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junosmindpalace · 9 months

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you don’t like to kiss satoru when he wears his blindfold.

you understand why he wears it, and you don’t have any problem with it besides how distanced you feel from him when he tries to be intimate with it on. so while you never ask him to take off his blindfold, you simply refuse to engage him when he wears it.

guilt eats at you for even feeling this way in the first place—after all, satoru’s health came before your own menial, selfish wants. still, you couldn’t help the uneasiness that came as a result of trying to be affectionate with him while half his face was completely blocked off from you.

and satoru doesn’t like this. he’s not immensely clingy, or at least not often enough to call him clingy, but he does like to have you near him, tuck you into his side and steal a slow kiss or two from you on occasion. especially when he’s feeling stressed or annoyed does he seek out your soothing touch, which tended to be pretty often from how demanding the higher ups are of him.

you’ll still lend a listening ear, lean in real close and scan his face as if trying to see those bright blue eyes of his through the dark mask he often wears, perhaps even wrap your arms around him and card your fingers through his hair held up by the fabric around his head. and most of the time simply being near you, touching you in one way or another is enough to soothe his aching muscles and tense mind. but when he leans in to press his lips against yours and you dodge, he immediately realizes that it’s not enough.

“you’re mean.” he pouts, and though you can’t see his eyebrows crease in distress, you can certainly imagine it, and you laugh.

“when we’re at home.” you reassure him, rubbing your hands up and down his arms.

he speculated for some time that you rejected him because of the setting, that it was unprofessional or perhaps embarrassing. but you had no problem angling his head toward you and stealing a kiss from his lips on the rare occasion he decided to wear his glasses to work, and so he eventually managed to piece together that the blindfold was the problem.

satoru’s frown only deepens, because he wants a kiss from you now. why should he have to wait to kiss his own partner?

“just a small one. a quick one.” he tries to bargain, holding your elbows, but you only shake your head with an amused smile.

“later.” you promise, and before he can press further, your students start to approach and your attentions are required elsewhere.

you uphold your promise, cupping his face and kissing him with so much love behind closed doors, as if you were anticipating the moment as much as he was—when his blindfold is off. but he’s still troubled by the fact that you refuse to kiss him with it on. it’s a part of him. do you think he’s ugly with it on? that’s got to be it.

he continues to whine and chase after your lips when the two of you are at work, but you only chuckle and angle his face away, and eventually it really strikes a nerve with him, frustrated over not knowing why you were so adamant on avoiding his kiss when he wore his blindfold. you haven’t tried to initiate, or even reciprocate his advances, even once!

he brings up this concern one day when you two are at home, when your bodies are messily intertwined on the living room couch, satoru’s chin propped up on your chest and your hand cupping his face as you cuddled and giggled about whatever sort of conversation you were making that night. in the security of your shared home, and in your comforting embrace, does satoru allow himself to wind down, letting his cursed energy seep out, and using it as an incentive to relax a slight bit.

you say something and he laughs, and upon seeing his smile and endearing eyes crinkle happily, you lean in to close the space between your lips.

he immediately reciprocates the kiss, the hold he has around your waist tightening. but then he remembers being in a similar scenario hours prior, and you refusing to meet his lips then. he pulls away gently as the dejection bubbles up in his stomach again, and his smile slightly drops.

“why don’t you kiss me when i wear my blindfold?”

the question, coupled with the blunt and slightly miserable tone satoru asks it with, catches you off guard, and his knit brows makes your breath hitch.

this was the thing about satoru without his blindfold. every piece of him—every vulnerable expression, every crease on his face, every emotion of his—was on display for you to bask in. rubbing your thumb over his cheek is welcome. there isn’t any fabric to bump into and make you feel like you’re being pushed out, make you feel like your affection is being suppressed.

satoru without his blindfold was open, intimate—whole. but when he wrapped the fabric around his eyes, it felt like he was also hiding a part of himself you adored. not the overwhelming strength he held in those enchanting cerulean eyes of his, but the love and affection they glimmered with when he was with you, a glimmer you’re sure was reciprocated in your own eyes as well. a part of him that displayed his adoration for you, for the things he loved most, clear as day.

“it’s silly, satoru.” you tell him reluctantly, gently playing with his hair. his sad smile makes you feel guilty, gnaws at your heart. but the part of you that feels shut away with that blindfold overtakes an insecurity deep inside. “i don’t want to concern you with it.”

“you gotta tell me what’s up, sweets. think i’m ugly?” he tries to tease, and you roll your eyes.

“just feel distant from you, ‘s all.”

voicing it aloud makes you feel just as small and silly as you told him it is. perhaps you were overthinking things too much.

you’re afraid to explain any further, because you don’t even know if you can without sounding even more insecure than you feel, but satoru immediately understands, and all the tension he’s built over the situation melts away in an instant, and he chuckles.

“like my eyes on you, huh?” he wiggled his brows, and you scoff, moving your hands down to his neck. he leans in a little closer, speaks a little softer. “they’re always on you.”

your heart flutters as satoru kisses over the side of your jaw, giggling at the slight tickling sensation. he mimics your smile from against your jawline when he hears you laugh.

he thinks he understands. if he wasn’t able to see those gorgeous eyes of your as they crease when you laugh, or gaze up at him in awe when he pulls away from a kiss only you could make so sweet, he thinks he’d also feel shut out, robbed of that small but intimate and beautiful part of you that leaves him breathless. he had a responsibility as the strongest to keep himself in line, but he also had a responsibility to you. he committed himself to that responsibility ages ago when you first met.

satoru stares up at you from the crook of your neck, and it’s as if there’s hearts in his eyes, a sight that never fails to fluster you when you realize that it’s all directed toward you, a result of you. it reminds you just why you were so insecure in the first place. why would you want to kiss him when he wore his blindfold when you were deprived of this sight while doing so?

“just try to kiss me with my blindfold.” he mumbles, and it sounds insensitive after what you told him, but it’s exactly why he wants to prove that not a single ounce of love for you is hidden away when he wears it.

you frown, but still reach to grab the black band from when he threw it on the coffee table hours ago. you wrap it around his eyes for him, feeling slightly saddened by the sight already, but his lovesick smile never falters.

as soon as your hands lower from behind his head, he’s gently pushing his lips against yours, and it feels every bit of kind and loving and special as it did when you kissed him without it. his lips move slowly, yet passionately, with yours, and for the first time, your hands move to cup his face in reciprocation. the touch elates satoru like nothing else in the world, and you can’t believe you ever expected anything different.

when he finally pulls away, you could swear you see those bright blue eyes of his staring at you with that dizzying gaze that makes you feel light and loved. the blindfold makes you feel a lot more exposed than he is though, and you can’t help but blush and bring your hands over your face to try and even the playing field.

he laughs at this reaction and tries to pry your hands away from your face. “so? anything different?” he grins, feeling proud knowing he accomplished his goal from your reaction, and you laugh.

“i still prefer it off.”

“that’s fine,” he hums, lowering the band so it hangs loosely around his neck with one hand, bringing your hands down away from your face with the other. “i prefer it off, too.”

and from then on you become a little more comfortable kissing satoru with his blindfold on, and he’s over the moon at you now indulging him when he’d pull you into a random empty classroom and lean in close.

but he doesn’t see the harm in compromise, however, so he’ll indulge you too. and when he’s feeling particularly eager, he’ll wrap an arm around your waist, quickly tug his blindfold down to his neck, and capture your lips in a breathless kiss.

whether he does this in an empty classroom or to say hello or goodbye before heading off on a mission with his students, you get to see those mesmerizing eyes of his shine with all the affection and love he holds for you.

besides, you can't help but admit that it’s even more satisfying when he does it in front of others, tugging the blindfold off simply for your sake, showing off to everyone else the state you reduce him too.

so perhaps you’ve grown to like kissing satoru when he wears his blindfold.

#wtf. this is the fastest i've blown up #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE KIND FEEDBACK #no way two posts in the same week?!#this will never happen again #in honour of gojos 0.0001 second scene in the trailer #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo oneshot #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru oneshot #gojo satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk oneshot #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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azi-muthal · 5 months

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[Commission] I had the pleasure of drawing a sweet, romantic scene for @wolfsbane-and-nettles's story Chosen Horizons. Go give it a read!

#thank you for commissioning me!#i love that i'm drawing them again <3 #bagginshield #tolkien #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thilbo #thorin x bilbo #commission

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cloudybarnes · 7 months

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bad idea right?

Pairing: theodore nott x reader

Summary: after theo breaks up with you, he pledges to make things right and do anything necessary to win you back. however, you are determined to make him work if he wants to win you over again aka part two to new beginnings

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

a/n: LONG AWAITED PART TWO WOOHOOOO also this could be read as a solo instead of a part two if you really wanted, but here's part one in case you wanna read that as well ;)

✰ ✰ ✰

“Please don’t tell me you got back together with him!” Ginny groaned. She sat on the edge of your bed as Hermione braided your hair for the night.

“No, I didn’t get back with him. I told him if he really wanted to prove it to me, then he could.”

“So you’re thinking of getting back with him.” She said disapprovingly. Hermione chuckled from her seat in the bed behind you. She was working on doing dutch braids in your hair.

“I think it’s fine, Gin,” Hermione said. “It’s not as if she’s going to jump back in bed with him.”

You waggled your eyebrows teasingly to Ginny. She gasped and swatted your shoulder. “That’s so not funny, (Y/N/N). Just because you think he’s sexy doesn’t mean you should get back with him.”

Theodore broke up with you very unexpectedly. He barely even had a reason for breaking up with you, which left you heartbroken and devastated. You were in bed for a few days, had a good cry, and then you were back.

Theo had tried to mend the broken bond between your relationship, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to take him back that easily. Your ego was high, and you knew you would be kicking yourself if something like that happened again right when you took him back.

“Don’t worry, Ginny. If he really wants me back, he’s gonna have to work for it. He knows that.”

“Alright,” Hermione said as she tied off the end of your hair. “All finished. Your hair’s gonna look so good tomorrow.”

“Theo better be drooling when you see him,” Ginny said, “if not, I’ll give him a different reason to drool.” She made a motion of punching her fists together, insinuating she would punch him in the mouth.

You chuckled. “Hopefully there won’t be any blood drawn. I don’t think he’d really wanna go through all the trouble if it just got him a busted lip.”

“Oh no,” Ginny grinned, “it would be more than just a busted lip. I’ve got five brothers, I’m known to throw a mean punch or two.”

“Lights out girls!” The prefect yelled as she knocked on your bedroom door.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’ll see you guys at breakfast. But for real, if Theo tries anything you know I’m right there for you.”

You smiled, grateful to have a friend as awesome as her. “Yeah, Gin, I know. Thank you.”

She smiled, “night guys.”

You two said your good nights as Hermione moved from your bed to her own.

“What do you think he’ll do tomorrow?” You asked Hermione as she shut off the lights. You pulled the covers close to your body, waiting for her response.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, getting comfy in her own bed. “Hopefully something sweet. He’s got a lot of making up to do if he wants to get back on our good side.”

You smiled softly, “yeah, you’re right. Night, ‘Mione.”

“Goodnight.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The next morning at breakfast, the owl dropped a letter in front of you.

“What’s that?” Ron asked, his mouth filled with food.

Ginny slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Honestly, you act like you were raised in a barn.”

“We were raised in the same house, you know.” He pointed.

“What a shame that was,” she replied.

You chuckled at their banter, and ripped open the seal on the letter.

“What’s it say?” Hermione asked.

You scanned over the words before you read them aloud. “It says,

(Y/N),

I hope you know how much you mean to me. I was a fool to break things off with you. I only hope one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.

Forever yours,

Theo”.

“Forever yours?” Ginny squealed. “That is so romantic.”

Hermione raised her brow quizzically. “Weren’t you the one telling her not to get back with him?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I can have mixed feelings about this. He breaks her heart but then he writes her a love letter. It’s got me confused, okay?”

You chuckled. “I think it’s cute. It’s not gonna win me back, but it was an alright effort.”

“Oooh, what a burn,” Harry chuckled. “Poor bloke must’ve forgot how stubborn you are.”

You shook your head with a smile, “nah, he didn’t forget. If I know anything about Theo, he’s just getting started.”

“So, (Y/N/N),” Ron said, “do you want to get back with him or what’s going on with this?”

You shrugged. “I mean, obviously I still love him. It just sucks what he did and I don’t think he should be able to get off the hook that easily. He shouldn’t be forgiven for breaking my heart just because he writes a little letter.”

“I love you for that,” Ginny said as she nodded her head.

“Hey, (Y/N/N).”

Looking behind you, you could see Enzo give a sheepish smile and a small wave.

You grinned, “Hey Enzo, how are you? Sorry about yesterday, by the way, Theo’s a little crazy sometimes.”

He chuckled and awkwardly rubbed his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. But, yeah, no, Theo and I are all good. He apologized last night and told me all about his plans to woo you.”

You chuckled with a roll of your eyes. “Go figure.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “anyway, I just wanted to come by and resume how we were before, you know, the whole break up thing, and drop off this book I think you’ll like.”

Enzo pulls out a book from his satchel and hands it to you.

“Coraline?” You asked as you flip it around and skim over the synopsis.

“Yeah, it’s kind of spooky and psychological which I think you’ll really enjoy.”

You grinned up at him, “that’s perfect. Thank you, Enzo.”

He sent a tight lipped smile, and nodded before turning away and walking back to the slytherin table.

“I like Enzo,” Ginny said with a dreamy look on her face.

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Go get him then. He’s a sweetie.”

“You guys and those Slytherin boys,” Ron shakes his head with a scoff. “Not even that cute, I’ll tell ya.”

“Oh, what?” Ginny asked sassily, “like you’re cute?”

“I think Ron’s cute,” Hermione winked at her boyfriend.

“Ugh, barf,” Ginny said.

The bell rang. You all stood to gather your things for first class.

“We’ll see you guys later,” you smiled as Hermione and you walked out to your shared first class.

“That was a pretty cute letter,” Hermione said as the two of you started walking down the hall.

“Yeah, I think it was sweet, but like I said, he can’t win me back that eas-“

“Excuse me?” Someone tapped your shoulder.

Stopping, you and Hermione turned to see a younger Slytherin boy, presumably a first year, standing before you.

“Uh, yes?” You asked confused, “do you need help with something?”

“Um, Theodore says I have to carry your satchel and books for you.” The first year stood awkwardly.

“Oh, uh, that’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You blushed, a little embarrassed that Theo would make a first year cater to you.

“I have to.” He said adamantly. “Theodore said he’ll set me up with this hot girl I like if I carry your books for you.”

Hermione snickered from next to you. You turned back to her, a bewildered smile on your face as you tried not to laugh.

“Well,” you said as you handed the young boy your satchel. “I can’t be the one to stop your true love, now can I?”

The boy grinned as he held on to your satchel as well as his.

“Theodore is crazy,” Hermione remarks as you continue walking to your next class. The boy followed behind the two of you all the way to your first period.

As soon as your classroom came into view, you could see Theodore standing there with a bouquet of flowers in hand. He grinned a devilish thing as he saw you approach.

“I’ll meet you in there,” Hermione said with a knowing smirk.

You walked up to Theo. He was beautiful as ever, but even he knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Hi (Y/N).” He smiled at you then turned to the kid. “I’ll take it from here. I’ll have my guys put in a good word with Maizy for you.”

The kid nodded his head and smiled as he ran off.

Theo threw your satchel over his shoulder and held out the beautiful assortment of flowers towards you. “For you, to say I’m sorry for being a douchebag and an idiot and a stupid motherfucker. All in the words of Draco by the way. Never knew how much he liked us together.”

You chuckled and grabbed the flowers out of Theo’s hand. “Thank you.”

He smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, have you thought about what I said yesterday?”

You sighed. “Of course I’ve thought about it Theo. Just like I’ve thought about how much you broke my heart when you dumped me.”

“Okay, I deserved that.”

You chuckled. “Yeah. Thank you for the flowers, Theo. And… I still care about you, I just need time to figure this all out. I can’t just forgive you that fast when you broke my heart, just last week!”

Theo sighed, “I know. I know! Fuck! I know I fucked up, baby, but I am going to do everything I can to win you back. I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait as long as it takes, baby, I swear it to do. The boys are down my back yelling at me for how hard I screwed everything up. They think I’m stupid, and I think I’m stupid too for letting you go. I promise you, I will do everything it takes for you to trust me again, mi amore.”

Your eyes softened. Theo knew exactly how to make your heart soar.

“Theo…”

“No, baby,” he shook his head. “You take your time. I’m gonna be here whenever you decide if you want to forgive me or not. Hopefully you decide you do want to forgive me.” He chuckled awkwardly.

You matched his awkward laugh. “Well, thanks again for the flowers. They’re very pretty.”

Theo smiled and nodded before turning around and walking away.

✰ ✰ ✰

Later that night, you sat in the library studying for your Herbology final. Ginny and Hermione offered to help you study, but you knew you’d be here too late to want to burden them.

As you flipped through the pages of your herbology book, you tried your best to take down any notes that you thought would be important.

Your stomach growled.

“Knew that was inevitable.”

When you looked up from your textbook, you could see Theo sheepishly smiling as he held two trays from the cafeteria.

“What was?” You asked with a smile. You cleared some papers to make space for Theo to sit down.

He grinned and placed the trays on the table as he took his seat next to you.

“Knew you would forget to eat while you studied for this exam.”

You chuckled and peered over to see what Theo brought you to eat. Ham, potatoes, and stuffing from the dining hall.

“Thank you, Theo. That’s really sweet of you.”

He slid a tray closer to you, and you eagerly picked up the provided fork and dug in.

Theo chuckled as you scarfed down your food. “Pretty hungry?”

You nodded as you finished chewing. Theo smiled to himself and started to take a few bites of his potatoes.

“You’re being awfully sweet to me, Theo.”

“Haven't I always been sweet to you, darling?”

“Well, yes. But that was before.”

Theo sighed. “I know I screwed up royally. I’m trying to make up for my mistakes. I’m still the same boy I was just a few months ago. I had a lapse in judgment and that cost me the best thing in my life.”

You frowned. “Theo…”

“Don’t you miss me, (Y/N/N)?” Theo shifted to face you straight on. He nervously leaned forward on the table, staring into your eyes, waiting for your response.

“…of course I miss you, Theo. How could I not? You’re everything to me, and I’m just so scared of something like that happening again.”

“(Y/N),” Theo started. He tentatively grabbed your hands in his. “I promise you, with everything in me, if you decide to take me back I will never hurt you or disappoint you ever again. You have my word mi amore.”

You were conflicted. You miss Theo like crazy. You couldn’t help it. No matter what you said to your friends about him having to work hard for you, it tore you apart every time you saw him knowing you still weren’t together. You missed being his.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay?” Theo’s face lit up. “You-you’re giving me another chance?”

“Yeah,” you softly smiled, “I miss my boy.”

Theo grinned and yanked you toward him, engulfing you in a hug—one you’ve been waiting days for. You missed him. You missed being held by him.

You held around his neck tightly, scared to let go. You never realize how much you craved his touch when it was gone.

Theo buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent. “God, I’ve missed you.”

You smiled and pulled back. Theo smiled back at you. Slowly, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his in a warm, longing kiss. Your hands rested on his cheeks, his on your waist as you kissed with all the love stored up between you.

When he pulled away, Theo stayed close with his forehead rested against yours. “I promise you baby, I’m here for good.”

“You better be.”

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stevebabey · 1 year

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part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

#at this point call this the 'can i' series #sweet boys asking each other for things they most certainly would be given <3 #but don't think they will <3 #tried to flip it and make it so even tho eddie is used to touch. the romantic touch? he's got none! that's where he's touch-starved #ALSO EVERYONE'S TAGS WERE SO NICE ON THE LAST ONE #trust i am. not feelin so bad nowadays (me saying this like 4 days later lmao)#but <3 thank u all #gay ppl in my phone.... you know what to do #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #touch-starved steve harrington #not rlly anymore hehe #does anyone notice that it ends with yet another 'can i?" question? HEHE #yet again stib gets kisses where ruby doesn't but alas <3 dis is way fluffier this time #nearly went the angst route! and went hmmmm naur #ok ok i'll be quiet now

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plutoswritingplanet · 3 months

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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake.

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast.

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst.

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed.

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground.

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides.

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside.

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers.

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day.

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing.

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill.

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless.

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising.

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again.

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere.

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile.

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties.

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression.

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer.

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question.

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals.

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful.

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved.

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar.

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly.

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness.

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh.

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you.

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head.

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall.

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed.

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine.

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach.

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall.

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast.

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go.

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face.

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure.

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic.

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips.

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs.

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes.

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you.

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee.

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you.

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him.

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess.

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics.

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure.

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment.

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely.

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches.

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything.

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should.

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements.

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet.

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up.

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles.

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture.

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void.

So you dance.

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #tennis ball strikes again #i would also like to thank tiktok editing community for giving me material to daydream about #im seeing this movie again on thursday totally not because i want to write the most accurate smut in the next chapter

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choccy-milky · 4 days

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Pls I beg Clora wearing only Seb’s shirt

she just can't wear it if she plans on getting anything done😇

#seb said AWOOGA🚨👅👅#if you're the same anon that asked for this a while ago then thank u for your patience LOL. here u go🙏#also seb maid anon...... i havent forgot about you🫵#i was planning on working all night but then i got this ask and started drawing seb and clora again instead LMAO #i like how im rly busy with work and i have art ready to post thats already ready so that i can work #but ive still ended up just drawing new stuff anyway LMAOO. stop encouraging me. god im such a procrastinator LOOL #ask #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow x mc #choccyart

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aerequets · 6 months

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this was a commission for the lovely @nightofnyx8 for her AMAZING AMAZING fic The Woman in Red!!

this scene is right at the end of chapter 3. if you have not read this fic i HIGHLY recommend it! im pretty sure i have recommended it before already HAHA but now i got to draw one of my favorite scenes. i dont want to spoil but it just makes me crazy fr. they're just so...!!! HNNNGHHH!! i've literally read it like 3 times. if you like protective loid + badass yor + the best, coldest serving of revenge justice, you need to read this story! her writing is absolutely amazing and im not gassing this up bc she commissioned me LMAO its genuinely just so good. if ur still reading my little rant pls go read woman in red its 7 chapters and its completed and. Sigh. time for another reread

#one of my fav writers in the fandom #thank you for your patience nyx and thank you ONCE AGAIN for woman in red + all your other fics #trust i have read them all and regularly revisit ur profile #my art #spy x family #loid forger #yor forger #sxf #twiyor #twilight #thorn princess #loidyor #loiyor

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bluberryfields · 9 months

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This is what happens when you're raised by TV and trained in literary analysis

Beyond the crushing heartbreak of that finale, one thing in particular has stuck with me when I look at it in the context of S2 as a whole.

He lays out their relationship, "We're a team, a group. A group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't."

He then turns his head away and says, "I mean, the last few years, not really."

He pauses here, facing the interior of the bookshop. Really looks it up and down.

Turns back, "And I would like to spend" before choking on his words and looks toward the window. He can't finish saying something like "And I would like to spend eternity with you" because that's too much, too fast, for both of them.

But it's that "last few years" bit that has firmly lodged itself in my very broken brain.

According to Gaiman, it's been "a few years" since the end of Season 1. Armageddon has been averted. Heaven and Hell have reluctantly retreated. Crowley and Aziraphale have been effectively cut loose from their "sides," leaving them to form their own side.

So at the start of Season 2, we get a glimpse of the “fragile existence” they have carved out for themselves. To me, the biggest difference that we see is how they exist together in front of others. Going to the coffee shop, the pub, and the other shops along the street that Aziraphale has lived on for over 200 years. And don’t forget how they act in front of Nina, Maggie, and sweet, dim Muriel.

At the coffee shop, Aziraphale stammers a bit when Nina asks who Crowley is, but he still seems to have affection in his voice when he says, "We go back a long time."

Compared to Shakespearian "He's not my friend! We've never met before. We don't know each other!" panic, this is an incredible difference.

Of course, each time, Crowley is cool and cheeky and does nothing to indicate that they aren't a pair. Though, of course, he does deny it when Nina asks about Aziraphale being his side piece. “He’s not my bit on the side! He’s far too pure of heart to be anyone’s bit on the side.” And refers to him as an “Angel [swallows]I know.”

When they go the pub, Crowley's joy at doing something together in public that they do not normally do is super cute, including his cheeky order for Aziraphale's sherry. Then, when bringing the drinks over to the socially trapped Aziraphale, he greets Mr. Brown with a truly adorable, "Hello" and a signature DT smile. Then upon hearing how “excited” Mr. Fell is to host the meeting, he looks down and says, “Oh? You astonish me.” while Aziraphale sips his sherry and squirms.

We also watch as Crowley follows Aziraphale as he goes to each shop and talks to the owners about the meeting/secret ball. In theory, Crowley has no reason to tag along, and he certainly doesn’t help sway anyone who doesn’t want to/can’t go. He goofs around at the magic shop. He splays out on the bench, chin on hand, looking for all the world a husband waiting for his wife to pick out a dress at the department store. They are so married it’s ridiculous.

Finally, their behavior in front of Muriel while inside their sanctuary. Crowley sits on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, somehow looking supremely comfortable on the old-fashioned furniture. He folds up those gloriously long limbs and presses himself as close as possible.

He smiles and plays along with Aziraphale’s coaching of Muriel in her disguise. Calls him Angel and asks to speak in private. And at the end, during the awful wait while Aziraphale talks with The Metatron, Crowley cleans up the shop and tells Muriel that he and Aziraphale will need some “us” time after all this. No beating around the bush.

Without oversight, they can be openly together and happy. But Heaven just can’t let that happen.

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sugoi-writes · 6 days

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Morning! I have a little silly idea for Alastor x Reader and wanted to share :D

Reader is stressed over some big event that is about to happen in the Hotel (like idk maybe they're throwing a ball or some gala to encourage more sinners to check in) and while she's giving a pep talk to everyone she absentmindedly starts fixing Alastors bowtie/coat/hair and everyone expects him to snap at you (you two were more of rivals than friends) but instead he smiles at you softly and fixes your necklace. You two only realize what you did when Angel "quietly" asks as a joke when did the two of you get married 😅

Sorry this took so long!!! I hope this is doing your prompt a little bit of justice! Please enjoy!!!

No warnings for this one, really! Just some good old fluff and pining (which I DESPERATELY need to work on, HAHA--)

♥️♥️♥️

Everything was hung in place, not a tassel or a drape awry. The decorations and accents, deep reds and lush golds, adorned every surface you could see. It was... gaudy. But it was perfect.

When all was said and done, you clasped your hands together, a triumphant smile on your face. Charlie, being the sweetheart she was, tasked you with orchestrating the grand-reopening ball. She had to admit, it was nice to throw the reigns to someone else for a while. She definitely got some MUCH needed time alone with Vaggie, who was also more than willing to take a backseat.

Your voice cut through the chatter like a knife, silence behalfing the room with your address," Alright... guys, everything looks great. The place looks perfect. Everyone is looking--"

As your eyes flit about the hotel residents, you spy a freshly-apparated Alastor, who was... off. Physically, you mean. You squint for a moment, spying three things: Hair, Bowtie, Handkerchief.

"Sh-Sharp... everyone looks sharp."

Without thinking, you marched right up to the Radio Demon, collective gasps around the room as you touched him. Looks of bewilderment, horror, and amusement surrounded you both. You were preening him, adjusting him... unannounced? With no physical repercussions? How were you still alive?

Both hands shimmied the black bowtie into place," The music is covered, thank you for the recommendations, Alastor--"

"Anytime, dear," he quipped, not flinching in the slightest. His eyes were trained forward, avoiding eye contact as you pat his chest. Charlie's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her skull as you pulled out the handkerchief, refolding and placing it back into Alastor's breast pocket. Another, resolute tap to his chest, and Angel's brain was short circuiting.

"Right-- like I was saying, everything is PERFECT. I need everyone on their BEST behavior when the doors open-- you especially, Angel. Everyone has their roles--"

Angel squinted, pouting as he shifted his weight... His head cocked to the side with a smirk, as if to say 'speak for yourself'! You strained onto your tiptoes, fluffing and adjusting Alastor's fringe, completely oblivious. There was a tinge of hair gel in Alastor's crimson, which surprised you. He had really gone the extra mile... albeit, still a little under perfect. Or maybe, you had just never noticed how much effort he put into his appearance?

"Niffty: keep an eye on the buffet and clean any and all messes. Angel, intel and vibe-checker. We have some big-wigs coming tonight, and I'm sure we could weasel our way into their good graces-- Make sure they're drinking, eating, dancing-- yknow!!! Having a good time!"

Alastor leans his head down for you, allowing easier access to his hair. You silently thank him, your tangent continuing," Charlie, Vaggie: you know the drill. Get them hooked on this place. Give them the razzle-dazzle to get them to stay. Lucifer, sir, you're in charge of the fireworks. I'm sure you have something ENTIRELY too bombastic for this, but-- just try not to scare anyone off tonight, sir???"

Lucifer, though still flabbergasted, gave you a pair of finger guns. This was his way of giving silent acknowledgement.

"Husk, of course: you're on drink detail. The more booze, the looser these guys get. The more likely they'll cave and stay the evening or become a patron--"

You blinked as warm hands were on your collarbone, adjusting your necklace. Though your face burned brightly, you didn't utter a word as Alastor finished his adjustments, giving you a pat on the shoulder. You looked up towards him, a friendly smile shot your way.

No words were exchanged, just smiles. You nod to Alastor, before turning to face the crowd. You weren't expecting to see looks of confusion and shock: everyone looked like deer in headlights. You sigh, chuckling a bit as you crossed your arms," C'mon guys, I know everyone is nervous about reopening to the public today, but we've got this!!! Seriously, everything is absolutely perfect now and--"

"If I can cut in real quick, toots-- are we plannin' a weddin'?" Angel retorts, fanning his hand back and forth between you and the Radio Demon.

"I mean-- not that I'm complainin', but y'gotta warn a guy first. I would've worn somethin' else for such a special day~"

You blink, utterly confused, before it finally clicked. You sputter dramatically, eyes wide and face heated from the implications," I don't-- I don't know what you mean, Angel--"

"Oh honey, we aren't BLIND. Admit it, you're mackin' with Tall, Dark, McNasty. And honestly, I get it. Chase your dreams or whateva. It's kinda cute~"

There were murmurs from the other crew, loosely agreeing to Angel's sentiments.You take a step forward to say something, before a hand clamps onto your shoulder. Your face only grew warmer as Alastor stepped in front of you. His pleasant smile strained, his annoyance further proven by his left, twitching eye.

"Now now, let's not lead the night with accusations and gossip-- though I'm usually a big fan myself~," Alastor mused, his grin widening.

" I'm afraid you all have the wrong idea-- I was just simply making sure everything was perfect. Just as our party host is." Alastor turns to you now, his smile softening," And that's exactly what tonight will be, with you at the helm: perfectly executed."

Angel snorts, leaning over towards Husk as he covers his mouth. A hushed whisper and an eyebrow wiggle are thrown his way," Oh, they're DEFINITELY fuckin'~"

You nearly shrieked as you cover your face with both hands, frustrated," Shut up, shut up, just-- UGH. L-Let's get to our battle stations, guys-- doors open in FIVE MINUTES," you bark. The nervous energy in the hall multiplies before dispersing, as everyone made themselves busy. It was very clear that everyone was trying to ignore the elephant in the room (and failing miserably). You do your best not to smudge your polished appearance as you turn on your heel, making your way towards the bar.

Immediately, you give it a knock, two fingers out. Husker nods, pouring you a double shot of your preferred poison. Swiftly swallowing the elixir of courage, you felt some of the embarrassment melt away. A familiar presence appears beside you, mimicking your knock and drink order. You sigh as Alastor's hand comes into your line of sight, eyes naturally following it as he swirled his drink, before downing it. You couldnt help but focus on the bob of his adam's apple, before you had the decency to look away. Alastor grinned down to you, tilting his head.

"Still troubled by their words, dear?"

You groan," D-Don't call me that, Alastor... Angel's going to feel like he's right," you reply, holding the bridge of your nose. Alastor laughs, leaning against the counter," Oh come now, I'm sure this whole mess will roll off your back by night's end~" Alastor teases, jazz hands accenting his playfuk tone. You groan again, frustrated," UGH, no, if HE'S distracted by that, EVERYONE here will be-- I just-- I don't wanna cause any unnecessary attention. 'For EITHER of us. You have your gambit for tonight, and I have mine... We need this to go WELL, not to be the talk of the town..."

Alastor leans against the counter, back pressing into it as he looks your way. Normally, he would continue to goad you into a precious, pathetic mess, but the look on your face felt too... troubled. You really were overthinking things, his eye catching the way you bit your lip.

The two shots he ingested already softened his edge, his head lolling to the other side," ...'a little advice, then?" You look over at Alastor, surprised by the change of subject.

"Sure. Might as well," you quip, resting your chin on your hand as Husk whisks away your empty glasses.

"If you walk around the room like your hair is on fire, the entire operation goes up in flames... This is commonly seen in management, but works just the same here," Alastor states, pretending to be fascinated with his talons.

"And truly, for tonight, you are the leader, the ringmaster of this event... the others will ask questions, and look to you for guidance. If you walk around like everything is going to fail, then it is destined to. So perk up!" Alastor's hand finds your chin, forcing you to look his way. Your breath catches for a moment, your eyes settling on his face. It was flushed, warm... and a hint of something you can't describe. He was being unreasonably chaste. Is this what Mimzy meant by "sweet as a kitten"?

"I think everything will go as it should, as long as you keep a cool head, dear. And if you can't, well...," Alastor grins as he knocks on the counter, each of you receiving another drink.

"--there's always liquid courage to settle the nerves."

You nod slowly, processing his words. Real, genuine advice... and, some sincerity sprinkled in? Were you really that drunk already??? Deftly, you picked up your glass, almost downing it before Alastor stops you.

" A toast, first."

Alastor grins as he picks up his own glass, clinking it against yours," To your success, my dear."

You move in autopilot as you clink back against his drink," Y-Yeah uhh... to the Hotel's future," you added, the two of swallowing your drinks hastily. Alastor straightens his posture, reaching over to squeeze your arm in reassurance. The radio in the room flicks to a new frequency, changing to a modern, catchy song that you recognized.

" Th-This is--"

"Your favorite, right?" Alastor finishes, his grin widening," Well dear, I am nothing if not accommodating. For tonight, let's have a little fun. Change things up." You nearly jump out of your skin as the front lobby doors begin to open, Alastor's eyes meeting yours.

"I expect to have your first dance. Meet me when you'd like to accept the offer."

And with that, Alastor leaves you, melding into his shadow form to flit to another spot in the room. You blink a few times, still reeling from the entire interaction. You hadn't told Alastor your favorite song. Not even once. And, you never dared to listen to it in front of him, fearing that he would disregard you or even chastise you for your taste.

You feel your heart swelling as you search for Alastor again, mouth falling open in silent protest. You wanted to pester him, ask him how he was able to know something so personal.... However, you are greeted by a sharply dressed demon, all too eager to make your acquaintance.

You allow your hand to be kissed, and pleasantries were exchanged. But ultimately... you felt your eyes constantly searching for Alastor. Maybe Angel was right, you thought... Maybe you did have something going on between the two of you. You felt a blossom that had remained so stubborn finally experience it's long-awaited bloom.

Maybe you did like Alastor. Maybe, just maybe, he liked you too... As the night grew longer, you realized that you just might be content with that.

#hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #alastor x oc #alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel imagine #i tried keeping things pretty GN but hopefully this will suit your tastes!!!#thank you again for your request #im so sorry if this is shit #gdhdhshsjsjsjs

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irenic-0kk · 1 year

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Some Leon Kennedy gif's that made me BARK.

(gif's aren't mine so credits for the rightful owner!)

#resident evil 4 remake #re4 #re4 remake #resident evil #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #Leon kennedy gif's #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x reader #Hot men coming through #BARK BARK BARK BARK #capcom #CAPCOM HAS COME TO BLESS US AGAIN #THANK YOU CAPCOM

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ellestray · 27 days

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elle's favorite ateez fics. f = fluff ; s = smut ; sg = suggestive ; a = angst. ✧ = absolute favorites, must read. (only adding notes for these few fics to ensure readability for the overall list!) word count in brackets. last updated: may 2nd, 2024

authors; if you wish to be untagged, please let me know!

currently no individual fic for hongjoong, yeosang & jongho. please refer to the OT8 section, or come back for future updates!

성화 SEONGHWA

✧ [11,1k] plastic flowers — @bobateastay ( f ; s ; a ) ↪ note: this fic revolves around abortion, so please keep this in mind before reading. i read this on a flight— and i don't know if it was the altitude, but it broke me. the author beautifully wrote this, in a way where unconditional love, hope and pain are intertwined. one of the most pleasantly surprising and touching reads i've had on this platform by far.

✧ [2,3k] essence — @hwaightme ( f ) ↪ note: this one is for the poetic, hopelessly romantic fics lovers. everything i've read from this author was beautiful so far! the poetry in this fic was so pretty that i felt the need to share it to my friends... although i usually never share fics out of tumblr. i'm excited to read through more of your writings, bai!

[1,2k] the first snow and being in love — @i-luvsang ( f )

[884] 02:36 — @hwapetals ( f )

[642] adoration — @kisshwa ( f ; sg )

[8,6k] both — @hwaightme ( s ; f )

[200] 10:24pm — @hotteoki ( f )

[986] anguish — @kisshwa ( a )

[n/a] bf texts — @hotteoki ( f )

[79] 9:22pm — @cozykpopblurbs ( f )

[1,6k] i'll be with you — @cheollipop ( f )

[519] lazy make out sessions — @crazyforhwa ( s )

[1,2k] realistic sex — @byuntrash101 ( s ; f )

윤호 YUNHO

✧ [13k + 18,2k] unprofessional attraction ; pt.1 , pt.2 , [tbc] — @jk97 ( f ; s ; a ) ↪ note: i was so engulfed into this fic that i skipped a lecture to continue reading. fics that are heavier nsfw-wise usually aren't my thing, but here, every single line pulled me in. hell, i felt even more insane about yunho after reading this. saying i'm excited about the next chapters would be an understatement.

✧ [14k] closer, face down — @ncteez ( s ; f ) ↪ note: again, although i usually prefer fluff over smut, i absolutely loved this fic... the build up made it so enticing! i don't know if a re-edit still is in the works, but i'd absolutely re-read it regardless!

✧ [84,5k] project: make you love me (series) — @hwaslayer ( f ; a ; s ) ↪ note: pulled an all nighter to read the entire series in one go... it was that fun to read! the relationship was built up at a nice, natural pace, while still keeping the reader on their toes. (this made me very excited about the seonghwa series in progress..!)

[1,1k] bedfellows — @sungbeam ( f )

[1,3k] he knows he loves you — @honeyhotteoks ( f )

[2,5k] convenience store chances — @ohmyamor ( f )

[n/a] boyfriend texts — @koizekomi ( f )

[300] nothing sweeter — @i-luvsang ( f )

[1,1k] nsfw alphabet — @yunhobug ( s )

[425] 3:52am — @edenesth ( f ; sg? )

산 SAN

✧ [3,7k] leave the window open — @sungbeam ( f ) ↪ note: so sweet. so comforting. the kind of heartwarming fic that feels like hot cocoa on a cold winter day. (also made me feel insane about san... but let's not talk about that.)

[1k] always available — @everyonewooeverywhere ( f )

✧ [1,6k] capturing us — @03jyh23 ( f ) ↪ note: another sweet, poetic, hopelessly romantic fic— my favorite kind! finding fics like these always feels like discovering a little treasure. looking forward to all the wips!

[n/a] boyfriend texts — @koizekomi ( f )

[2,6k] take a break - @cheollipop ( f ; s )

[249] 21:23 — @petitemingi ( f )

[350] boyfriend headcanons — @i-luvsang ( f )

[600] one more minute — @seonghwaddict ( f )

[1,3k] no strings, no expectations — @seonghwaddict ( a ; sg ; f? )

[468] stretch marks — @beenbaanbuun ( f )

[475] valentine's series : movies — @whimsicalwritingsandmore ( f )

[n/a] instagram stories with bf san — @lwtqts ( f )

[371] hold me — @cheeseceli ( f )

민기 MINGI

[800] untitled — @cheollipop ( a ; f )

[2,8k] mind over matter — @mingisaddctn ( s )

[256] 23:22 — @petitemingi ( f )

[1k] 23:46 — @seonghwaddict ( f )

[447] princess treatment — @cheeseceli ( f )

우영 WOOYOUNG

✧ [1,2k] broke you heart, i'll put it back together — @dairyminki ( a ; f ) ↪ note: loved this so much that i had to read it twice. something about wooyoung hopelessly in love wanting to fix this... name twin, if you're reading this, hi- i'd be seated for a part 2 if you ever have the time to write it!

[2,2k] vacation — @bobateastay ( f ; s )

OT8

[700] when you don't say i love you back — @jjunberry ( f )

[2,4k] romance tropes — @beenbaanbuun ( f )

[n/a] situationships (texts) ; pt.1 , pt.2 — @yunhoszn ( f )

[2,9k + 3k] as boyfriends ; hyung line , maknae line — @honeyhotteoks ( f : s )

[n/a] sex ban (texts) — @kisshwa ( sg ; f )

[n/a] sending you a pic of themselves (texts) — @bombuni ( f )

[1,3k] outfit turn-ons — @starillusion13 ( sg )

[1,2k] make-up sex — @nateezfics ( f ; a ; s )

[944] showering — @seonghwaddict ( f ; sg )

[1,6k] as boyfriends — @atiny-moon ( f ; sg )

[2,5k] that one specific habit they do that highlights their love language — @sanhwaism ( f )

[1,1k] top 3 kinks — @seonghwaddict ( s )

[2,8k] making out — @sxcret-garden ( sg ; f )

[n/a] asking them to draw a flower (texts) — @eightmakesonebraincell ( f )

if any link is broken, or if i made any mistake when tagging fics— please kindly let me know!

#here we go again.. idk if this will garner as much attention as the skz fic rec list did (which btw was crazy..? thank you!)#regardless— i hope it'll help you find lovely fics and talented authors on this hellish website. i'll try to more consistent with updates!#as for the skz fic rec list- i'm honestly a bit overwhelmed by the amount of recommendations i've accumulated...#so i'll try my best to update it whenever uni slows down (or my hyperfixation goes crazy again). thank you for understanding!#elle's favorite fics #ateez #ateez recommendations #ateez fic recs #ateez fic #fic rec #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #mingi x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fic recommendations #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa angst #seonghwa smut #yunho angst #yunho fluff #yunho smut

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picrews-for-rpgs · 2 years

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Just wanted to say I love this blog, and the format you tried rating that last pic crew was really nice! Though I imagine it take more time and effort

Thanks so much!! Comments like this always make my day.

Yeah I'm still trying to find the balance between being as informative as possible without putting people off with giant walls of text so I really appreciate the feedback!

It does take a bit of time but it can be quite relaxing and fun for me (with the added bonus of being helpful for my future self and others who might want to use it)

My current plan is to continue all 3 kinds of posts I'm currently doing (overview, recommendations and dnd race breakdowns) but I may well expand that in future.

#thank you again x #ask #picrew

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butraura · 2 months

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It’s the way that when Buck told Eddie that he and Natalia broke up, Eddie said, “welcome back to the world of the living, Buck; you were missed.” It’s the way that at the graveyard, Eddie said, “to be honest, you haven’t been the same since [the lightning strike] happened… but how could you be?” It’s the way that, to Eddie, Buck died for 3 minutes and 17 seconds, but he never came back to life. It’s the way that when Buck said he broke up with Natalia because all she wanted to talk about was death, Eddie saw the light in Buck that he hadn’t seen since before he was struck. It’s the way he missed the Buck he was before he died, but didn’t push him. The way he said, “you don’t have to be anything for anybody,” when Buck said he felt that he had to try to be the “same old” guy he was before the lightning. The way that even though Eddie did miss the old Buck, and he did want to be there for him, he gave him the space he needed to heal, even if it meant healing with Natalia. It’s the way that, when Buck told him that he broke up with Natalia, he raised an eyebrow and immediately welcomed him back. In that moment, Buck was alive again and Eddie had him back. It's the way he loved Buck back to life. It’s the way Eddie loves him to his core.

#I'm not okay actually #thank you for asking #eddie is so in love with Buck it's unreal #buck is alive and eddie can breathe again #he missed his best guy #the love of his life #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck x eddie #911 #buddie #spoilers #7x01 #rambling

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mercymaker · 2 months

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I love you. I love this. And I want it all.

This artwork of Maleane and Astarion was done by the wonderful @irlplasticlamb. Thank you so so much for bringing my vision to life! I wanted to have these characters that mean the world to me encased in a little piece of my own culture, thus they are wearing traditional Lithuanian costumes.

Also, would you believe me if I told you this was set after Above the Vaulted Sky?

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plutoswritingplanet · 2 months

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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.4 (final)

a/n: we did it Joe! this chapter officially marks the first ever series i've completed lmao. thank you for all the support on this fic, every like, every comment, every out-of-pocket anon ask.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (like...fr this time), Blood and Violence, Manipulation.

Summary: After the wedding, Husband and Wife work out the intricate web of their relationship.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

Gurney looks at you as if you're already dead.

You hide from his gaze, ducking behind pillars, whenever you can hear his footsteps. It's truly depressing, the way your mentor shakes his head, as if, instead of looking at you, he's looking at a coffin. You suppose he might be right, he's the one with the most experience in the Harkonnen area. He's fought them, dined with them, seen their customs through and through. And now, his dutiful little student is about to be thrown into the very same world, he has relayed to you as a nightmarish fairytale. Still, a little misplaced optimism wouldn't kill him. Or just, a sliver of hope, an inclination that you might survive this.

The day of your wedding rolls upon you like an oceanic storm, all chaos and rumbling.

Here you sit, your bones locked with nerves, as the servants pack away your things. A futile thing, you muse to yourself. It's highly doubtful the Harkonnens will let you keep any personal items back from Caladan. They'll mold you into their image, until all your hair naturally falls out. The thought would make you laugh, but here's a servant, placing your jewelry into a case, which lands in a bag, which will be transported to the Harkonnen ship by the end of the day.

Your room, the place you've spent all your life in, slowly becomes more and more barren.

The closet stands empty, so do the drawers. All your trinkets are swiftly transported away until you're left alone in your wedding dress, the only familiar thing between the hollow ribs of your life's sanctuary. Wishing you could fold the entirety of the castle, with the stables, and the horses, and the cliffs, and throw it into the final suitcase, so you can open it up in times of turmoil, and breathe in the familiar scents. You need to leave, right now. Sitting like this, wrenches a dangerous numbness out of your chest. And you can't be allowed to dissapear into yourself. You're an Atreides, you shall wear your pain with dignity, as per your Mother's wishes.

Your wedding dress swishes around you, as you stand up from your bed. It's much more classy, and less of a chiffon catastrophe, than your engagement dress, a welcome change. The veil is embroidered with light crystals and metal plating. It falls heavily over your face, and jingles when you move. By all intents and purposes, it is a dream dress. A dress you'd like to wear for a wedding of your own, a wedding with some dashing gentleman. A gentleman, which in your most private of dreams, has the face of Duncan Idaho, with silver rings braided into his hair.

Instead, you're left with this monster, so alien and cold. A beast at the center of the maze.

The bull looks at you from the wall. Its horns, smeared with your Grandfather's blood, curl grotesquely into the ceiling. The head is mounted above the doors to the library, a grim reminder of his spectacular death. As a child, you'd spend hours, standing right here, at the entrance, staring at the animal's head. You've always wondered, whether it were the lights playing tricks on your mind, or you saw a shadow of pride in the bull's eyes.

Did it know who was its victim? The leader of one of the most important Houses in all known universe laid dead at its feet. Did it know what sort of spectacle it produced? What destruction of hubris? You suppose it couldn't, it was an animal, after all. A headless creature, hung on a wall. Still, you stare at it, just like you used to, trying to decipher your own fate from its cold, dead eyes.

After all, there will be a spectacle, a life-long fight stands ahead of you. Giedi Prime shall be your arena, dead and cold, covered in black. And every single Harkonnen will be your bull, their mere presence a deathly danger to your being. It took one bull to end your Grandfather, you dread to think how many it'll take to end you. There will be blood, you're sure of it. And if things were allowed to go your way, it would flow in rivers upon rivers, through the industrial halls of Giedi Prime. You'd have the entire planet drowned in their blood. Your cursed betrothed, the Baron, the fucking Emperor if you had to.

The bull laughs at your quiet hate, beady eyes bearing down upon you in an imaginary display of indifference. You huff, cheeks reddened, insides twisted and burning.

That's how your Father finds you. Enchanted by a once living instrument of death.

He hasn't spoken to you, since your betrothed has arrived, not really. Not like you used to talk. A way to shield himself, you supposed, from the Emperor's order, which will soon enough take his only Daughter away from him. This was your superpower. You could fish out signs of love in every action.

- Your Mother hates that thing - he comments, as he stands next to you, eyes looking up at the bull.

- I don't blame her, the sight is quite disturbing. - you reply evenly.

You've missed him, more than you can possibly explain with words. But teary displays of affections were below you, especially since you're trying to distance yourself, rise above your body, float right out of your head. Perhaps it'll hurt less that way. Duke Leto Atreides turns to you, and for the first time in a month, you recognize your Father behind this statue of authority. He looks troubled, for lack of a better word. There's much more gray on his brow and the lines of his face are darker, harsher.

- I came to give you something - he announces, producing a small object out of the pocket of his trousers.

It's harder than you thought, tearing your gaze away from the bull, but you manage, your eyes landing on a figurine in your Father's hands. Your heart stops, as you recognize the blackened stone, polished to perfection. On a flat disc stands a figure of a Matador, proud and posed. Next to him, a bull, ready to strike. It's cold to the touch, when you take it from your Father, ridges of the small sculpture digging into your palm.

Jumping in front of danger, for better or worse. Your head starts to hurt.

- Father - the sound of your shaking voice carries through the corridor - How will I ever survive this?

By the way Duke Leto Atreides sucks in a sharp breath, you can deduce the answer. And what a sad answer it is.

Your Father steps closer, gathering your trembling hands in his, the warmth of his embrace engulfing you like the first sun rays of spring. He squeezes your fingers, tightening your own hold on the small figurine, and his eyes are so incredibly sad, you're convinced they could make any heart in the universe weep.

- With courage - he says - and grandiose.

Like a true Matador would.

***

Your bull stands completely still.

His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the ever present darkness of the Harkonnen ship. It's so much different from your native fleet, all sleek and black, and efficient. Terrifying, but at the same time, strangely beautiful.

The both of you watch, as the hatch is being pulled up, slowly but surely obscuring all sight of your home planet. Of your family, standing by the docking station like a funeral parade. It's only when you can no longer see them, your life sealed with a click of finality, does your betrothed, now husband, move.

His hand grasps your upper shoulder, and you jump at the sudden contact. Your confused gaze is completely ignored, as the man drags you through the ship, taking large, hasty steps.

Hairless faces swish past you, all so similar to each other, you're worried you'll never figure out who is who. The corridors of the ship wind and turn like a merciless labyrinth, a realization daunting on you, that you will never be able to find your way in this place.

Suddenly, you're faced with a black door, which opens as soon as your husband walks up to it. His grip tightens and he basically throws you forward, watching you stumble through the entrance on weak legs.

It takes you a second to gather yourself, as you instinctually settle into a defensive stance. The room you're in looks quite different from the rest of the ship. It's much more luxurious, one would risk saying cozy. With a gigantic, round bed filled with pillows, a dark desk, and a deliciously comfortable looking armchair. It all dims in your eyes, however, as you look up at your newlywed.

He stands right at the entrance, blocking the only means of escape with his tall frame.

Both of you are still in your wedding clothes. Your dress hugs your body in a way that is anything but comforting. His outfit is as black and sharp, as all his attire. It exposes his lean physique, clings to his warrior's physique. Terrifying, your brain summarizes, muscles freezing suddenly. Feyd Rautha looks at you with emotions you can't decipher in the low light of his room. Your room. Your marital abode.

You can't breathe, lungs tighten painfull with the sheer thickness of the air between the two of you. Still, there's a certain power, residing in your bones, an inclination of a fight you're ready to put up, should he try anything. And by the way his brow bone settles over his darkened eyes, your husband seems to understand. What a terrifying thought. The sheer idea of finding a common ground with this awful man makes your guts turn.

He doesn't even flinch, when the doors behind him slide open. You however, nearly jump out of your skin at the sound, cutting through the deafening silence of the bedroom. With furrowed brow you watch, as three Harkonnen women spill into the room. All of them completely hairless, lips pulled back in feral snarls, as they regard you with an emotion you can only interpret as contempt. Their bodies, clad in typical, Harkonnen garments, flow and slither, when they gather behind your husband, like three hungry lionesses, their black eyes flickering to him, to you.

- Get her ready - Fey Rautha throws a command over his shoulder, eyes glued to you still, and his gaze drags itself across your body like tar.

This is the first time you've heard him speak since the wedding, and involuntarily, you cringe at the gravely sound. While he stayed silent, it was easy to forget who you're dealing with. But as soon as sound leaves his mouth, you're cruelly reminded of the roughness, and the strangeness of your life's partner.

The three women stir behind him, hands sliding up his body in a gesture, that is almost too close to reverence. He does look like a young god, like some ethereal being, but you're too distressed to dwell on that thought. Instead, your arms encircle your body, a shiver of terror and strangely, disgust flowing over you, at the mere idea of these women touching you. Then, one of those three strange creatures moves forward. She has a stripe of black running down her bottom lip, and her face twists into a cruel smile.

She says something in a language you don't recognize. Probably a native Harkonnen. A rough bark, her disgusted expression translating the meaning better, than any dictionary would.

Still, you have no time to process the foreign insult, because as soon as words leave her mouth, your husband turns. His white hand grabs the woman's hairless head, as one would pick an apple from an orchard, and then, you see a flicker of true terror flash through the woman's face. In a smooth, deadly gesture, Feyd Rautha smashes her face against the wall, the resounding sound of her skull fracturing against the concrete is like the cracking of a whip in your ears.

That's all it takes, one move, and she falls into a lifeless heap, sliding down the wall.

A sigh escapes your lips, as your eyes stay glued to her body. You can't see her face.

Your husband barks something towards the remaining two women, and they scurry towards you, heads hung low, bodies curled onto themselves. You don't know, whether he looks at you, acknowledges you in any way, shape or form. The doors close behind him, as he leaves you in the hands of his... Whatever these women are to him.

They begin to strip you where you stand. Their hands peel off your wedding dress from your trembling body, and every move feels like tearing skin from muscle. You can't protest, can't do anything really. Dark, thick blood pools around the third woman's head, dripping between the tilled floor, slowly making it's way closer to your feet.

When they pull you towards the bed, you say nothing. Let them massage your body with some ointment, which smells of heavy chemicals and scratches your throat.

Their hands are unexpectedly delicate. You suppose they're too scared to take revenge on you, or perhaps, they just don't care. Doesn't really matter, because you do. You really care, despite yourself. Heart squeezes in your chest impossibly tight, when they help you up from the bed, and once again you're confronted with the white corpse in the corner of the room.

The dress they pull over your body hardly qualifies as a garment in your eyes. It's made of delicate, sheer material, which barely covers anything, looking more like a courtain thrown over a window.

Is this how he wants you, you wonder. Terrified, bare, always on the verge of something, be it tears or anger.

One of the women steps in front of you, takes your hands in hers and rubs something into your cold bones. You try to catch her eye, try to decipher how to categorize them, as humans or as creatures, but she swiftly ducks under your inquisitive gaze. That is, until your eyes flicker towards the corpse once again.

Her hand shoots up towards your chin, dragging you back to meet her onyx eyes. You can see the reflection of your own confused face in the void.

- You- she rasps, her voice a grating symphony of gurgles and growls that stumble over the common language - Soft.

Whether it's a warning, or a threat, you can't fully decide, but it doesn't matter. Those two words tell you more about your future life, than any book, any archived account. This is what the Harkonnens are made of. Sensless violence, outbursts of anger, dark blood. You swallow thickly, and nod, your expression hardening in the woman's eyes. She looks as if there's something else she'd want to say, but her head ducks at record speed, when the sound of the doors opening cuts through the air once more.

For a longer moment you're completely devoid of words.

Here stands you husband, some sort of fruit in his right hand, two daggers hanging from the belt on his trousers. His chest, white and (unfortunately) toned beyond belief stares back at you. His unoccupied hand makes a wide gesture, and the remaining two women scurry off towards their third, dead companion. With quick hands, they grab the body and drag it out of the room, letting the door slide closed behind them. Immediately, you miss their presence, unnerving as they are.

Once again, you're left alone with the na-Baron.

His eyes float freely all over your figure, taking it in with an impassive stare. It's deeply unnerving, the way you're presented to him, the way he organized all of this, tailored it to his liking. You can't help it, the way your body begins to warm before him, skin becoming prickly to the touch, much too sensitive for the strange imitation of fabric covering it. Still, your mind stays sharp, and instinct kicks in, as you take a cautious step back, angling your bady away from him.

- So, what now? - you ask, voice rough, eyes following his every move.

And move he does, slowly advancing towards you. His feet, which you now discover, are bare, drag behind him. Grace and danger mix well within his movements, as he circles you, still without a word. You throat runs dry, when he bites the fruit in his hand, dark juice spilling all over his lips, drops rolling down his hands, his forearms. Your stomach churns.

- Now - again you're reminded of the gravely tones his voice can carry - We consumate our marriage, wife.

Somehow, your marital status sounds like a mockery spilling from his lips, and he laughs at the way your face scrunches.

- I don't want you to touch me - a lie, your entire body burns for any semblence of friction, but you're determined to keep some dignity.

To that, he nods his head in silent agreement, a gesture, which actually manages to surprise you. The fruit is thrown forgotten onto the floor. It rolls under the bed, and you fight the urge to reprimend your husband. Instead, you bite your lip.

- I thought you would say that - he murmurs, coming closer, his breath fanning over your exposed shoulder.

The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you crane your head to the side, so you can look him in the face. So he can see the disaproving expression, perhaps he'd feel a fraction of the hate boiling in your gaze. Then, you can feel something, cold and sharp, drag itself from the dip in your spine, all the way up to your shoulder blades. A gasp escapes you, and your entire body shivers violently.

- That's why I brought these. - Feyd Rautha whispers into your ear, and you can't help but sway lightly in your place, as if his words have the power to physically move you.

Then, your hand closes around a metal object, and you look down to be met with a beautifully crafted dagger. The blade is silver, shiny, and unbelievably sharp. It fits into your grasp as if it was made specially for you, and the possibility almost makes you smile. Then, confusion creases your brow, and your husband flashes you a deadly, black smile, as he steps back a couple of steps.

He's holding a blade as well, jet black and strangely matte, a perfect antitype of yours. There's a sort of lazy excitement about him, hidden in every movement. It reminds you of the way he'd behave in the arena, while making a spectacle of death for you and your family.

- I though this would work on you - he muses, twirling the blade in his hand, and your muscles seize with realization. - And it definitely works on me.

The idea is preposterous, utterly scandalous. Using a fight as some perverse attempt at foreplay, your brain swimms with conflicting emotions.

- You're being ridiculous - you attempt to diffuse the situation, but your husband doesn't budge, rolling his shoulders.

- Come on, wife - he snarls, with a sharp smirk - Don't you want to hurt me?

Something boils inside of you at his words. Some ancient, terrifying anger that you supposed, has always been there with you. From the moment you stepped onto the red carpet, leading you towards your undoing at the altar. Red, like the spilled blood still staining the floor of this bedroom. The rage, which you swallowed down, when you recited the vows, when you let him unveil your face, kiss you in front of the entire Atreides court. Now, it seeped through every pore in your skin, covering you in a tar like courtain.

You hate your husband. You hate Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Hate him for being your husband, for agreeing to this cruel match. For taking you away from your family, from your wise Father, and your strict Mother, and your sweet Brother. For ripping you away from love, which didn't even have time to properly bloom. Duncan's face dances in front of you like a taunting vision from an angry god, and your fingers tighten around the dagger.

Feyd Rautha is right. You want to hurt him. You wanted to, before you even met him.

- There you are - his lips pull back into a cruel, blackened smile of self-satisfaction - I was worried they took away all your venom, Viper.

You'll show him fucking venom, you think, feet sliding on the floor, twisting your body into a dancing position. Two sets of shields click into life, and suddenly you begin to understand.

This is your arena. This is your bull.

This will be your battlefield for the rest of your life, for as long as you're able to withstand it. With courage and grandiose, your Father's voice haunts you, but soon after another echo rises in your mind. Your Mother, your teacher, her whisper slithers from your memory, a passing comment right before you're shipped off to Giedi Prime, when she squeezed your hand so tight, you were worried tendons under your skin would snap.

Excitement and arousal flow freely from your husband's expression, as he watches yours harden. Something inexplicable settles over your features, a promise. You'll give him a fight of a lifetime, and he'll love it, every single time. It should unnerve you, the way his body lowers itself, like a panther ready to strike. It would've unnerved you some time ago.

Now, however, it shows you a clear path to survival. This is how you take control.

Cold blood splatters from under your feet, as you jump towards him, a series of measured blows following closely behind. He blocks them, lets some be pushed back by the shield. Then, he's on you, brutal and unhibited slashes fly around your body, and you meet all of them with a blocking blade. You're pushed back, towards the wall, where remains of the previous killing still stain the concrete. Blood seeps into the thin fabric on your body, and you shiver in disgust, as it sticks to you.

Your husband doesn't notice, his blade leaves a rather deep mark in the wall, as you duck under his arm, and avoid a nasty punch to the gut.

Plap, plap, plap, your feet carry you through the room, as you try to gain some leverage. The mattress on the bed is surprisingly soft, when you climb on top of it, gaining the advantage of a higher position. An advantage, which is quickly torn out of your hands, as your husband grabs onto your ankle, tugging at it with such force, you tumble down in an instant.

Panic rises in your gut, as the world sins around you, and without really thinking, you let your mind flow into autopilot.

- Let me go! - the Voice tears out of your throat like a landslide, and Feyd Rautha throws himself off of you, his body colliding with the nearby desk.

Books and papers crash to the floor with the force of his figure. Your head swimms, but you will it away, too focused on survival to care for your well-being. Both of you are panting, trying to recover from this sudden use of ancient magics.

- I should rip that treacherous tongue right out of your skull - the threat would carry more strength, if your husband's expression wasn't absolutely dripping with unabashed lust.

Never in your life has someone looked at you this way, and the shock of emotions is enough to pull you right to your feet. Your blade reflects the dim lights of the room, as you raise it high, body taunt and ready.

- You'll never get that close.

A challenge, which doesn't even have enough time to properly resound in the thick air of the room, before Feyd Rautha pushes himself off the desk. Things clatter to the ground from the force of his movements, and you barely have time to react, when his blade sinks into your shield. Your body flies backwards, falling in heap with his at the foot of your marital bed. The edge digs into your back, your left hand pressed tightly into the mattress.

He's hovering over you, panting like a wild animal, face illuminated red from below, where, just short of his juggular, your blade licks a stripe across his alabaster skin. His right hand is wedged between your bodies, dagger nicking you under your ribs. And you stay in this position, like a marble statue, your eyes melting into his, frozen in time.

- You fought well, Atreides - his voice rumbles deep within his chest, and you can't help, but snarl at his words. - We would've taken each other to an early grave.

Something dangerously close to fondness floods his features at the idea, and your fingers start to unravel, letting go of the dagger one by one. He doesn't have a chance to react, when your blade clatters to the floor, and your hand, now free, grabs the back of his head, pulling him down.

Your kiss opens the gates of hell, and soon, his own dagger is thrown across the room. You can't see, refuse to see, as your eyelids flutter closed. His lips are slightly chapped, but not any less delicious. Left hand thrashes in his hold, until he lets it go. Then, they both find purchase against his sharp cheekbones, and you hold him so tight, you might break his face with your ministrations.

- I knew it would work - he pants against your lips, you can hear the smile in every syllable.

- Shut the fuck up - you snarl, fingers digging deeper into his skin.

He groans into the kiss, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth, as his hands work hard to manouver your legs open enough, for him to slot in between. Then, his touch is everywhere. On your legs, he drags the sheer fabric up and down your thighs, as he carresses your skin, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your hips. They venture upwards, to grab at your breasts, they fight their way into your hair, where he pulls and scrapes.

It doesn't matter, you think, when you hear the fabric tear, and the carefully chosen attire falls from your body. Nothing matters.

You're boneless and defenseless against this one insidious emotion, which carries your every move, which compells you to arch your back, to reveal your running pulse under his searching lips. Feyd Rautha bites down on your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder, and you respond in kind, head descending upon his porcelain skin. He shudders under your teeth and tongue, his entire body tensing.

This is how you take control, and you've never felt so greedy.

His trousers aren't even fully off of his legs, when he enters you, clumsily and with urgency, bare feet sliding on the floor. Surprisingly inexperienced, he chases your core with his entire body, as if the heat of your insides in a completely foreign sensation.Your moan tears at the column of your throat, where his lips leave a trail of purple marks. The covers remains undisturbed, as your husband ruts into you, pressing your back harder against the edge of the bed. It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, but somehow, it feels perfect for the two of you. Fucking like wild animals, not even able to make it onto the bed.

- I hate you - you repeat, like a mantra, broken voice cascading with every thrust. - I hate you, I ha-

Your head rolls backwards, when a particularly hard thrust nearly breaks you, but your husband is here to help, his hand grabbing the the roots of your hair, bringing your head down, so you can watch as he performs a magic trick of repeatedly disapearing into your body.

You're not sure who's blood his hand slips on, but suddenly, you're fully on the floor, your body crushed by his. Nothing stops his wild movements, not the sloppiness of it all, not the hard wails he tears from your body. If anything, the more strain his body is under, the more ferocious he's being. Your hand shoots up, all five fingers digging into his throat, and you're rewarded with an angelic moan, which almost brings you to your finish line. Almost.

His head leans down into the crook of your neck, where he whispers something in Harkonnen, a gurgle of rough sounds, interrupted by sinful moans. He sounds so beautiful, so conflicted, for a second you consider being gentle with him. Alas, you hate him still.

Another realization dawns upon you, as your feet kick with force into your husbands backside, to force him deeper, to keep him inside. This is still a fight. You're still on the battlefield, still waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. So, with courage and grandiose, your muscles tense, and you roll your husband over.

The change in position makes both of you gasp in unison, as you sink down onto him. For a second, everything stops. His lips are red and swollen, sweat and blood mix on his skin, flow down in pinkish stripes. And he watches you, as one would a holy painting of a foreign god. With reverence and utter lack of understanding. You're fully aware the look is mirrored on your face.

Slowly at first, your hips begin to rock, up and down, in a steady rhythm, that forces a shuddering breath to leave Feyd Rautha's lips. You bend down, to catch it, and because of your greed, you catch his bottom lip as well. The bite you give him is anything but romantic, and his hips jump from the floor, hitting a spot within you, you didn't know existed. He swallows your moan along with his own blood, and his fingertips map the curve of your spine, as you straighten upon him.

Fingernails latch themselves into the skin of his chest, as you speed up, chasing your own release and no one else's. Moans spill from your lips, the concept of shame abandoning your mind completely. Then, compelled by something dark and twisted you drag claw marks down his torso.

His body shudders, and his hips lift off the ground, fucking into you with reckless abandon. The hold he has on the flesh of your hips is bruising, to say the least, but you did enough damage to call it even. Enough, to make your body tremble and tense up, as climax creeps up on you steadily.

Like a shark sniffing for blood, he senses the change in your being, and as you tumble over the edge, a silent scream tearing at your throat, he suddenly rises into a seating position. His arms encircle you fully, pressing your sweaty bodies impossibly close, as he too finds his own end.

It takes him second, to tumble over, filling you to the brim with ink. His head buries itself into your shoulder, inhaling your scent through deep gasps, each eliciting a broken growl from his chest.

Your bones are gone completely, body relaxing and falling breathless into your husband's arms. After a while of sitting in complete stillness, he moves first. Strong hands lift you up, off of him, and you whine at the emptiness.

Then, as a last hurrah, he throws you onto the bed, where your recovering body sinks into the soft mattress. It's heavenly, the way you seem to float in nothingness, head swimming from exertion. For a moment you don't even register him climbing into the bed with you, drunk on the fading tension seeping from your every pore.

The lights are almost completely out, yet his skin shines against the black comforter. You wish to see if he's flushed, like he was at the engagement party. Leaning on one arm, his fingers trail around the small wound under your ribs. Dried blood flakes off of your skin, and you shudder again.

- I - you start, voice completely broken - I've never known hate, until I met you.

You're not sure why you've said it. Perhaps, in this moment of serenity, truth seems to float to the surface much more easily. Or perhaps you're possessed, or worse, gone completely insane. Eother way, your eyebrows furrow, and Feyd Rautha leans down to kiss your forehead, gently.

- If this is how your hate looks like - he whispers into your hairline, teeth scraping lightly against it - I dread to imagine your love.

You'll never find out, you think, but for some reason can't fully vocalize it.

He says something else, after a while, but your mind is becoming as heavy as your body, and as the day descends upon you in a heap of exhaustion, you fall asleep.

And while your story has nothing but suffering in the future, while there's death and mourning, and years of violence written in the stars for you. Right now, on the Harkonnen ship sailing through space to Giedi Prime, you sleep in the arms of your husband. Whether this strange symbiotic relationship will last, no one can tell, but there is hope, and what else could you possibly need?

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #dune smut #what a journey my gosh #thank you once again for following the story love y'all

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