck back on him, "You gonna be a good girl and cum?"

"Y-YES, sir," you cry out, your pussy spasming over him, thighs snapping tight together over his wrist -- just making it tighter over his dick still fucking you relentlessly. He coaxes you through it, praising you over and over, "Oh, good girl. That's my girl. That's it. Love when you moan for me like that..."

"Fuck, FUCK, Ed, Eddie," you whimper while he continues.

"Almost th-there, angel," he grunts, fucking into you with fervor.

"W-wanna cum inside," he says, but you know he's asking for permission. You nod at him, breathy 'it's okay..s'kay..'s pouring out of your mouth as your second orgasm builds in your tummy.

"Yeah?" he asks, cocky grin building while he leans in again to press flush against you, "Want me to c-cum inside you?" "Make you my little housewife f-foreal?" he dips his head to your neck, sucking and biting until you bruise, "Get you knocked up and st-stuck here?"

"Yes, yes, Eddie -- wanna be your -- ah, shit, shit," you whine, the second orgasm comes on quicker and harder than the first, your nails digging into his tank top and exposed flesh.

"Gonna make you my pr-pretty fuckin' housewife -- fuck, oh fuck, shit," he groans in your ear, nipping at your earlobe hard enough that you yelp. You can feel the hot spurts of his seed filling you, it stings in a good way, warming you from the inside out -- biting at the stretched skin while it oozes out of you.

When Eddie comes to, he leans up on his forearms, pressing a kiss against your lips. His eyes meet yours, gentle and heavy lidded, "I love you."

"I love you, too," you smile, offering a second peck. The pain settles in on your thighs and ass, you almost forgot you'd been belted.

"S'starting to hurt, honey," you confess quietly.

"I know, m'sorry," he mumbles, he kisses your cheek, then your other cheek, your forehead, your nose, "You need help in the shower? I was gonna clean up in here."

"I'm okay," you smirk, "You've done way worse damage before."

He gets up, rolling his eyes playfully, "Don't tempt me."

You sit up slowly on the kitchen table, which had shifted so much it was almost entirely against fridge. After Eddie pulls up his boxers and jeans, he helps take off your heels and hoists you down so you don't have to slide off the edge.

"Be careful of the glass, please," he warns, setting you down on the ground. You tip toe to the bathroom, hearing him sigh as he gets to his knees to clean up -- your sweet little domestic boy.

"Hey, c'mere, before you go get cleaned up," he calls out. You pad back to the kitchenette, stopping just before the linoleum. From the floor he turns back to you, "What do you want on your pizza? I'm gonna put in an order when I'm done cleaning up."

"Just cheese for me is fine, but I'm not picky. Get whatever you want," you shrug.

"I'm getting anchovies," he says.

"Anything but anchovies," you say, annoyed.

"That's why you shouldn't say get whatever you want if that's not what you mean," he smiles, "Just saying."

"Why don't you do one cheese and one meat lovers since that's what we always get?" you suggest.

He considers it, for a minute, "I think I'm gonna get three pies babe, I'm fuckin' starving."

#sadist!eddie munson #sadist!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things au #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #dark!eddie munson #dark!eddie #dom eddie munson #dom!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you smut

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wrr000 · 13 days

Text

"like a shadow"

Summary: The ghoul you hired for protection liked you more than both of you would expect.

Warnings: english isn't my first language; really short; it's from my Cooper x oc fic, but idk if I should post chapters here; pure soft; inner thoughts; reader is similiar to Lucy

»»————-　♡　————-««

You finally made it to town. Walking thru the wasteland felt like an endless journey while burning sun was always watching every step of foolish humans, who dared to cross these lands. And it wasn't the only threat waiting for your mistep. You earned that stop to rest and gather strength. He deserved it as well.

This place was pretty civilian. By the standards of the wasteland, of course. People were trying to live a "normal" life and some constantly pretended like The Great War never happened. You didn't mind it as long as they didn't act suspicious towards you. Besides, he was here and that made you feel... safe. Kinda. Weird nonetheless.

He was the one who announced parting ways in town and you kindly agreed (like you had a choice).

"I'm goin' to check what chems they got here, think you can handle things on your own, Vaultie" - usual smirk appeared on his fucked up face.

That ghoul was driving you insane. Even after paying him for escort and protection he was still threatening you and bitching around that he actually doesn't care about you and if something big is going to happened - his life goes first, not you. But the sad truth was - you couldn't really blame him.

Ironically, someone like him turned out to be the kindest thing you met since reaching the surface. He was terriyfing, cruel and nothing alike anyone from the Vault. But as time passed, you saw something more in him, under that hard shell and feeling of fear passed. His action were still shocking to you, but wasteland has it's own rules and you started to understand that.

It wasn't a suprise that Cooper didn't want to walk around the town. You felt like he couldn't stand you. But it was fine, you kinda enjoyed exploring and discovering the town alone. Just like the good old times as a child in the Vault.

Little you knew that you had a shadow. Unaware of a pair of penetrating eyes watching your every graceful move. Your smile was the brightest on the whole planet and every small gesture was full of passion. Analizing you very carefuly. You didn't saw him, but he saw you perfectly.

It was hard for the ghoul to admit it to himself that he grew fond of you during your journey together. Very hard. Worst, poor bounty hunter realized that he had a soft spot for a stupid naive Vaultie. Thankfully, you didn't notice anything and he could suffer in silence.

You reminded him of a long gone humanity. Always kind and polite, naive as hell, delusional and annoying. You even never judged him for being a ghoul! Ohhh, how he hated you, but loved at the same time. You were like his human half, a long lost part. He knew you wouldn't last long out there, people like you never lasted long.

Cooper took this job for money of course. You offered a good amount of caps and it was equal with massive stock of chems. But now, he thougth to himself, it would be a shame if something happened to you, right? That's why he was doing an "extra" job. Always watching, even if he didn't had to, always protecting you, even if you didn't noticed it.

In a long long long time the ghoul felt like a human again. It was pissing him off, but he missed that feeling. Well, he missed his whole previous life actually, more than he would like, but you kinda started to filling that void inside his ghoulish heart. Slowly.

#fallout #fallout tv series #fallout x reader #fallout the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #fallout cooper howard #one shot #soft one shot

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 7 months

Text

open your fucking mouth

kinktober, day fourteen

a/n: this one admittedly isn't for everyone, but it's for some (sdfghjklæø you could say that about everything. copy paste and add to everything i've ever written because we all like different things)

warnings: dark!cowboy!joel miller x innocent!reader, smut, dubcon/noncon, wild west au, historical au, gun kink, blowjob, hair pulling

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“Suck it,” the outlaw demanded in a gruff voice, stroking his length mere inches from your wide eyes. It had been just days ago that he had forced his way into you and your daddy’s home, saying that you were to provide him a place to hide and if you didn’t comply with his every wish then he’d kill you both.

“I-I-,” you blinked up at him from your position on the floorboards, not even comprehending what it was he was asking you to do, “you want me you what?”

Sucking in an impatient breath, he rephrased, enunciating every syllable as if you were an idiot, “put my cock in your mouth,” but when the furrow didn’t disappear from your brow, his fingers then instead pulled the gun from his leather belt. Instinctively crawling back at the threat, he swiftly grabbed onto your hair before you could escape any further, the cold barrel pressing into your cheek as he then hissed, “I said suck it.”

Heart thumping all the way in your throat, you slowly lowered your lips to the tip of his dick, “yes, that’s it…” he groaned as you timidly enveloped the bulbous head, “you sure you’ve never done this before? That dirty old sheriff has never gotten you to crack?” he slightly lowered the weapon as you nervously shook your head, eyes fluttering up at him as he filled your mouth, “well, well, aren’t I lucky…”

Suddenly, his hand found the back of your head and he roughly pulled you down, “there you go,” forcing his girth all the way down your throat and causing you to gag around him, “fuck…”

But eventually, his firm hold did falter as he let you reel back, coughing as you wiped the lewd slobber off your lips.

Hearing his thumb cock the gun, you found his glare, “open your fucking mouth,” and when you did, the cool barrel of the firearm swiftly slid across your tongue. Could it be loaded? That you didn’t know. But what you were aware of was the way the harsh metal made you feel, the indescribable sensation it shot down between your thighs.

#lea’s writing #kinktober 2023 #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller #joel miller x innocent!reader #cowboy!joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller x female reader #tlou smut #the last of us smut #pedro pascal smut #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller x reader

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o-wyrmlight · 6 months

Text

I haven't said anything on here because I've been so focused on what's been happening on Twitter. I spent six or more hours last night just retweeting whatever I could to help raise a ruckus. For anybody who isn't aware of what's been happening:

For the past 75 years, Israel has been doing exactly what the United States of America did to indigenous natives when we first began to claim the territory. They've been pushing Palestinians off of their homeland and claiming the land for themselves. They've been stealing homes and territory that doesn't belong to them, engaging in a quiet genocide.

They control what goes in an out of the border. They control how much food Palestinians are allowed to have access to. They control how much water and electricity Palestinians have access to in a day. They control how many times a year and how far out fishing boats are able to go, and they're relegated to areas where there are no fish. The amount of ships aren't enough to sustain the population. Israel has ensured that Palestinians cannot build bomb shelters by preventing those materials from coming into the country.

On October 7th, 2023, a Gazan organization named Hamas, which is stationed in the Palestinian city of Gaza, decided to retaliate. They did a plethora of horrible things to Israeli people, taking hostages. In response, Israel has begun being more aggressive and upfront in its genocidal attempts to eradicate Palestinians.

This is not an exaggeration. Israel is very upfront about what they want. The official Israeli account has posted what they've done proudly. The first event that made people outside of Palestine aware of what was going on was the bombing of a hospital that Israel boasted of, and then later walked back to claim it was a Hamas base.

There are rules of war to follow. Among them, it is a war crime to attack where people are taking shelter in places of religion and hospitals. Once this information was revealed and made obvious, public outcry for the support of Palestine began to ring out. Apparently it wasn't even the first hospital that Israel had targeted--there were over 10 at the time and more to come in the following days.

Consider that Israel knew they were targeting the hospital and sent out a warning for them to evacuate, and then remind yourself that there were people in the in the hospital who relied on the medical equipment to live. Where were they supposed to go on such short notice? Children and babies were killed. Israel admitted to doing this and then claimed that the hospital was a Hamas base. And soon after, they claimed that it was a misfired rocket by Hamas that hit the hospital. Isn't that so convenient?

Israel has warned a city to travel the road down south in ten hours--on foot, on a hiking trail that takes more than twelve--to reach safety. They promised they would be safe and that Gaza was the only place they were aiming to destroy. Instead, Israel proceeded to bomb and destroy the only safe passage that they were able to get. They weren't safe at all.

In the days to come, Israel would proceed to turn off all electricity and water in Palestine. They would continue to bomb various places under the presumption that they were Hamas bases. Hamas comes from the city of Gaza, so that doesn't explain why several of those places--even hospitals--were much farther south.

Yesterday, they bombed the communication tower that Palestinians have been relying on to communicate with the outside world. As far as I know, they've been dark ever since.

Egyptians have been trying to help. They've been trying to demand the gates to open so that they can send humanitarian aid in. There are people--good people--who don't care if they die for the cause or not. Hardly any humanitarian aid has been able to come in, and Israel has been teasing Egypt, their own weaponry poking at their boarder as a threat. If several missiles cross Egyptian boarders, how is it their fault of they were aiming at a hostile air craft?

Remember how much Israel monitored what comes in and what comes out of Palestine. They control how much electricity and water a day they have. They control their maritime and how far from the coast they're allowed to fish. Do you think that Palestinians are able to build such air crafts?

Egyptians have witnessed the horrors that have been happening from across the sea. The sky was red with fire and alight with bombs. The horizon echoed with the noise and the assault didn't cease. I don't know if it's still going on. I don't know if it ever stopped. But Israel is sending out ground troops now, and who knows how far that went since last night.

Israel calls this a war. Palestinians haven't been able to fight back. They don't have any weapons or a military of their own. Entire families have been wiped off of the face of the earth, numbering probably well over forty by this point. Entire generations are at risk of being killed. This isn't a war. This is a genocide.

Israel claims that Hamas hides behind its civilians for protection, but all Israel is doing is hiding behind Hamas as an excuse to commit ethnic cleansing.

The worst part to me is that world powers who could have done something to prevent this are actively doing nothing. The United States has been providing Israel with the very weapons that they're using to obliterate Palestine off of the face of the map. Britain has outlawed protests speaking up in support of Palestine. And there are a lot of protests. The public opinion knows that this is wrong. Joseph Biden has casted doubt on how many Palestinians have actually died just before the blackout occured.

The warning signs have been here for 75 years, and nobody has done anything about it. And now Palestinians are facing the most brutal evil that mankind is capable of, and nobody who can do anything about it is willing to lift a finger. What's the point of the United Nations to create laws of war that are to be followed if those laws aren't going to be enforced? What kind of message does that send to countries that violate those laws?

That they can get away with it.

This isn't even to touch on the fact that Israel has been paying content creators and companies to speak up in support of Israel. I wouldn't be surprised if they're doing the same with popular celebrities in the United States and elsewhere. I wouldn't be surprised if this is a part of why politicians are refusing to lift a finger to hold Israel accountable for their actions. Israel has always wanted control of the narrative. This isn't the first time, and it won't be the last.

I do want to point out that despite these horrors, it's important to remember that, while Israel has done these horrible things, you shouldn't blame the individual people. Not every single Israeli believes in this genocidal cause, but the system of government that encourages and rewards these behaviors should be held accountable. Israelis who disagree with Israel are very likely at risk of being punished severely if they express their beliefs. It's important to remember that.

Israel will cry antisemitism because they are a Jewish state: Holding them accountable for their actions is not antisemitism. Do not be afraid to do so. I have seen videos of Jewish people in the United States leading mass protests in support of Palestine, calling for a ceasefire in Gaza, for Palestine to be free. Don't blame all Jewish people or Israelites for this horror. Be angry at Israel the government, Israel the politicians, Israel the people who support them rabidly and celebrate the death of millions.

I know for a fact that there are some things I've missed. It's so difficult to tactfully cover everything that's happened over the past couple of weeks. But hopefully this is enough to let those who aren't aware of what's been happening know.

I'm ashamed to be a United States American. And I am angry at the politicians and the people in power who could have voted for a ceasefire and didn't. We are witnessing the evils of humanity at work this month. And yet we are also witnessing the selfless good that humanity is capable of, leading protests to free Palestine and call for a ceasefire, trying their best to raise attention to the people who did nothing. History will remember them as the villains of this story.

It feels like there isn't much you can do. But just knowing and spreading awareness of the situation is enough. It is enough. Israel has hired companies and social media to do their best to stifle talk and conversation about Palestine. YouTube has deleted fifteen years' worth of videos examining the Palestinian occupation and Palestinian culture as a whole. Israel wants Palestine to die in silence and be forgotten.

All you need to know is what is happening. All you need to know is to remember and not forget. All you need to know is acknowledge the Palestinian's generations-long suffering, know that we're living through a genocide, and see how world powers do nothing about it. This is how Adolf Hitler got away with it for so long.

So remember. Keep it in mind. Learn the warning signs. And be sure to remember this when it happens again.

Free Palestine.

#free palestine #ceasefire in gaza #ceasefire NOW #palestine #gaza #hamas #israel #israel hamas war #israel hamas conflict #free gaza #gazaunderattack #gaza strip #save gaza

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jundundun · 1 year

Text

SONDER : SEUNGCHEOL

description : seuncheol is the head knight of the kingdom of nephele. what happens when seungcheol begins to fall for the princess and resident sweetheart, Y/N.

warnings : smut (but it’s marked with special borders in case you want to skip it), angst (fluff at the end & embedded throughout), slow burn, mentions of violence

pairing : knight!seungcheol x fem!reader

word count : 14.3k

see the whole series description here !

The sun had just risen over the Kingdom of Nephele, casting a golden glow across the sprawling fields and lush forests. The air was crisp and clean, and the sweet scent of dewy grass mixed with the fragrant aroma of blooming wildflowers. It was a peaceful morning, but the kingdom was far from at peace.

Seungcheol, the head knight of Nephele, stood atop the castle walls, surveying the landscape before him. He was a man of few words, but his piercing gaze and chiselled features spoke volumes. His armour shone in the morning light, and his sword hung at his side, a constant reminder of his duty to protect the kingdom.

As he looked out over the horizon, Seungcheol could see the distant hills and mountains that marked the border between Nephele and the neighbouring kingdom of Roseate. Ever since the newly empowered prince, Minghao, had taken the throne due to his father's looming illness, tensions had been running high between the two lands. Minghao's strict rules and harsh governance had sparked protests and uprisings, and many feared that war was on the horizon.

Seungcheol was resolute in his duty to protect Nephele, but he knew that the situation was growing increasingly volatile. He turned to the guards stationed at the castle gates and spoke in a low, authoritative voice.

"Make sure the gates are secure, and keep a close watch on the horizon. We cannot afford to let our guard down, not with the threat of Roseate looming so close."

The guards nodded, and Seungcheol continued his patrol along the castle walls. As he made his way to the courtyard, he saw Princess Y/N sitting on a bench, gazing wistfully out at the gardens. Her beauty was breathtaking, her hair a cascade of dark waves that framed her delicate features. She wore a gown of soft lavender, the colour complementing the warmth of her skin.

"Good morning, Princess," Seungcheol said, bowing respectfully, staring discretely from the corner of his eye at the way the corners of her mouth turned as she acknowledged him.

Y/N smiled softly and returned the gesture, lifting her hand over her eyes to make the glare of the sun less evident as she looked up at the head knight. "Good morning, Seungcheol. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Seungcheol nodded, but his expression remained guarded as his posture stiffened. "Indeed, but we must remain vigilant. The situation with Roseate is growing increasingly dangerous."

Y/N's expression grew solemn, and she looked out at the horizon with a sense of foreboding. "I know, Seungcheol. I worry for our kingdom and our people. But what can we do? We cannot fight a war, not without risking countless lives."

Seungcheol placed a comforting hand on Y/N's shoulder, hesitating as he did so, knowing his actions meant more than what first came to eye. "We will do what we can to protect our people and our land. That is our duty as knights and as citizens of Nephele."

Y/N looked up at Seungcheol, and their eyes met in a moment of silent understanding. She knew that he was a man of his word and that he would do whatever it took to keep their kingdom safe. But as their gazes lingered, Y/N felt a spark of something more, a feeling that she couldn't quite put into words. Had Seuncheol always looked like that?

She quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she shuffled around on the bench, trying to look natural as she blushed. "Thank you, Seungcheol. I know you will do your best."

Seungcheol nodded, his own heart racing with a sense of longing, though towards what, he was unsure. As he turned to resume his patrol, he couldn't help but steal one last glance at Y/N, wondering if she felt the same way he did.

—

As the day wore on, in the castle chambers, Princess Y/N sat at her desk, poring over maps and documents. She was determined to find a solution to the tensions between Nephele and Roseate, but the more she researched, the more hopeless it seemed.

Her older brother, Prince Jeonghan, entered the room with a sly smile on his face. "What's this, little sister? Trying to solve the world's problems on your own?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile at her brother's teasing. Jeonghan was always quick with a joke or a quip, but she knew that deep down, he cared for her deeply.

"I'm just trying to help, Jeonghan," Y/N replied, gesturing towards the papers on her desk as an exasperated sigh left her mouth. "I don't want to see our kingdom suffer because of the actions of another."

Jeonghan's expression grew serious, and he walked over to Y/N's side. "I understand your concern, Y/N. But we must be realistic. We cannot risk going to war with Roseate, not when our own people are still suffering from the aftermath of the last conflict."

Y/N sighed, knowing that her brother was right. But she couldn't help but feel frustrated and powerless in the face of the growing tensions.

—

As the day drew to a close, Seungcheol found himself once again patrolling the castle walls. The sun had set, and the stars twinkled overhead like tiny diamonds in the sky.

He heard a rustling in the bushes below, and his hand instinctively went to his sword. But as he peered over the wall, he saw a lithe figure sneaking towards the castle gates.

"Who goes there?" Seungcheol called out, his voice echoing through the still night air, his authority prevalent through the low tone of his voice.

The figure froze, then turned to face him, albeit with a bit of hesitance. It was Princess Y/N, dressed in a cloak and hood, a bundle of papers clutched in her hands. A guilty look flashed across her face before she masked it with a stronger appearance.

"Princess Y/N?" Seungcheol asked, surprised, struggling to find the words to express his disbelief at the discovery in front of him. "What are you doing out here?"

Y/N looked up at Seungcheol, her eyes flashing with determination and desperation. "I have to do something, Seungcheol. I can't just sit by and watch as our kingdom falls apart. I have a plan, but I need your help."

Seungcheol felt a surge of admiration for the princess, and couldn't deny the thrill of excitement at the thought of working with her. His heartbeat wavered as she processed her speech, Princess y/n, the vision of beauty and grace, needed him, him. But he knew that the risks were great and that they had to be careful.

"Tell me your plan, Princess," Seungcheol said, his voice low and steady. "But be warned, we must tread carefully. The slightest misstep could mean disaster for us all."

Princess Y/N nodded, understanding the gravity of their situation. "I know, Seungcheol. But I truly believe that this is the only way to avoid war and protect our kingdom."

She handed him the bundle of papers, which he quickly scanned over, trying to ignore y/ns hopeful eyes looking directly up at him. It was a proposal for a treaty between Nephele and Roseate, outlining terms that would benefit both kingdoms and ease the tensions between them.

Seungcheol was impressed by the thoroughness and thoughtfulness of the plan, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry in his gut. "This is a risky proposition, Princess. Minghao may not be willing to negotiate, and if he finds out about our plan…"

"I know the risks, Seungcheol," Y/N interrupted, her eyes unwavering. "But I refuse to sit by and do nothing. Will you help me?"

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment, but then he looked up and met her gaze. "I will, Princess. But we must keep this plan between us for now. We cannot risk any leaks."

Y/N nodded, relieved that she had found an ally in Seungcheol. "Thank you, Seungcheol. I knew I could count on you."

As they made their way back to the castle, the tension between them was palpable. Seungcheol couldn't help but steal glances at Y/N, admiring the way the moonlight illuminated her face and the determination in her eyes.

But he knew that any romantic feelings he had for her were futile. Their positions made any kind of relationship impossible, and he couldn't let his personal feelings interfere with the task at hand.

As they reached the castle gates, Seungcheol turned to Y/N. "I will help you with your plan, Princess. But we must be careful. We cannot let anyone find out about this."

Y/N nodded, a determined look on her face. "I understand, Seungcheol. We will be careful."

And with that, they parted ways, both with a newfound sense of purpose and determination to save their kingdom from the brink of war.

—

Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling of unease as he made his way back to his quarters. The proposal for a treaty was a promising idea, but the risks were too high. If they were caught, they would be accused of treason and the consequences would be dire.

He knew that the head knight of Roseate, Seokmin, was fiercely loyal to Minghao and would do anything to protect him. The thought of facing him in battle made Seungcheol's heart race with anxiety. But he had made a promise to Y/N, and he intended to keep it.

As he entered his quarters, he was greeted by his second-in-command, San, who was waiting for him.

"Sir, there's something you need to see," San said, his voice urgent.

Seungcheol furrowed his brows in confusion as San handed him a parchment. It was a letter from the head knight of Roseate, Seokmin, demanding a meeting with Seungcheol to discuss the recent tensions between their kingdoms.

Seungcheol's heart sank. He knew that this was a trap, but he couldn't refuse the meeting without raising suspicion.

"Prepare the horses," Seungcheol said, his voice steady. "We leave at dawn."

As San left to make the preparations, Seungcheol sat down at his desk and took a deep breath. He had to think of a plan, and fast. He couldn't let his guard down for a moment, not with the safety of his kingdom on the line.

But as he looked at the letter in his hands, he couldn't help but think of Y/N. He knew that if he was caught, she would be implicated too. He couldn't bear the thought of her being punished for trying to save their kingdom.

Seungcheol shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He had to focus on the task at hand. The meeting with Seokmin would be the first step in a dangerous game, and he had to be prepared for anything.

As he retired for the night, Seungcheol couldn't help but think of Y/N's determined gaze, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to protect her and their kingdom.

—

The next morning, Seungcheol and his men set out on horseback towards the border of Roseate. The tension in the air was palpable as they rode in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

As they approached the border, Seungcheol spotted a group of Roseate soldiers waiting for them. Among them was Seokmin, the head knight of Roseate, his expression unreadable.

"Welcome, Head Knight Seungcheol," Seokmin said, his voice formal.

Seungcheol dismounted from his horse and approached Seokmin, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He could feel the eyes of his men on him, and he knew that any misstep could mean their downfall.

"We come in peace," Seungcheol said, his voice calm but firm. "We are here to discuss the recent tensions between our kingdoms."

Seokmin nodded, his eyes flickering to Seungcheol's hand on his sword. "Of course. Please, follow me."

Seungcheol and his men followed Seokmin across the border and towards the Roseate castle. Seungcheol couldn't help but feel uneasy as they entered the castle gates. He knew that they were walking into a trap, but he had no choice but to trust in his abilities as a knight.

As they entered the castle, Seungcheol was struck by the opulence of the decor. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting scenes of battle and conquest, and the floors were made of polished marble. It was a stark contrast to the more modest surroundings of the Nephele castle. Seokmin led them to a large chamber, where Minghao was waiting for them. Seungcheol's heart raced as he saw the prince, his eyes cold and calculating.

"Greetings, Head Knight Seungcheol," Minghao said, his voice laced with malice. "I trust your journey was uneventful."

Seungcheol bowed his head respectfully. "It was, Your Highness. We are here to discuss a treaty between our kingdoms."

Minghao sneered, his posture stiffening as his fists clenched. "A treaty? I have no interest in making peace with your kingdom. You are nothing but traitors and rebels."

Seungcheol gritted his teeth, his hand twitching towards his sword. He knew that he had to keep his composure, but the insults stung.

"We come in good faith, Your Highness," Seungcheol said, his voice steady. "Surely there must be a way to resolve our differences without bloodshed."

Minghao's expression softened slightly, but his eyes remained cold. "Very well. I will hear you out. But make no mistake, Head Knight Seungcheol. If I find any evidence of treachery, I will not hesitate to execute you and your men."

Seungcheol nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of their perilous situation. He knew that they were walking a tightrope, and one misstep could mean the end of everything. But he also knew that he had to keep fighting, no matter the odds. For the sake of his kingdom, and for the sake of Y/N.

—

Seungcheol took a deep breath and began to lay out his proposal for a treaty between Nephele and Roseate. He spoke eloquently, carefully choosing his words to avoid any offence to Minghao's pride.

As he spoke, he could feel the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Minghao listened intently, his eyes narrowing in thought.

When Seungcheol finished, Minghao leaned back in his chair, a frown on his face. "Your proposal is… interesting, Head Knight Seungcheol. But I cannot make any decisions without consulting my advisors first."

Seungcheol nodded. "Of course, Your Highness. We understand that this is a delicate matter."

Minghao stood up, signalling the end of the meeting. "You and your men are welcome to stay in our castle for the night. We will discuss this further tomorrow."

Seungcheol bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Your Highness. We appreciate your hospitality."

As they were led to their quarters, Seungcheol couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Minghao's sudden change of heart was unexpected, and Seungcheol knew that he had to remain vigilant.

He turned to his men, his expression serious. "We cannot let our guard down. Keep your weapons close, and be prepared for anything."

The night passed uneventfully, but Seungcheol slept with one eye open, his hand resting on his sword. He knew that they were in enemy territory, and he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

The next morning, Seungcheol and his men were summoned to the throne room once again. Minghao sat on his throne, flanked by his advisors.

"I have consulted with my advisors," Minghao said, his voice cold. "And we have decided that we cannot agree to your proposal, Head Knight Seungcheol. Our kingdoms are too different, and our interests are too divergent."

Seungcheol felt a sense of disappointment wash over him, but he kept his expression neutral. "I understand, Your Highness. We will take our leave and return to Nephele."

Minghao nodded. "Good. You are free to go. But remember, Head Knight Seungcheol. Any further attempts to cross our borders will be met with force."

Seungcheol bowed respectfully, then turned and left the throne room with his men. As they rode back to Nephele, Seungcheol couldn't help but feel a sense of defeat. But he also knew that he couldn't give up. He would find a way to save his kingdom, no matter the cost.

As the days passed, Seungcheol and his men returned to their routine duties of protecting the kingdom of Nephele. Seungcheol kept himself busy, throwing himself into his work and trying to forget the disappointment of the failed treaty with Roseate. But he couldn't help but feel a sense of restlessness, a nagging feeling that there was something he was missing.

—

Meanwhile, Princess Y/N spent most of her days confined to the castle walls, longing for adventure and excitement. She often watched the knights as they trained, admiring their skill and bravery. She had always been fascinated by Seungcheol, the Head Knight of Nephele. He was chivalrous and focused, always putting the needs of the kingdom before his own. But she also knew that he was off-limits, as a knight was not allowed to fraternize with royalty.

Even though Seungcheol and Y/N had known each other for years, they remained oblivious to the growing attraction between them. Seungcheol respected Y/N as a princess, and Y/N admired Seungcheol from afar, too afraid to act on her feelings.

—

One day, as Seungcheol was walking through the castle courtyard, he heard a sound that made his heart skip a beat. It was the sound of Y/N's laughter, tinkling like bells in the air. He turned to see her sitting on a bench, surrounded by a group of young girls. She was smiling and laughing, her eyes sparkling with joy.

Seungcheol couldn't help but be drawn to her. He walked over to her, his heart beating faster with each step. "Princess Y/N," he said, bowing respectfully. "Is everything alright?"

Y/N looked up at him, her smile fading slightly. "Oh, Head Knight Seungcheol. Yes, everything is fine. I was just enjoying the company of these girls here." Y/N spoke, lightly pinching one of the girl's cheeks as she broke eye contact with Seungcheol.

Seungcheol nodded, then hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Princess, I was wondering… would you care to take a walk with me? The gardens are beautiful this time of year."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly composed herself. "Of course, Head Knight. I would be honoured."

Seungcheol and Y/N walked through the lush gardens, the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers wafting in the air. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the path.

"So, how have you been, Princess?" Seungcheol asked, trying to break the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. "I have been well, Head Knight. Thank you for asking," Y/N replied, smiling at him.

"I noticed that you seem to enjoy spending time with the young girls of the court," Seungcheol remarked.

Y/N nodded. "Yes, they are such a joy to be around. It is refreshing to be around their innocence and exuberance."

Seungcheol smiled. "I can see why. Their energy is infectious." They walked in silence for a few more moments, enjoying the peacefulness of the gardens. Seungcheol couldn't help but notice how beautiful Y/N looked in the soft glow of the setting sun.

"Princess, I must apologize for the failed treaty with Roseate," Seungcheol said, breaking the silence once again. "I know how important it was to you and your family."

Y/N sighed. "It is not your fault, Head Knight. Minghao is a stubborn and prideful prince. He would not listen to reason."

Seungcheol nodded in agreement. "I will do everything in my power to protect Nephele, Princess. You have my word."

Y/N smiled at him. "Thank you, Head Knight. I have always admired your dedication to our kingdom."

Seungcheol's heart skipped a beat at her words. He had always admired Y/N for her kindness and intelligence, but he never thought that she would admire him in return.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, Princess, but what do you enjoy doing in your free time?" Seungcheol asked, trying to start a conversation.

Y/N smiled. "Not at all, Head Knight. I enjoy reading and spending time with my family and friends. What about you?"

Seungcheol thought for a moment. "I like to train, of course, but in my free time, I enjoy playing chess and writing poetry."

"Poetry?" Y/N raised an eyebrow. "I didn't expect that from the Head Knight of Nephele."

Seungcheol chuckled. "Yes, well, I find it a good way to unwind after a long day."

Y/N nodded, impressed. "That's very interesting. I would love to read some of your work someday."

Seungcheol smiled. "I would be honoured to share it with you, Princess." As they continued walking, the conversation turned more personal.

"Can I ask you something, Head Knight?" Y/N asked, her voice soft.

"Of course, Princess," Seungcheol replied, his tone respectful.

"What are your hopes and dreams for the future?" Y/N asked, her eyes searching his.

Seungcheol's expression softened. "I hope to see Nephele prosper and flourish, to see our people happy and safe. As for my personal dreams, I…I hope to find someone to share my life with. Someone who understands me and supports me, through thick and thin."

Y/N looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't believe how much she was starting to feel for the Head Knight of Nephele.

"And what about you, Princess?" Seungcheol asked, turning the question back on her.

Y/N blushed. "Well, I…I dream of exploring the world, seeing new places and meeting new people. But mostly, I dream of finding true love. Someone who sees me for who I am, and loves me just the same."

Seungcheol's heart skipped a beat at her words. He couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, he could be that person for her.

But he knew that he had to be careful. As the Head Knight of Nephele, he had a duty to protect the kingdom and its people. He couldn't let his feelings for the Princess distract him from his responsibilities.

As they reached the end of the garden path, Seungcheol turned to face Y/N. "Thank you for taking the time to talk with me, Princess. It was a pleasant distraction from the usual duties of the day."

Y/N smiled. "The pleasure was mine, Head Knight. I enjoyed getting to know you better."

As they parted ways, Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling that there was something between them. Something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He tried to push the thought from his mind, reminding himself of his duty to Nephele.

But Y/N couldn't stop thinking about their conversation. There was something about Seungcheol that drew her in. His strength, his courage, and his dedication to the kingdom were all admirable traits. But there was something else, something that she couldn't quite explain. She found herself wanting to spend more time with him, to learn more about him.

—

As days passed, Y/N and Seungcheol found themselves having more small encounters. Sometimes it was a passing smile in the hallway, other times it was a brief conversation over a shared meal. Each time they spoke, Y/N felt herself drawn to Seungcheol more and more, despite her attempts to keep her feelings hidden.

One afternoon, Y/N was sitting in the garden, reading a book when she heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, she saw Seungcheol walking towards her, a small smile on his face.

"May I join you, Princess?" Seungcheol asked, gesturing to the empty bench beside her.

Y/N nodded, feeling her heart race as Seungcheol sat down beside her. They sat in silence for a few moments, Y/N feeling nervous and unsure of what to say.

"Is that a book of poetry?" Seungcheol asked, gesturing to the book in her lap.

Y/N nodded, trying to hide the fact that she'd been caught trying to educate herself on one of Seungcheol's hobbies. "Yes, it's a collection by a local poet. I find their work very beautiful and inspiring."

Seungcheol smiled. "I couldn't agree more. Poetry has a way of capturing the essence of life in a way that nothing else can."

As they sat there, feeling serene amongst the floral atmosphere Y/N asked Seungcheol about his childhood. At first, Seungcheol hesitated, unsure if he should reveal too much of his past. But something in Y/N's gentle gaze and earnest expression made him feel safe.

"I was born to a poor family in the outskirts of Nephele," Seungcheol began, his voice low and hesitant. "My parents were farmers, and we had very little. But they always taught me the importance of hard work and integrity, and I knew that I wanted to make something of myself."

Y/N listened intently, her eyes never leaving Seungcheol's face. "What made you want to become a knight?"

Seungcheol smiled. "I always admired the knights of Nephele, with their bravery and honour. When I was old enough, I applied to become a squire, and worked my way up the ranks until I became head knight."

Y/N nodded, impressed. "You must have worked very hard to get where you are now."

Seungcheol nodded, his gaze meeting hers. "I did. But it was worth it, to be able to protect my kingdom and those I care about."

Y/N smiled at him, feeling a sense of warmth and admiration for the man beside her. "You're a true hero, Seungcheol."

Seungcheol felt his heart swell at Y/N's words, and he couldn't help but feel a growing attraction to her. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but he knew any relationship between them was forbidden. Even their brief encounters would be a topic of discussion in court. It was too risky, this was too risky.

As the sun began to set, Seungcheol and Y/N walked back to the castle, their conversation turning to lighter topics. But even as they laughed and joked with each other, they couldn't help but feel the growing tension between them. They both knew that their feelings for each other were dangerous, but they couldn't deny the attraction that burned between them.

—

As they walked through the castle corridors, Y/N couldn't help but feel restless. She had spent most of her life cooped up in the castle walls, and she longed for adventure and freedom. She had always felt confined by her duties as a princess, and she yearned for a life outside of the castle. Seungcheol noticed Y/N's restlessness, and he couldn't help but ask, "Is everything alright, Y/N?"

Y/N paused, unsure if she should reveal her deepest desires to Seungcheol. But something in his warm gaze made her feel safe, and she decided to confide in him. "I feel…trapped, Seungcheol," she admitted. "I want to explore the world, to see new places and meet new people. But as a princess, my duty is to stay within the castle walls and fulfil my obligations."

Seungcheol listened intently, his expression sympathetic. "I understand how you feel, Y/N," he said. "But as a knight, my duty is to protect the kingdom and its people. Sometimes, we have to sacrifice our own desires for the greater good."

Y/N nodded, understanding the weight of Seungcheol's words. "I know," she said. "But sometimes, I just wish I could be free."

Seungcheol smiled softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps one day, you will be," he said. "But for now, know that I will always be here to protect you and keep you safe."

Y/N smiled at Seungcheol, feeling grateful for his words. As they continued to walk through the castle, Y/N couldn't help but feel a growing attraction to the kind and protective head knight. But she knew that their growing feelings were forbidden, and she pushed her feelings aside. For now, she would focus on her duties as a princess and trust that Seungcheol would always be by her side.

But still, no matter how hard she forced her feelings down, trapping them in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder. What would life with Seuncheol be like? With no duties, no nothing. Just him, and her, together.

—

As days went by, Y/N and Seungcheol's friendship grew stronger. They would often steal small moments together, sharing their dreams and fears with each other. Seungcheol found himself drawn to Y/N's free-spirited nature and her kind heart, and Y/N was enamoured by Seungcheol's unwavering dedication to his duty and his bravery.

One afternoon, Y/N was sitting by the castle gardens, reading a book, when Seungcheol appeared before her. "May I join you, Y/N?" he asked, smiling.

Y/N smiled back, gesturing for him to sit next to her. "Of course, Seungcheol," she said, patting the spot next to her.

As they sat together, Seungcheol couldn't help but notice the way Y/N's hair danced in the gentle breeze. "Y/N, can I ask you something?" he said, breaking the peaceful silence.

Y/N turned to him, curious. "Of course," she replied.

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Do you ever think about…us?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at Seungcheol's words. "What do you mean?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Seungcheol turned to her, his expression serious. "I mean…do you ever feel…something for me?" he said, his eyes searching hers, his hands unclenching and clenching as he struggled to conceal his nerves.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, and she looked down at her lap. "Seungcheol, you know we can't," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol took her hand in his, squeezing it gently, causing Y/N to look up at him. "I know, Y/N," he said. "But…I can't help how I feel. And I have to know if you feel the same way."

Y/N felt torn between her duty as a princess and her growing feelings for Seungcheol. She took a deep breath before speaking. "Seungcheol…I do feel something for you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol's face lit up with a smile, and he leaned in, placing a soft, lingering kiss on her cheek. "I'm glad," he said. "We'll figure something out, Y/N. I promise."

But despite Seungcheol's words, he couldn't help but feel conflicted. He knew that as the head knight, his duty was to protect the kingdom, and that meant putting his own feelings aside. He couldn't risk jeopardizing Y/N's safety, or his own reputation and honour as a knight.

—

The next day, as they walked through the castle halls, Y/N noticed that Seungcheol seemed distant. "Seungcheol, is everything alright?" she asked, concern etched on her face.

Seungcheol stopped in his tracks, turning to face her. "Y/N, I need to talk to you," he said, his voice serious.

Y/N felt a knot form in her stomach, fearing the worst. "What is it, Seungcheol?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol took a deep breath before continuing. "Y/N, I think it's best if we…if we stop seeing each other," he said, his eyes downcast.

Y/N felt her heart shatter into a million pieces at Seungcheol's words. "What? Why? Just yesterday we were happy together, what changed in such a short span of time?" she asked, tears forming in her eyes as she tripped over her own words.

Seungcheol turned to her, his expression pained as he tortured himself with the thought of parting with her. "It's for the best, Y/N," he said. "We can't let our feelings get in the way of our duty to the kingdom."

Y/N shook her head, tears streaming down her face, which she didn't attempt to wipe away, instead staring at him with her emotions raw and desperation apparent within her glassy eyes. "I can't do that, Seungcheol," she said, her voice shaking. "I can't just ignore how I feel about you."

Seungcheol took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly as he looked into her eyes as if he didn't really want to say goodbye, his hands revealing his true status. "I know, Y/N," he said. "But we have to try. For the kingdom."

Y/N nodded, feeling her heart heavy with sadness. She knew that Seungcheol was right, but that didn't make it any easier. They hugged each other tightly, trying to hold on to the small moments they shared together.

—

As the days passed, Y/N and Seungcheol tried their best to suppress their growing feelings for each other. They avoided spending time alone together, and their conversations became more formal and distant.

Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of longing every time she saw Seungcheol. She missed the way he would smile at her, the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about his dreams, and the warmth of his embrace.

Seungcheol, too, found it difficult to deny his feelings for Y/N. He missed the sound of her laughter, the way she would tilt her head when she listened to him talk, and the softness of her touch.

But they both knew that their duty to the kingdom came first. They couldn't afford to let their personal desires cloud their judgment, especially with the tension rising between Nephele and Roseate.

One evening, as Y/N was walking through the castle gardens, she heard the sound of someone playing the lute. She followed the sound until she came across Seungcheol sitting by a fountain, strumming the instrument.

"Seungcheol, you play the lute?" she asked, surprised, as she approached him with hesitance, still unsure of where their relationship lay.

Seungcheol smiled, setting the lute aside. "Yes, I've been playing since I was a child," he said.

Y/N sat down next to him, his thigh brushing hers, feeling a sense of peace as she listened to the music. "It's beautiful," she said softly, her eyes slowly trailing up from where his fingers strummed onto the instrument, and up towards his eyes.

Seungcheol looked at her, his eyes softening as he fought through the heavy fog in his mind urging him to stop. "You're beautiful," he said before he could stop himself.

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at his words. She looked at him, seeing the conflict in his eyes. "Seungcheol, I know this is difficult," she said. "But I can't ignore how I feel about you."

Seungcheol sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N, I…I feel the same way," he admitted. "But we can't act on our feelings. It's too risky." Y/N nodded, feeling a sense of disappointment wash over her. "I understand," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But that doesn't mean we can't be friends," he said, a small smile forming on his lips.

Y/N smiled back, feeling a sense of relief. "I'd like that," she said.

As they sat there together, listening to the sound of the lute and the gentle trickle of the fountain, Y/N and Seungcheol realized that their feelings for each other wouldn't go away easily. But for now, they would try to be content with the small moments they shared and hope that someday, they could be together without any obstacles in their way.

Seungcheol felt a strange sensation inside his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite describe. He had never felt this way before, not even with the other women he had courted in the past. He couldn't deny that he was attracted to y/n, but he couldn't act on those feelings. It was forbidden for a knight to pursue a princess.

He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. "I think it's best if we get back to the castle now, Princess," he said, breaking the silence. Y/n nodded, not daring to meet his gaze. She was equally confused by the feelings that had arisen between them, but she knew better than to act on them. She was a princess, and he was a knight sworn to protect her and her kingdom. "Please, let me escort you back to your room, Princess."

They walked back to the castle in silence, lost in their own thoughts. When they arrived, they bid each other goodnight, and Seungcheol watched as y/n disappeared into the castle's corridors.

He couldn't stop thinking about her, about the way her eyes had sparkled in the moonlight, about the sound of her laughter. He knew he shouldn't feel this way, but he couldn't help it. He had to keep his feelings in check, for the sake of his duty and his honour.

Little did he know, y/n was struggling with the same feelings. As she lay in bed that night, she couldn't stop thinking about Seungcheol. She couldn't deny the way her heart had raced when he had touched her hand, the way she had felt safe and protected in his presence.

But she knew it was futile to pursue those feelings. She was a princess, and he was a knight. Their love was forbidden, and they could never act on it.

And so, they both lay in their separate chambers, their hearts heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. The tension between the kingdoms of Nephele and Roseate continued to rise, and the future of their love seemed bleak.

—

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. The tension between Nephele and Roseate continued to escalate, with rumours of a possible war spreading throughout the kingdom.

Seungcheol and y/n tried their best to keep their distance, to ignore the feelings that had grown between them. But it was becoming harder and harder with each passing day.

One evening, Seungcheol was on patrol duty when he heard a noise coming from the castle walls. He immediately went to investigate, and to his surprise, he found y/n climbing down the wall, her hair blowing in the wind.

"Princess, what are you doing? You know, we need to stop meeting like this," he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I couldn't sleep," she said softly, her eyes downcast. "I needed to clear my head."

Seungcheol couldn't deny the admiration he felt for y/n. Despite the danger, she had climbed down the walls of the castle all by herself, determined to escape the confines of her room. He couldn't help but feel drawn to her spirit, her determination to be free.

"Come with me," he said, extending his hand. "I know a place where we can watch the stars without any distractions."

Y/n hesitated for a moment before taking his hand, and together they walked to a secluded garden, hidden behind the castle walls. The stars shone brightly overhead, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers.

They sat down on a bench, and Seungcheol couldn't help but steal glances at y/n. He admired the way she looked up at the stars, the way her eyes sparkled with wonder.

"Princess, can I ask you something?" he said, breaking the silence. "Of course," she said, turning to face him.

"Why did you climb down the walls?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I… I needed to escape," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't stand being trapped in the castle all the time. I want to be free, to explore the world outside these walls."

Seungcheol felt a pang in his heart. He knew all too well the feeling of being trapped, of not being able to pursue one's dreams.

"I understand," he said softly. "I feel the same way sometimes. But we have duties to our kingdom, to our people."

"I know," y/n said, her voice laced with sadness as her head slowly gravitated to lay on Seuncheols shoulder, seeming to have forgotten their prior agreement of friendship. "But sometimes… sometimes I wish I could just run away, to leave all of this behind."

Seungcheol's heart ached for y/n. He knew how hard it was to be trapped in one's duties, to not be able to pursue one's desires. He wanted nothing more than to hold her close, to comfort her and tell her that everything would be alright. But for now, he had to settle with running his fingers through her soft locks of hair, relishing in the feeling of closeness between the two.

He knew he couldn't go any farther than that. Their love was forbidden, and he had to keep his feelings in check, no matter how much his heart ached each time they parted and how they felt so right yet simultaneously being wrong together.

And so, they sat in silence, watching the stars above, lost in their own thoughts and desires. The tension between their kingdoms continued to rise, and their love remained forbidden.

Y/n smiled at Seungcheol's gesture, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "Thank you, Seungcheol," she said softly, "you always know how to make me feel better."

Seungcheol chuckled, "I try my best, princess." He paused for a moment before speaking again, "I must admit, it feels nice to be able to speak to someone openly like this. I've never really had anyone to confide in before."

Y/n's expression softened, "I'm glad I can be that person for you, Seungcheol."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The air was thick with unspoken feelings, and Y/n's heart raced in her chest.

Seungcheol cleared his throat and broke the moment, "Anyway, we should probably head back to the castle now. It's getting late."

Y/n nodded, feeling a bit disappointed that the moment had passed. They made their way back to the castle, walking side by side in comfortable silence.

As they reached the entrance, Seungcheol turned to Y/n, "I'll see you tomorrow, princess."

Y/n smiled softly, "Goodnight, Seungcheol."

As she walked away, Y/n couldn't help but think about the feelings that had been stirring inside of her since she had met Seungcheol. She knew that they were both of different stations and that any romantic feelings between them would be forbidden. Yet, she couldn't help but feel drawn to him in a way that she had never felt before.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, was feeling equally conflicted. He knew that he had a duty to protect Y/n and the kingdom of Nephele and that any romantic feelings between them would only complicate things. But, he couldn't deny the pull that he felt towards her, and the desire to be close to her.

As they both retired to their respective chambers, they couldn't help but think about each other and the unspoken feelings that hung between them.

—

The next few days passed in a blur, with Y/n and Seungcheol going about their respective duties as usual. However, there was a palpable tension between them, as if they were both acutely aware of the feelings that they were trying to suppress.

One afternoon, Seungcheol found himself on the training grounds, honing his skills with a sword. As he went through the motions, his mind kept wandering to thoughts of Y/n and the way that she had opened up to him the other day. He couldn't help but wonder if there was something more between them.

Suddenly, he was interrupted by a voice, "You seem to be deep in thought, Seungcheol."

Seungcheol turned to see Jeonghan, Y/n's older brother, standing a few feet away. Seungcheol had always found Jeonghan to be snarky and teasing, and he couldn't help but feel a bit on edge around him.

"I was just practising," Seungcheol said, sheathing his sword.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Seungcheol's jaw tensed, "What do you want, Jeonghan?"

Jeonghan smirked, "Just wanted to make sure you're keeping your hands to yourself when it comes to my sister."

Seungcheol bristled at the implication, "I assure you, my intentions towards the princess are purely honourable."

Jeonghan's smirk grew wider, "I'm sure they are. But just remember, Seungcheol, I'll be keeping a close eye on you. You know what a relationship between a knight and a princess will bring. You'll ruin her."

With that, Jeonghan turned and walked away, leaving Seungcheol feeling uneasy. He knew that Jeonghan had always been overprotective of Y/n, but something about his words felt like a warning.

—

Meanwhile, Y/n was sitting in the castle gardens, lost in thought. She had been feeling more and more suffocated by her duties as a princess, and the idea of being confined to the castle walls was starting to feel unbearable.

As she sat there, lost in thought, she was interrupted by a voice, "Princess, are you alright?"

Y/n looked up to see Seungcheol standing in front of her, concern etched on his face.

"I'm fine, Seungcheol," Y/n said, forcing a smile.

Seungcheol didn't look convinced, "Are you sure? You seem…distracted."

Y/n sighed, "I don't know, Seungcheol. I just feel so…trapped, sometimes. Like I'm not really living, you know?"

Seungcheol nodded, "I know what you mean. Sometimes it feels like our duties and responsibilities are all that define us."

Y/n looked up at him, feeling a sense of understanding between them. "Do you ever feel like…you want something more?" she asked, hesitantly.

Seungcheol's eyes met hers, and for a moment, they were both lost in thought. Finally, Seungcheol spoke, "I do. But sometimes, wanting more can be dangerous."

Y/n felt a twinge of disappointment in her chest, knowing that he was referring to their growing feelings for each other. But she also knew that he was right. Any sort of relationship between them would be forbidden and could put both of them in danger.

Seungcheol could feel his heart racing in his chest, and he knew that he was in trouble. He had never felt this way before, and he didn't know how to handle it. He was the head knight, and he had a duty to the kingdom of Nephele. He couldn't let his feelings for the princess get in the way of his duty.

But at the same time, he couldn't deny the way he felt about her. She was different from anyone he had ever met, and he found himself wanting to spend more and more time with her.

As they walked back to the castle, Seungcheol struggled to keep his emotions in check. He knew that he had to put some distance between himself and the princess, but he didn't want to hurt her in the process.

"Princess," he said, finally breaking the silence between them. "I think it would be best if we kept our distance from each other for a while."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion and hurt. "What do you mean? We've been through this before Seungcheol. Separating us from each other doesn't help, it just brings more pain." she asked.

"I mean that I don't think it's appropriate for us to spend so much time together," Seungcheol replied, his voice firm but gentle. "I have a duty to the kingdom of Nephele, and I can't let my personal feelings get in the way of that."

Y/N's face fell, and Seungcheol felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He didn't want to hurt her, but he knew that he had to do what was best for the kingdom.

"I understand," she said softly. "I'll…I'll see you later then."

As Y/N stood up to leave, Seungcheol gently grabbed her wrist. "Wait," he said softly, his eyes searching hers. "I may not be able to act on my feelings for you, but I can't deny that they exist. I care about you deeply, Y/N. More than I should."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she looked into Seungcheol's eyes, seeing the raw emotion there. She swallowed hard, feeling her own emotions rise to the surface. "I care about you too, Seungcheol," she said quietly. "But I understand that duty comes first. I won't ask you to choose."

Seungcheol's grip on her wrist tightened slightly. "I wish it were that simple," he said, his voice low. "But the truth is, I don't know how long I can hold back my feelings for you."

Y/N's heart fluttered at his words, and she felt a glimmer of hope. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I mean that every time I see you, every time we talk, my feelings for you grow stronger," Seungcheol admitted, his voice full of emotion. "I can't keep denying them forever."

Y/N felt her own feelings intensify at his words, but she knew that the situation was complicated. "What can we do, then?" she asked, her voice filled with uncertainty.

Seungcheol looked away, his gaze fixed on the ground. "I don't know," he said, his voice barely audible. "But for now, we must keep our feelings hidden. It's the only way to protect ourselves and the kingdom."

Y/N nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I will keep my feelings hidden, Seungcheol," she said softly. "But know that they exist and that I care about you deeply."

Seungcheol gave her a small, sad smile. "I know, Y/N," he said. "And I care about you too."

—

Seungcheol let out a deep sigh, his heart feeling heavy with the weight of their conversation. He knew that what he was feeling for Y/n was more than just a simple admiration or friendship, but he couldn't bear to admit it to himself.

As they approached the castle gates, Seungcheol cleared his throat and turned to Y/n. "I… I must take my leave now, Princess. Duty calls," he said, his voice betraying the turmoil in his heart.

Y/n nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. "Of course, Head Knight. I will see you soon."

Seungcheol gave her a small smile before turning to leave, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions he couldn't quite grasp. As he made his way back to the barracks, he couldn't help but replay their conversation in his mind, the words and emotions haunting him.

Days passed and Seungcheol found himself more and more drawn to Y/n, despite his best efforts to distance himself. He found excuses to be near her, to speak with her, and to bask in the warmth of her company. He was helpless to resist her charms and found himself falling deeper and deeper into a love he couldn't deny.

However, the tension between the Kingdoms of Nephele and Roseate continued to grow, and Seungcheol's duties as Head Knight demanded more of his attention. Minghao's actions only seemed to stoke the flames of conflict, and it was becoming increasingly clear that war was on the horizon.

As Seungcheol trained his knights and prepared for the worst, he couldn't help but think of Y/n and how he longed to protect her from the impending danger. He knew that their love was forbidden, but he couldn't help but hope that somehow, they could find a way to be together.

Little did he know, Y/n felt the same way. She yearned for the freedom to love whomever she wished, and Seungcheol had captured her heart in a way she never thought possible. As the kingdom braced for war, their feelings would be put to the ultimate test.

—

As the days passed, tensions between Nephele and Roseate continued to rise. Minghao's strict laws and harsh taxes were causing unrest among the people of Roseate, and rumours of rebellion began to spread.

Seungcheol and his fellow knights were constantly on high alert, ready to defend their kingdom if Roseate decided to attack. But even with their swords and shields at the ready, Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his stomach.

One night, Seungcheol was patrolling the castle walls when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Princess Y/N walking towards him.

"Is everything alright, Your Highness?" Seungcheol asked concern etched on his face.

"I couldn't sleep," Y/N admitted, her voice soft. "The tension between our kingdoms is weighing heavily on my mind."

Seungcheol nodded, understanding. "It's understandable to feel that way. But rest assured, we will do everything in our power to protect Nephele."

Y/N smiled faintly, but there was a sadness in her eyes that Seungcheol couldn't ignore. "I just wish there was another way. I don't want to see more bloodshed or lose any more lives."

Seungcheol took a step closer to Y/N, his hand reaching out to gently touch her arm. "I know," he said softly. "I wish for the same thing. But sometimes, in order to protect what we love, we must make difficult choices."

Y/N's eyes met Seungcheol's, and in that moment, Seungcheol could feel the weight of their unspoken feelings hanging between them. He quickly withdrew his hand, stepping back.

"Your Highness, it's getting late," Seungcheol said, his voice slightly strained. "You should return to your chambers and rest."

Y/N nodded, turning to leave. But before she did, she looked back at Seungcheol. "Thank you, Seungcheol. For always being there for me."

Seungcheol watched her go, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he could never have her. Not while tensions between their kingdoms ran so high.

—

Despite the tensions between the kingdoms, life in Nephele continued as usual. Seungcheol continued to train and lead his knights, while Y/N remained confined to the castle walls, longing for a chance to explore the world outside.

One day, news arrived that Minghao, the prince of Roseate, had made a bold move, one that could be interpreted as a threat to Nephele. It was rumoured that he had sent a letter to the king of Nephele, demanding that he submit to Roseate's rule or face the consequences. The tension between the two kingdoms reached new heights, and everyone in Nephele was on edge.

Seungcheol spent countless nights strategizing with his fellow knights, determined to protect his kingdom at all costs. Meanwhile, Y/N grew increasingly restless, tired of being kept in the dark about everything that was going on.

One day, while wandering the castle gardens, Y/N stumbled upon Seungcheol. He was standing by the fountain, deep in thought. She approached him, hoping for some answers.

"Seungcheol," she said softly. "What's going to happen to Nephele? Will we be safe?"

Seungcheol turned to face her, his eyes filled with concern. "I can't say for certain, Y/N," he said. "But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to protect this kingdom. That's what I was trained to do, and I take that duty very seriously."

Y/N nodded, feeling comforted by his words. She took a step closer to him, and Seungcheol could feel the warmth radiating from her body. He couldn't help but feel drawn to her, even though he knew it was forbidden.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Y/N reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "Seungcheol, I know we come from different worlds," she said. "But I feel like we have a connection, something special. Don't you feel it too?"

Seungcheol froze, unsure of what to say. He knew he couldn't deny the feelings he had for her any longer, but he also knew that pursuing a relationship with her would be dangerous, both for him and for Nephele.

"I do feel it, Y/N," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at Seungcheol's words, and she knew then that she felt the same way. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was hesitant at first, but soon turned passionate as they let go of their reservations.

Their tongues danced passionately in chorus with each other as Y/N's hand clutched desperately onto Seungcheols shirt, fisting it as if she was scared to be separated from him. Seungcheol brought his hand up, placing it onto her jaw and angling her head up to give him better access to her plush lips, using his spare hand as support for the back of y/n's head.

As they separated, their foreheads joint and their heartbeats each beating in a hurry, they stared into each other's eyes, a silent conversation occurred as they explored the colours and emotions evident in each of their irises.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Princess?" Seungcheol spoke, his voice wavering with desperation as he slowly massaged the back of her head and looked deeply at her. Once he felt her nod against him, he guided them through the walls of the castle, using his knight training to avoid passersby as he led them into Y/N's private chambers.

Seungcheol made work of untying the layers making up Y/Ns blush pink gown, carefully untying the ribbons as he pressed delicate kisses against her collarbone, relishing in the breathless gasps she would release. Y/N gasps loudly and brings her arms to wrap around his neck as Seungcheol lifts her up from the backs of her thighs.

Without struggle, Seungcheol walks them towards her bed, carefully laying her down so her back rests on the mattress, but still not letting his arms unwrap from around her, y/n doing the same, not wanting to separate from him.

Seungcheol trails his fingers towards the end of her undergarments, slowly tucking his fingers down to lift them up and off her, revealing her bare self to him. Seungcheol refrains himself from sighing in pleasure as he stares back into her eyes, feeling complete as he puts his mouth upon her, licking and sucking her most sensitive parts as she writhes above him.

Y/N's hands rested on his broad shoulder as he ravished her, clawing at the material of his shirt with shakey hands, silently signalling for him to take it off, wanting to see, and feel, more of him.

Seungcheol tore his shirt off, wanting to obey all of Y/N's wants and fulfil her needs. However, he didn't waste time as he went back to relishing in the sweet taste of her core, moaning and humming in pleasure as he slowed down his advances, instead, laying gently kisses over her core, not once breaking eye contact, "You like that, Princess? You like it when I bury my mouth onto your pretty pussy like this? Oh I know you do, you're practically leaking, aren't you, my pretty princess?"

"Yes, Cheol, oh yes. 'Makes me feel so good when you l-lick me!" Y/N mewled, in between pleased squeals and whimpers.

Seungcheol didn't hesitate to add a finger into the mix, curling it into a hook as he eased it inside of her, making a grabbing motion with his finger as he moved it inside her, relishing in the feeling of her squeezing around him, "S'not enough for you, is it, Princess? You want another finger, you can't get enough of me, right? Well, you have to ask for it, Princess. Tell me what you want?"

"Y-you, I want more of you, need more of you inside me. Give me more, Cheolie!" Y/N begged in between startled moans as her fingers dug into his shoulders, no doubt leaving scars behind in her wake.

Seungcheol follows as she commanded, chuckling lowly to himself at her desperation as he pumped another finger inside her whilst using his tongue to play with her clit, feeling himself harden at her moans.

"Why don't you taste yourself, princess?" Seunghceol urges as he brings his covered fingers up to her mouth, seeing her take them in and suck on them whilst looking into his eyes, "God, you're so perfect, princess, I need you right now, fuck, need to be inside of you."

Seungcheol stands up from his place on his knees, making work of escaping from his briefs to reveal himself, standing tall as the bright red tips released pre-cum that dripped down his veiny base. He grabbed her thighs, lifting them to wrap around his waist, leaving him to tease her entrance with his tip.

"You ready for me, Princess? Ready for me to make you completely mine?" Seungcheol asked, stroking her hair from her eyes, wanting to see all of her as he claimed her. His eyes softened momentarily as he breathed against her lips before pressing them to meet hers in a gentle kiss before he slowly plunged into her, moaning lowly as she squeezed him and gasped out his name, "Thats right, princess, say my name. I'm yours."

Their bodies entwined, and they moved together in a rhythm that was both passionate and gentle. Y/N's fingers dug into Seungcheol's back as she cried out his name, lost in the sensations that he was stirring within her.

Seungcheol was equally lost in the moment, his love for Y/N spurring him on to new heights of passion. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his breath hot against her skin as he brought her to the brink of ecstasy.

As the night wore on, their movements became more frantic and their breaths more ragged. Seungcheol explored every inch of Y/N's body with his hands, his lips, and his tongue, leaving trails of fire in his wake. Y/N moaned and writhed beneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

Finally, with a gasp, she shattered into a million pieces, her body shaking with pleasure. Seungcheol held her tightly as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. He moved inside her slowly at first, savouring the feeling of her tightness around him, but soon his movements became more urgent.

Y/N met him thrust for thrust, arching her back and crying out his name as they moved together in perfect harmony. As they lay there afterwards, sweat-drenched and breathless, Seungcheol pulled Y/N into his arms and held her tightly, as if he never wanted to let her go. "I love you," he whispered into her hair, as Y/N slept from within his arms.

The night was filled with whispered promises and moments of pure bliss. For a while, they forgot about the tensions between their kingdoms and the duties that awaited them. But as the morning light began to filter through the curtains, Seungcheol reluctantly pulled away from Y/N's embrace.

Seungcheol gazed at Y/N's face as they lay tangled in the sheets, her breathing slowly returning to normal. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for what he was planning to do next. But he knew it was for the best, for both of them.

Y/N stirred and turned to him, snuggling into his chest. "Seungcheol, promise me you'll come back to me," she whispered.

He brushed a lock of hair from her face and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I promise, Y/N. I'll always come back to you."

But as he got dressed and prepared to leave, Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling of dread in his chest. He knew that his plan was the only way to keep Y/N safe from his own feelings, but it didn't make it any easier to go through with it.

As he left Y/N's chambers, Seungcheol took one last look at her sleeping form and whispered, "Forgive me."

—

As Seungcheol made his way back to his quarters, he couldn't help but feel conflicted. He knew that he couldn't let his feelings for Y/N get in the way of his duty to Nephele. He needed to put his kingdom first, even if it meant hurting the woman he loved.

The next morning, Seungcheol woke up early, his mind already racing with plans. He needed to distance himself from Y/N, to make her hate him so that they could both move on. He couldn't let himself be distracted by his feelings any longer.

He dressed quickly, deliberately ignoring the marks Y/N had given him the night before. It was a painful reminder of what they could never have. As he made his way to the stables, Seungcheol came up with a silent plan to make Y/N hate him. He would be cold and distant, ignoring her every chance he got. It would hurt, but it was necessary.

As he mounted his horse and rode out to the front lines, Seungcheol couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness. He knew that what he was doing was necessary, but it didn't make it any less painful. He would bear the burden of his unrequited love in silence, sacrificing his own happiness for the good of his kingdom.

Little did he know, Y/N was sitting in her chambers, tears streaming down her face as she tried to come to terms with Seungcheol's departure. She couldn't help but wonder if she would ever see him again, or if their passionate night together was just a fleeting moment of happiness before their inevitable separation.

—

As he made his way to the courtyard, he noticed a group of soldiers gathered around a table, poring over maps and discussing strategy. Seungcheol strode over, his mind fully focused on the task at hand.

"We need to secure the northern border," he said, addressing the soldiers. "If Roseate decides to attack, that's where they'll come from."

The soldiers nodded in agreement, and Seungcheol continued to give orders, outlining a plan of attack. He was so focused on the task at hand that he didn't notice Jeonghan approaching.

"Seungcheol," Jeonghan said, his tone laced with contempt. "I didn't know you were the one in charge here. I thought that was the job of the King, not the head knight."

Seungcheol bristled at Jeonghan's tone, but he kept his voice even as he responded. "Your father is busy with other matters," he said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "It falls to me to protect Nephele."

Jeonghan sneered. "Protecting Nephele? Is that what you call it? It seems to me like you're more interested in cosying up to my sister."

Seungcheol felt a surge of anger at Jeonghan's words, but he forced himself to stay calm. "You have no right to speak to me like that," he said through gritted teeth. "I am a loyal knight of Nephele, and I will do whatever it takes to protect this kingdom."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? I wonder how far your loyalty really extends."

Seungcheol gritted his teeth, feeling the blood rush to his face. He wanted to lash out at Jeonghan, to defend himself and his honour. But he knew that it would only make things worse.

Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, feeling Jeonghan's eyes burning into his back. He had a job to do, and he couldn't let anything get in the way of that.

As he walked towards the stables to prepare his horse, Seungcheol couldn't help but wonder if his plan to push Y/N away was the right one. He knew that it was for the greater good, but the thought of never seeing her again made his heartache.

But he pushed those thoughts aside, reminding himself that duty came before personal feelings. He mounted his horse and rode off towards the northern border, steeling himself for the battle that lay ahead.

—

As he rode out to meet the Roseate army, Seungcheol felt a pang in his heart at the thought of Y/N. He couldn't let his guard down, though. He had to keep his mind clear and his focus sharp.

The battle was fierce, with both sides suffering heavy casualties. Seungcheol fought with all his might, his mind focused solely on the battle. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

As the battle raged on, Seungcheol spotted Minghao on the opposite side of the battlefield. He gritted his teeth in anger, thinking about the tensions between Nephele and Roseate caused by the Prince's recent actions.

Seungcheol and his men fought valiantly, eventually pushing back the Roseate army and claiming temporary victory for Nephele.

The battle was intense and gruelling, but Seungcheol led the Nephele army to victory. As he rode back into the kingdom, he saw Y/N waiting for him, a look of concern etched on her face.

"Seungcheol, are you okay?" she asked, rushing over to him.

He forced himself to be cold, to push her away. "I'm fine, Princess. Just doing my duty as head knight."

Y/N looked hurt, but she didn't push the issue. Seungcheol knew that he had to keep up this act, even if it hurt both of them in the process.

Days turned into weeks, and Seungcheol continued to distance himself from Y/N. He was cold and distant, always putting his duty to the kingdom above his personal feelings.

Y/N tried to reach out to him, to understand what had happened between them, but Seungcheol shut her out. He couldn't risk giving in to his feelings for her, no matter how much he wanted to.

Eventually, Y/N began to give up hope. She stopped trying to reach out to Seungcheol, and their interactions became strained and formal.

Seungcheol watched her from afar, his heart breaking at the thought of losing her. But he knew that it was for the best. He couldn't let their feelings for each other get in the way of his duty to Nephele.

So he pushed her away, silently bearing the pain of his own broken heart.

—

For the next few days, Seungcheol kept his distance from Y/N. He went about his duties as head knight, staying focused on training the soldiers and organizing battle plans in case of another attack. Whenever Y/N approached him, he was curt and distant. It was painful for him to do, but he knew it was for the best.

Y/N was confused and hurt by Seungcheol's sudden change in behaviour. She tried to talk to him, but he always had some excuse to leave or was too busy to pay her much attention.

Days turned into weeks and soon Seungcheol was preparing for the final battle against Roseate. As they were about to leave, Y/N approached him once more. "Seungcheol, please talk to me," she pleaded. "What's going on? Why are you acting like this?"

Seungcheol took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "Y/N, I can't do this anymore," he said, his voice steady but laced with pain. "I can't keep pretending that everything is okay between us when I know that it's not. We both know that what we shared was a mistake. It can't happen again."

Y/N was shocked and hurt by Seungcheol's words. Tears filled her eyes as she struggled to comprehend what he was saying. "Seungcheol, please don't do this," she begged. "We can work through this together. We can figure it out."

But Seungcheol remained firm. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I can't," he said, before turning and walking away, leaving Y/N alone and heartbroken.

As he rode away, Seungcheol couldn't help but feel like he was making the biggest mistake of his life. But he knew it was necessary. He had to push Y/N away before their feelings became too strong to ignore. He had to do what was best for both of them, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness.

Seungcheol watched as Y/N walked away, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest. He knew he was hurting her, but he couldn't let himself get any closer to her. Not when he had a duty to fulfil to Nephele.

—

As the bright summer months began to change into a gruelling winter, Seungcheol continued to avoid Y/N's company whenever he could. He focused on his duties as the head knight and tried to push aside the growing feelings he had for the princess.

But it wasn't easy. Every time he saw her, his heart ached. He missed the way she smiled at him, the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her touch. But he knew he had to stay strong, for both their sakes.

One day, as Seungcheol was training his men in the courtyard, he saw Y/N walking towards him. He tensed up, unsure of what to do.

"Seungcheol," Y/N said, her voice soft.

"Princess," he replied, keeping his tone cold and formal.

"I…I know you've been avoiding me," she said, her eyes downcast. "And I understand why. But I can't help how I feel."

Seungcheol felt his resolve crumbling. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and tell her how he felt. But he knew he couldn't.

"Princess, please," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I can't…we can't."

"Why?" Y/N asked, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.

"Because it's forbidden," Seungcheol replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I have a duty to this kingdom."

"But don't you have a duty to yourself as well?" Y/N asked, her voice trembling.

Seungcheol sighed heavily. He knew she was right. He had been trying so hard to deny his own feelings that he had forgotten to take care of himself.

"I…I don't know," he said finally. "All I know is that we can't be together. Not now, at least."

Y/N nodded, tears streaming down her face. "I understand," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it doesn't make it any easier."

Seungcheol felt a lump form in his throat as he watched her walk away. He knew he had made the right decision, but it didn't stop his heart from breaking.

—

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Seungcheol had been away on the frontlines, leading the charge against the kingdom of Roseate. Y/N was left in the castle, waiting anxiously for any news of the war. She had tried to reach out to Seungcheol, but he was cold and distant, ignoring her letters and avoiding her at every turn.

Y/N couldn't understand why Seungcheol was acting this way. She had thought they had something special, something that could survive the trials of war and distance. But now, she was left feeling confused and heartbroken. She had never felt this way before, and it scared her.

One day, Y/N was walking in the castle gardens, lost in her thoughts when she heard a voice behind her. "Princess, a messenger from the front lines has arrived with news for you."

Y/N turned around and saw a young soldier, his face weary and tired. "What news do you have?" she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

The soldier hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry to inform you, but the head knight, Seungcheol, was captured by the enemy. We don't know his fate, but we fear the worst."

Y/N felt like the ground had been ripped from beneath her feet. Her heart ached with indescribable pain. She couldn't believe that Seungcheol was gone, that he might never come back to her.

She went to her chambers and sat down at her desk, her hands shaking as she wrote a letter to her brother, Jeonghan, begging him to help her find Seungcheol. She knew that Jeonghan didn't approve of their relationship, but she had to do everything in her power to save Seungcheol.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N heard nothing from Jeonghan. She felt hopeless, alone, and scared. She missed Seungcheol more than anything in the world, and she didn't know what to do without him.

Y/N spent her days waiting for any news of Seungcheol, praying that he was still alive and that they could be reunited. She felt like she was living in a nightmare, and she didn't know how to escape it.

—

As Seungcheol was dragged away from the battlefield, he saw Minghao and his soldiers approach him, sneering with a wicked grin on his face. Seungcheol gritted his teeth, his mind racing with the thought of the safety of his kingdom.

"What do you want?" Seungcheol demanded, trying to break free from the hold of the soldiers.

"Ah, the mighty Head Knight of Nephele, how honourable," Minghao taunted, approaching him. "I have heard of your bravery, Seungcheol. Your loyalty to your kingdom is commendable, but I'm afraid it will not save you now."

Seungcheol's heart sank, realizing that he was completely outnumbered and outmatched. He tried to keep his composure, knowing that showing fear would only give them more satisfaction. But inside, he was terrified.

"What do you want from me?" Seungcheol repeated, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Minghao leaned in close, a sly smile on his face. "Oh, nothing much. Just a little information."

Seungcheol's heart raced, knowing that he couldn't reveal any secrets about Nephele, even under the threat of torture. He steeled himself, ready to face whatever was to come.

But little did he know, this would be the beginning of a long and painful journey for both himself and Y/N.

—

Days passed before Seungcheol was once again brought before the Roseate King, Minghaos father, who had mysteriously recovered from the plague seeming to corrupt all five kingdoms, and his generals. However, Minghao's presence was not there, his absence leaving a fierce feeling of doom amongst Seungcheol.

They stood before him with smirks on their faces, ready to interrogate him for information on the Nephele kingdom. They had been brutal with him, trying to break him down, but Seungcheol remained strong. He refused to give them any information that would harm his kingdom.

The Roseate King grew impatient and raised his voice, "You are a loyal dog, Seungcheol, but your loyalty to the Nephele kingdom will be your downfall."

Seungcheol remained steadfast, his eyes never leaving the king's as he teased Seuncheol with the idea of hurting the ones he loved most, seeming to go through a mental list in his mind to spot any weaknesses.

"What about Princess Y/N, a pretty one I hear, loved amongst all the kingdoms." The King began, the corners of his lips rising as he spotted Seuncheols heaving chest.

Seungcheol's eyes hardened with determination. He knew then that he would fight until his last breath to protect her and his kingdom.

The Roseate King noticed the change in Seungcheol's demeanour and grinned. "Ah, I see we have touched a nerve. Tell us about your relationship with the princess."

Seungcheol's jaw clenched. He would not betray Y/N's trust, even if it meant his death.

"It would be a shame, wouldn't it, if one were to hurt the precious princess." One of the guards started, sizing Seungcheol up with his eyes as he talked.

Seungcheol saw red. He broke free from his restraints, instead using them as a weapon to weaken the guards surrounding him.

Seungcheol fought with a ferocity that surprised even himself. His muscles flexed with each movement, his sword slicing through the air with ease. He was a warrior, a protector, and nothing would stand in his way of protecting his kingdom and the woman he loved.

As he fought, Seungcheol heard Y/N's voice in his head, urging him on. He fought for her, for their love, and for the future, they could have together. The Roseate soldiers fell one by one, and soon Seungcheol was the only one standing.

Breathing heavily, he stood tall and looked at the Roseate King with a fierce glare. "I will protect my kingdom and my princess with my life. You will never lay a hand on her."

With that, Seungcheol turned and walked away, leaving the Roseate Kingdom behind. He would return to Nephele and to Y/N, to fight for their future and to love her with all his heart.

—

As Seungcheol stepped off his horse, he immediately spotted Y/N. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her hair was dishevelled from the wind. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the sight of her. He approached her slowly, unsure of how she would react.

But as soon as she saw him, all her reservations melted away. She ran towards him, her arms outstretched, and jumped into his embrace. Seungcheol wrapped his arms tightly around her, tears threatening to spill from his own eyes.

"Seungcheol!" Y/N cried, her voice choked with emotion. "I was so worried about you."

Seungcheol held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his own. He buried his face in her hair, taking in her familiar scent. For a moment, he forgot all about the past, about the war, about everything except the woman in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry for everything."

Y/N pulled back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I forgive you," she said softly. "I just want you to be safe."

Seungcheol nodded, his own eyes filling with tears. "I'll do everything in my power to protect you," he vowed.

The two of them stood there for a while longer, holding each other tightly. Y/N didn't care about the people passing by, staring at them. All she cared about was Seungcheol and the fact that he was finally back in her arms.

Finally, they pulled away from each other, and Seungcheol took a step back, his eyes scanning Y/N's face. "You're so beautiful," he said softly. Y/N blushed at his words, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. "Thank you," she whispered.

Seungcheol smiled at her, a warm, genuine smile that reached all the way to his eyes. It was a smile that made Y/N's heart skip a beat.

Seungcheol held Y/N in his arms, feeling her tears soak into his shirt. He pulled back slightly to look at her face, his thumb wiping away the tears that fell down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Seungcheol whispered, his voice heavy with guilt. "I should have never left you. I should have never tried to push you away."

Y/N looked up at Seungcheol, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "I don't care," she said softly. "I just want you. I've missed you so much."

Seungcheol's heart swelled with emotion. "I've missed you too, Y/N. More than you can imagine."

They stood there for a moment, lost in each other's eyes. And then, without another word, Seungcheol leaned down and captured Y/N's lips in a passionate kiss. She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

The kiss was long and heated, full of the pent-up desire and longing they had been feeling for each other. When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless and flushed.

"I love you, Y/N," Seungcheol said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I love you more than anything."

Y/N smiled through her tears. "I love you too, Seungcheol. I always have and I always will."

They kissed again, this time slower and more tender. They were lost in each other, finally free to love each other without fear or hesitation.

Jeonghan stood there in shock as he watched his sister and Seungcheol embrace each other. He had suspected that there was something between them, but he never expected it to be this intense. He watched as Seungcheol whispered sweet nothings into Y/N's ear, wiping away her tears.

The king, who had been watching from a distance, approached them with a stern look on his face. "Seungcheol, I understand that you have feelings for my daughter, but you know that as the Head Knight of Nephele, it is your duty to put your kingdom before your personal desires."

Seungcheol looked at the king with a determined expression. "I know that, Your Highness, but my duty to my kingdom does not mean that I have to give up on my happiness. I love Y/N with all my heart, and I will do whatever it takes to make her happy."

The king sighed heavily, knowing that he couldn't deny the love between Seungcheol and Y/N any longer. "Very well. But know that your actions will have consequences. I will not tolerate any disruption to the peace between our two kingdoms."

Seungcheol nodded his head in understanding, still holding onto Y/N tightly. Jeonghan finally snapped out of his daze and approached the couple with a wide smile on his face. "Well, it's about time you two finally confessed your love for each other! I always knew there was something special between you."

Y/N laughed through her tears and hugged her brother. "Thank you for understanding, Jeonghan. We just couldn't keep our feelings hidden any longer."

The rest of the day was filled with celebrations and feasts as the news of the two kingdoms finally coming together in love spread. Seungcheol and Y/N were inseparable, holding hands and stealing kisses whenever they could. They knew that they had a long road ahead of them, but they were willing to face it together.

As they watched the sunset together, Seungcheol pulled Y/N into his arms once again. "I never want to let you go, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

Y/N smiled up at him, her heart full of love and happiness. "I feel the same way, Seungcheol. I can't believe we were both so blind to our feelings for each other."

Seungcheol kissed her forehead gently. "But now we know, and we can make up for the lost time. I promise to love and protect you for as long as I live."

Y/N snuggled into his embrace, feeling safe and loved. "And I promise to love and support you in everything you do, Seungcheol. Together, we can conquer anything."

Y/N's arms tightened around him as she returned his kiss with equal fervour. They stood there, lost in each other's embrace, for what felt like an eternity. When they finally pulled away, they were both smiling through their tears.

"I missed you so much," Y/N said, looking up at Seungcheol with adoration in her eyes.

"I missed you too, Y/N," Seungcheol replied, his eyes shining with affection. "And I promise that I will never leave your side again."

As they walked away from the crowd, Seungcheol couldn't help but feel grateful for the second chance he had been given. He knew that he would never take Y/N for granted again, and he would always cherish the love that they shared.

it’s here, the first instalment of the sonder series! please comment and reblog, all feedback is appreciated and don’t be scared to literally spam my ask box since i really like interacting with readers. make sure to let me know which instalment you’re most excited for so i can start writing them!

tags : @shiningstar-byulxx @woo8hao @hoshi-mochi @sanxoxodra @memoooooooooo @tara-drabbles @eiiasmarteii @mimisxs @hikyeom @dearlosver

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 month

Text

Happy Little Family

📖"A Clever, Tricky Little Kitty Cat: Just like her Mommy"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4407

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: Bucky shows up unannounced at your cottage, shattering the peaceful life you thought you'd reclaimed for yourself and your daughter. He's reclaiming what's his, and he isn't planning on accepting a "no."

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" shlyukha = "slut" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one"

1. A Clever, Tricky Little Kitty Cat, Just like her Mommy

"And then the knight took the princess away to his castle, and they lived happily ever after."

You're just outside the nursery when you hear his voice, and ice cold fear instantly floods your chest. You drop the laundry basket and run into the room, and there he is: seated in the chair you nurse from, reading one of the antique fairytale books that your mom gave at the shower, holding your baby.

"James," you breathe, horrified. He's been smiling down at June, but now his face smooths out as he looks up at you. He isn't frowning or glaring, but you know him, and there's a storm behind those eyes that makes dread curl heavy in your stomach. "Hi Doll," he says quietly. "It's good to see you again."

Your heart pounds in your chest. You feel sick. One wrong move and who knows what he'll do. You take a cautious step forward, eyes searching James' body and anywhere nearby for a gun. You don't see one. You take another step. "James," you warn,

June makes a happy gurgle at seeing you, and James coos down at her, "Aw, yeah Sweetie. I'm happy to see Mommy too."

Mommy. Hearing that word come out of his mouth, in a setting like this, is a nightmare you've woken from more than once. You lick your lips and hold out your arms, pleading, "Please give her to me."

He acts like he hasn't even heard you, smiling and tapping June's body with one finger. "We were just reading a story. Little lady is gonna be a big reader one day, I bet. Gonna grow up to be real smart." His gaze slides back to you, with what you interpret as a world-of-hurt-coming-your-way look glimmering in his eyes. "A clever, tricky little kitty cat. Just like her Mommy."

A whimper escapes you, unbidden.

June starts squirming in his lap, eager to get to you. When he doesn’t hand her over, she starts to fuss. He coos at her and bounces her in his arms to calm her, kisses the top of her head while keeping his somber, reproachful eyes on you. “You left your door unlocked,” he says. “She was alone.”

She’d been down for her nap when you went downstairs and popped across the street to visit with Hilde, your one friend in the world. It’s so common for mothers to do, in this tiny, Nordic village you’ve settled in. It’s the culture here. It’s supposed to be safe. You swallow thickly, eyes flitting around to try and think of what to do. You think of your gun, so far away. You’d talked yourself out of keeping it tucked behind your bed, so now the only weapon you own is down in the kitchen. But maybe … maybe if you can get him away from June …

“You should be more careful, Little thief. You never know who might break in and take everything you love.”

“The only thing we had to guard against here was you,” you hiss. “And I’m not fool enough to think a locked door would keep you out.”

“You’re damned right it wouldn’t.” He tosses the storybook aside like trash and stands up with June in his arms. “But you are a fool if you thought there was anywhere in the world you could go where I wouldn’t find you.”

You flinch forward compulsively, unable to think of your own safety over your baby’s. “Please, James,” you beg. “Please. Just give her to me.”

“Oh no, Dollface,” he purrs, voice deceptively soft. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and you aren’t gonna want her in the room when it happens.” His hands tighten threateningly on June’s little body. “Whose baby is this?”

You blanch. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Aw. You don’t want me to hurt her?”

“No, please!” The sob that’s been working its way up in your throat finally breaks. It’s killing you not to rush forward and snatch her from his arms. “Please, I'll do anything.”

“Is that so?” He stares at you long and hard. The few seconds of silence are torturous as he holds your daughter away from you.

James is one of the deadliest people you’ve ever met, and he’s capable of horrendous violence, but he wouldn’t hurt a baby, that much you do know. What you have to worry about most right now isn’t him physically hurting her; it’s him wanting her, whisking her away right alongside you, when he inevitably takes you from this place. There’s nothing you can do to prevent your own fate, but if there’s anything you can do to keep him from getting his hands on June, you’ll do it. Your eyes flit around the nursery frantically, its pale, dream-like decorations taunting you as you try to think of what to do. It feels surreal to have a man like James standing in this room, feels wrong.

Your heart leaps when he suddenly moves, but he’s only turning to walk over to the crib, bending and placing June in it with a surprising amount of care. Something painful lances in your chest at seeing him handle her so gently, but when he turns back around to you, all of that gentleness is gone. “Come on,” he snaps. “To the other bedroom.”

You hesitate, not wanting to leave your daughter alone, but he stalks forward and grabs your upper arm, herding you out of the nursery and down the hallway. In your bedroom, he pushes you onto the bed. You land in a heap and scramble to prop back up on your hands, trying to swipe the hair out of your face.

“Whose baby is that?” he demands. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

His Voice. God. After almost a year and a half it should be lessened. The pull you feel when you hear it has no right to tug at you the way it does. You’re not even mated, which makes it all the more insulting. It gets in through your ears and spreads throughout your body, like an invasive plant, growing and sinking its roots into you and tug, tug tugging on your will: Whose baby is that.

You fight the awful urge to tell him, as you rapidly, fearfully weigh your options. It’s hard to think when you’re so frightened, so taken aback. Most people might think it wise to admit the truth, but you know this man, this alpha, and you know he’ll never let her go if he knows that she’s his. Anything, you think. You have to do anything you can to keep her from that life, that world.

Heart in your throat, you insist, “Noone.”

“Noone?” His visage darkens. “Artificial insemination, then? I know they’re progressive and all up here, but don’t take me for a fool, mamochka.”

“It was just some guy! Just a one night stand, I swear!”

He surges in, gets one knee up on the bed and pushes you onto your back when you try to get up, leaning over you and holding you down by your shoulders. “So you did let another man fuck you,” he growls.

You jut your chin out and hiss, “Yes.” (Lying Rule #1: deliver your bullshit with confidence).

“Who? Was he alpha?”

“Why do you care? It was one night in Oslo.” (Rule #2: add in one or two unimportant details.)

“What’s. his. name?”

A bitter sound escapes you (Rule #3: attach honest emotion to it, if you can). “I don’t know his name. I never did. I was just racking up a roster, just wanted to get laid after getting away from you.”

He bares his teeth at you in a snarl, furious, and shoves you harder against the mattress. You cry out and try to hit him, but he catches your wrists and holds them down to the bed easily, shoving you again, one of his powerful thighs pressed up between yours. “You’re mine,” he growls, getting in your face, lying on top of you. “Noone else’s. Not ever.”

You whimper and nod, shaken and keenly aware of his body on top of yours, his strength. James is a massive hulk of an alpha, capable of overpowering you in any situation, and even through your frantic thoughts, you know you’ll never be able to get away from him in close contact like this. He’s so angry, his scent gone thick and choking. You’re too panicked to plan out what it is you’re going to say next, you just wind up instinctively trying to placate him, blurting out, “What do you want?”

He leers down at you. “I want what’s mine. What’s always been mine.” On your wrists, his fingers tighten cruelly. “You’ve had your fun now, and gotten away with it for too damn long. You’re coming home with me, Little thief.”

You gasp as the pressure on your wrists increases painfully, mind flying to that cold, Siberian fortress and the life that awaits you there. You might be able to get away from him before then, but you might not, and you can’t risk June being trapped there as well. “Okay, okay! I’ll go with you, I will. Wherever you want. Just … Please let me give her to the neighbor. Please.”

He smiles nastily down at you. “Oh, you don’t want her to come along? Another man’s pup?”

Tears press at the backs of your eyes at the thought of leaving your daughter behind, but you shake your head. “Please. Just take her over to the woman across the street. She’ll look after her. Please James, she's my daughter. I won’t fight you if you leave her there. She’s nothing to you. Just let her stay where it’s safe.”

Something in his expression shifts, but you don’t have time to figure out what the emotion might be, before he shutters again. He leans down and purrs, “Oh, I don’t know, vorishka [little thief]. You stole some very valuable things from me. And since I don’t see any fucking Picassos hanging in this hovel you call a house, I assume they’re in the wind.”

It wasn’t as though you’d simply been able to run away. Escaping had required finances, techniques, firms of dangerous men hired to plant false leads, erase tracks, ferret you away into oblivion, and then move halfway across the globe and buy yourself a new identity. The bribes alone had eaten up most of the money. You shudder in his grip, knowing that the paintings wouldn’t save you, even if you did have them. “They’re gone.”

“I know they’re gone, Little thief.” He shoves his thigh down against you. “So how are you gonna make it up to me?”

You whimper. “I can’t,” you plead. “James. I don’t have anything.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I can think of a few ways you can start repaying your debt.” He runs one hand down your side, groping your waist as he breathes softly against your ear: “For instance, do you have any idea what she’d be worth on the black market?”

It takes you a split second to figure out what he means, and your heart seizes in terror as soon as you do. You know James is involved in every type of shady, illegal dealing there is in the world, but you’d never even considered the idea of human trafficking. Now that he’s said it, you panic that you’ve made a huge mistake by lying that the baby isn’t his. “James,” you whisper, horrified. “Alpha, please.”

“Oh, it’s Alpha, now, is it?” He chuckles meanly, the sound making your stomach churn. You’re about to say something else, beg in some other, pitiful way, tell him he’s June’s father, but instead you cry out as his hand fists in your hair and yanks your head to the side. His breath hits hot against your skin and he drags his nose up the side of your neck, scenting you. “Mmm,” he hums darkly, pleased. “You spread your legs for another man, but you didn’t let anyone in here.”

You squeak when his teeth scrape over your still-unmarked glands. “No!” you gasp, just as much an answer as it is a plea for nim not to bite you. “I didn’t, I didn’—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, closing his teeth down on the spot. You whine as he pulls your hair and slowly increases the pressure of his bite, threatening to break the skin. Horrified, you feel your body responding with arousal, heat blooming deep in your core. You squeeze your eyes shut, and sure enough few seconds later James is inhaling deeply and chuckling. “Oh, kotenok [kitten]. Still the same as ever, huh?” He shifts, hand slipping down between your legs and cupping you from over the fabric of your dress. “Ripe for your Alpha’s touch, even after all this time. How sweet.” Humiliated rage bubbles up inside of you and you glare up at him. He’s looking down fondly at you, eyes heated and lip drawn into his mouth. He lets it slide back out between his teeth and murmurs, “It’s okay, you know. It’s everything to me, omegechka [little omega], the way you respond. It’s only natural.” You growl angrily, but he just hums and tugs your hair again, other hand molding to your mound and rubbing. “Shh sh sh,” he hushes, when you cry out louder. “Don’t want to scare the whelp, do you?”

You freeze, listening to try and hear June. She’s whining from over in her room, not understanding why she’s been left alone when she can hear her mommy’s voice just down the hall. “Please,” you whisper, locking eyes with James again. “Please. Let me go to her.”

He grinds the heel of his hand against you. “I told you, Dollface. You don’t want her here for this.”

He kisses you on the mouth, chaste and lingering; so gentle that for a split second it makes you ache for what you once had with him. James always was very good at making love to you, at lavishing you with a softness and a tenderness even in the darkest of times. But now you can only shiver underneath his weight, because you know that’s not what’s about to happen.

“Seventeen months, moya omegya,” he rumbles quietly, lips brushing yours with the words. “My bed suddenly cold, not knowing if you were alive or dead. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

His tone of voice is so intimately familiar that it makes your heart clench, bringing back memories of a life you’ve fought so hard to put behind you. “Please,” you whisper. “Don’t do this.”

He tuts and shakes his head softly, as if he’s actually remorseful. “How this goes depends entirely on you. I want you to know that.” He hasn’t stopped working his hand against you, rubbing his palm against your clit and smiling at how you shudder beneath him and your body betrays you. You watch his nostrils flare as he smells the reaction he’s pulling from you against your will. “Sweet girl,” he coos. “You just can’t help it, can you?” You toss your head and screw your eyes shut, but he’s having none of it. He yanks your hair and hisses at you to open your eyes. “No,” he warns, once he’s got your attention. He moves back, getting up onto his knees and shrugging off his jacket. “You’re going to watch. The whole time.” His hands land on his belt, the buckle clinking as he opens it and undoes his pants. “I want to look right in your eyes while I take back what’s mine.” He shoves his pants down along with his underwear. His cock springs free, already hard and wet at the tip. A part of him that’s been inside you hundreds of times, probably. Something you’ve craved and debased yourself for.

Seeing it reignites your shame, but it’s the way you feel your cunt pulse and release a fresh wave of slick, that really makes you start resisting again. “Nnh!”

“Ah ah ah, Dollface. That’s not gonna work.”

“Nugh! Lemmo go!”

You fight, of course you do, but it’s almost worse that way, as it only points out how comically mismatched you are to him. He laughs at you and holds down your thrashing body, barely even grunting from the effort of subduing you. “Shh sh sh,” he hushes, chuckling breathily as he forces you down with one hand and strokes himself with the other. “I have to tell you, kotenok. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“I hate you!” You manage to get a hand free and you flail, hitting and clawing at him. He inhales sharply as your nails scratch his face. He knocks your hand away with a surprised hiss and, wide eyed, touches the spot where a tiny line of red is welling up on his cheek. The next thing you know, he’s backhanding you, sending spots into your vision and knocking you out of your senses for a few seconds. Your ears ring and you blink, stunned.

His hand appears at your throat, squeezing, pressing up against the arteries. You briefly grapple with him, grabbing his forearm and fighting, but then his thumb notches into place and digs into your glands. Your cries taper off and you go limp with a pathetic, mewling whimper. “Nnnh …”

He leers down at you, adjusting his grip, still jerking his cock as he subdues you with the Hold. “Weak,” he says. “But that’s just how I like you.”

His thumb rubs in circles, sending a rush of liquid gold through your veins. It worsens the situation between your legs, and you can’t hide that any more than you can hide the humiliated tears that prick to your eyes as he shoves your dress up and rips your underwear straight off of you. He coos when he looks down and sees how wet you are. “Oh, omegechka.” He knees your legs further apart and drags his cockhead through your folds. “And this is you hating me?”

You shake with a silent sob, despising him with your whole being, hating yourself for reacting this way. Before James, you’d never met a man who coveted your omega nature so much, hadn’t known what it was to need an alpha that way, to have your body need him. And to think: you used to like it.

He lines himself up and sinks inside of you in one, unyielding push, forcing you to open to him, carving out his space inside of you. You cry out at the force of it, body clamping down hard and the delicate skin at your entrance stinging from the stretch, but he doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated. “Fuck,” he groans, grinding in deep, his pubic bone pressing against your clit, laughing darkly when it makes you squeal. “Oh, you sensitive?” He does it again, and again, doesn’t stop until he gets a high pitched, warbling moan from you. “Theere she is.” He digs his thumb in harder against your glands and stares right in your eyes as he watches the effect it has on you, soaking up the flush in your face and the furious tears welling at the corners of your eyes. “I know, Sweetheart, I know,” he murmurs. “You really can’t help it, can you?” You whimper and he nods along in mock sympathy. “Poor little thing. I can’t imagine what it must be like, to need it that bad.”

“James,”

He pulls out halfway and shoves back in, hard, rumbling in pleasure when it elicits another yelp from you. His other hand grabs at your waist, fingers digging into the soft give of your body. He hums dirtily. “I have to say, I’m pleasantly surprised. You look good for having just pushed out that pup. You look healthy.” You whine in protest and he fucks in hard again, baring his teeth in a mean smile. “Yeah, momma, you heard me.” He pulls out, thrusts back in.

“Ss-stop.”

He laughs. “Don’t be like that, krasotka [Pretty(n.)]. I like it. You always were too skinny for my taste.” He runs his hand from your waist up to the top of your dress, yanking it down along with the cup of your bra, and groaning when your swollen breast spills out. You squeal in rage as he curses quietly, eyes going molten and unfocused. “Fuck, Honey, look at you.”

You start thrashing again hard, trying to hit him, but you only get a glancing blow to the side of his head before he refixes his hand on your throat and clamps down in another Hold. He gives you a firm shake. “Settle down. I told you: I like it..”

“Nnn, fuck you!” You spit on him, but he only laughs and wipes it away, leering down at you and continuing gleefully,

“Shouldn’t be skinny like some damn underwear model. Mm mn, naw. Now you’re nice and soft, just like you should be. Somethin’ for Alpha to grab onto. Bitty waist and a fat ass.” He grabs your waist again and pulls you down into the next roll of his hips, changing the angle and hitting that spot inside of you that makes stars burst in your vision.

“Ah!”

“Mmhm. Right there baby? Yeah, thaat’s the spot. I remember.” He’s panting open-mouthed, breathless as he taunts you, “I remember everything. What you like. How you feel. The sounds you make. Fuck.” He shoves into you hard and holds there, his licked-red lips curling up wickedly. “Your cunt’s fluttering around me, Sweetheart. Clamping down so fucking hard.”

“Nnh!”

He laughs, but his smile slackens as his own pleasure continues to build. He angles back and looks down your body, stares at where his cock is disappearing inside of you with lewd, wet sounds. “Shit, momma. And this pussy snapped back real good, didn’t it?”

You cry out angrily, but it’s what he wants: to see you aroused and humiliated and furious at him. He sets a punishing pace, his hips slamming against you hard on the end of each, brutal thrust; his open belt and the zip of his fly digging into your ass every time he grinds inside. “You haven't been fucking anybody,” he says smugly. “How long’s it really been, mamochka? Hm? How long since another man was in this cunt?”

You moan miserably, his cock driving hard against your walls, too rough but not painful enough to keep it from feeling good. James is big, has an alpha’s cock, and it’s never been a physical possibility for him to be inside of you and not rub against every spot that makes your body light up in pleasure. You shake your head and try to close your eyes, but he pushes his hand up harder underneath your jaw, shaking you. “Uh uh. Look at me.”

You can’t fight off the command of his Voice, not when he’s already dominating you so completely. Your eyes open against your will, full of tears, and he rumbles in satisfaction.

“Better.”

Every whimper and mewl you make drives him on, stoking the angry satisfaction that’s burning in his eyes—eyes that you can’t look away from as you cry out again and again, little “Ah, ah, ah's” that interrupt the cadence of your skin slapping together, all of his eager growls and satisfied grunts.

“That’s it, shlyukha,” he pants, hips snapping in hard, again and again. “You—ugh—you let Alpha know how good that feels. Don’t hold it back from me.” His breathing is getting heavier the closer he gets, his composure and even his anger losing some of their hold as he fucks you harder, sinks down on you farther, covers you with his body fully as he ruts into you in pursuit of his climax. “Shit,” he hisses not far from your ear, face stuffed in your neck.

You keen high in your throat at his proximity to your bonding glands—a plaintive sound that directly contradicts the panicked ‘no!’ that flashes in your brain. His hand leaves the front of your neck and scoops around behind instead, gripping you at the nape in a Scruff that feels just as toe-curlingly right as the Hold had.

For a very split second, his breath hitches and his growling trips into a needy whimper. “O-oh …” And that’s when you feel it: his knot starting to catch on the end of each thrust.

“Ah!” You cry out sharply and grab onto him, helpless to keep your body from seeking out more, from clinging to him and clamping down hard as his knot grows and triggers you into orgasm. “Hhgnn …”

He goes feral when he feels your body locking down on him, growling and shoving in and grinding to ensure that he catches inside and ties you together. His hand abandons your neck entirely as he gives in to the instinct to rut, both arms wrapping around your waist, scooping under your back and holding you still for him to fuck furiously against. The tug of his knot inside your cunt makes you sob and come harder, losing sense of yourself as the pleasure cuts through you like a knife.

“Fuck, fuck, ohhfuck …” The sound of his deep voice, so lost in the desperation and helplessness of his own pleasure, makes your belly flare hot with new arousal even as you’re coming down the other side of it. You gasp and pant, and eventually whimper as the bliss dissipates and you become more aware of him on top of you, grunting and groaning and fucking into your tie as he rides out the long, debilitating climax of an alpha.

You keep your eyes closed and cry, hating that it still feels good as he fucks into you, grinds down on your clit and gives your another orgasm, and another. You wait for him to finish as your brain fills with the high that comes after, that unavoidable pink cloud that you know is going to seal your fate and make you helpless to him for the next thirty minutes, at least. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head in the direction of the pillows.

As the high starts to take you, you think about how, if you’d just kept your gun holstered behind by the headboard like you’d planned, you could be blowing his brains out right about now.

A.N.: Soooo ... This is the rape-iest thing I've ever ever written. I hope y'all are okay. Just wanted to drop a note to let you know that this fic WILL lighten up and not be quite so, well, rapey, in the future. Thanks for reading! 💖Sarah

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